Everything I'm about to tell you is a joke.

Everything I'm about to tell you is a joke. You see that dog out the window? That's a trained Yakuza attack dog. I have to kill it before it kills you.

But before I kill it I'm going to need a few favors from you. First, I shall require a canoli from Tony's over on Mirabelli. Second, I'll need you to remove your pants. Third,

and this is the most difficult part, I need you to talk to mama, been calling for you for weeks. With a few simple rules, this hit will go off as planned. Now for time and place,

how about the back of the drive way on sunday, we could have a nice sundae and talk about our life.

will pretend to be friends. We will use emotionally supportive language as a means to sew the seeds of doubt in each other. We will gloat over the other's loss. In other words we

have no semblance of a working plan, since our idea is counter-intuitive." I furrowed my brow hard as I tried to read his words correctly. "You want to be nice to people?" I said

bewildered "But you've always been a self-centered, selfish idiot! And you know what they say, old habits die hard" He smiled but a tear rolled down his face, "I have something to

confess. I have an incurable illness. My Doctor says the only way to avoid a full outbreak of the disease is by behaving boorishly, but I really hate it. I've decided to

to engage in selective boorish foot behavior only, putting my bare feet on top of seats in front of me at the movies, on the bus and at church, but not at hospitals or weddings.