I listened to it again. "Rickety ... tickety

I listened to it again. "Rickety ... tickety ... bumlickety ... fu shnickety?" Near as I could figure Fu-Schnickens rickshaw had been ticketed outside of an anal enthusiast's estab

lishment. I would have to back in and talk to the Ass. Manager regarding Fu Schnickens Rickshaw. He was pedaling some shmagregius flim-flam and I would crack this case wide open.

I said boldly to Mr. Fu Schnickens Rickshaw "Why don't you show me exactly what's in the Schnickens Chicken pie?" Mr. Fu looked around the room to see if anyone was listening, "Go

f*ck yourself and all your avian friends," he hissed. I drew myself up yo my full 4 feet. "I accuse you, Mr Fu Schnickens Ricshaw of vile chicken pie adulteration! And furthermore

you can take you red curtains, red chair, red book, red shoe diaries, and your red food coloring #5 and kiss my baboon's red teettering on magenta great ape ass! But first validate

this thought: Take your red curtains, your red chair, your red book, and paint 'em all black. You might think they'd clash, but it's perfect for a home theater setup. Let's talk

Gothic chic here, Mao. Frankly, you've done red to death, right down to the China. But black is eternal elegance. You can't go wrong! "The Little Black Book" is far sexier than you

"That's why I'm an anarchist" said the freaky goth to Mao. Mao couldn't believe she wasn't just beautiful, but she was a keen political mind.

Mao had the self confessed anarchist sent for RE-Education. Maybe her keen political mind would find something to do in the provinces. It would pay for itself in the long run. If

she managed to make a name for herself in the streets, she could surely survive. After all, survival is the only thing in her life that is in her own hands.