He was stewing in his Italian Sportscar.

He was stewing in his Italian Sportscar. He had the leather gloves to prove it. He shifted gears and couldn't get the Russian giant out of his head. He thought of the statue

hovering over him invoked a seething rage that brought him to tears. Tears that were blurring his vision at three hundred KPH. "Fuck You Lenin" he said, not knowing "Hey Jude" was

the most annoying song in the history of pop music. So, he was stoned to death and his remains ground into a fine pink powder that was used to add color to the skin of pygmy albino

elephants, who were paraded out when someone just got a little tipsy, rather than fully loaded. Myrtle, however, always got tanked, so the elephants

"I betcha you can pack alot in that trunk, ya pachyderm." She fell off her bar stoll and spilled her Cosmo. Jumbo, picking her up gingerly, brought her out to a cab. The elephants

held themselves to a high standard and trunking a drunk girl was something they just didn't do. Jumbo went back into the bar and sat next to a somewhat dumpy blond

She recoiled in surprise, but settled back down again as she looked him over, and admired the way his jacket fell around the barstool. He said to her, "Left a drunk chick outside."

She was smitten. Here was a man who was man enough to leave a woman in a place where most men wouldn't: Outside. She took a gulp of Michalobe Ultra and swayed

in the back porch light, blissfully subjugated. She thought about the wonderful future in store for her as she crawled into a neighbor's empty dog house, and slept.