She drew the meat cleaver from the cabinet,

me cuckoo mad!" Mary then stab my arm while singing Amazing Grace. I drop the hotdog on the floor and grasp the wound with my other arm. Mary then drop to the floor after

a particularly powerful gorilla punch to her thorax. Mary gasps, clawing at her chest. I grab the hot dog and smash it into my wound to staunch the bleeding. Thank god its a Polish

sausage. Mary was not going down easy, she reached for the fire alarm and pulled hard. Sirens were heard within seconds, and I had to make a quick decision. Go or

stay? "If The Clash couldn't figure it out, what hope do I have?" I wondered. Mary's body language was of a strange dialect; her non-verbal cues puzzled the cryptologists. Firemen

wore the pants, but somehow, Mary was able to ignore this. She lived her life like nobody was watching, but in fact EVERYBODY was watching, because her body language was the key to

opening her lesbian lovers chastity belt. Mary was a thrill seeker, an adrenaline junky and part-time cake decorator. The key was

under the 3dr rose from the right but someone had turned the cake around and she did not find it.She had to find a way to get rid of that chastity belt...Crazy lesbians!Left her wi

thout her cell phone too! The crazy, cakeless, clueless, chaste lesbian had absolutely nothing going for her...except one thing. She had the secret recipe tucked inside the

her best lead-lined sport bra - no one would find the recipe revealed to her that fateful day upon the back of a bag of morsels marked with the sign of the sacred House of Toll.

As her breasts suffered lead poisoning, she had to muse herself to distraction over this anecdote: How successful really would a house be at collecting tolls? Traffic is a bore!