It was the 67th Annual Gentlemen's-Only chocolate

It was the 67th Annual Gentlemen's-Only chocolate tasting festival, thousands of men gathered each year to discover the finest new chocolates and moan about their oppressive wives

. The gentlemen hatched a plan to have their wives murdered by men they had met randomly at the festival. This way they supposed that it would be impossible to trace the murders

entered the dining car at tea time, as nameless lands clattered past. "May I?" Inspector Romely asked pro-forma, inspecting teacups for murderous germs. "Quid pro quo, eh?" he mu

ttered to himself, while taking his left from the evidence bag in his pocket, to inspect the odd teapot, shaped as a peeled banana. Such things were common at the house of Mrs. Pe

nile who, out of respect for her long-deceased husband, amassed quite a collection of penis-shaped porcelain. The teapot was remarkable, really. He decided to steal it.

What he didn't know: the teapot shaped like a scrotum with a penis spigot was inhabited by the spirit of the widows deceased husbands best parts & it didn't dispense tea.. tee hee

You might titter, but the genital teapot dispensed little animancules. They swarmed out of the spout, over the carpet and fanned up the walls of the widow's house like a gravy of

mushroom and red wine. But the walls had spiders at the ceiling whose mandibles opened and ingested the the animancules. Now full, the spiders crawled over the genital teapot

short and stout, over its handle and over its spout. Then came the rain, which washed the spiders out. Little Miss Muffet, dead on her tuffet. The clock struck one, death had rung.