Scanning the horizon, no robot wolves appeared

Scanning the horizon, no robot wolves appeared to have followed him. Grabbing his bass, Peter Tork boarded the last train to Clarksville and

shriek came from below the train, causing him to drop both his knife and the partially filleted fish. A conductor walked into the car and demanded to see his ticket. Tork had no

fare for this particular ride and improvised by snickering like Larry from the Three Stooges and then poking

people on facebook until they stop responding to him. He'd taken to stalking his sister's friends. That's when he saw her, his sister, drunk on her knees with a

dude's zipper between her teeth. Both her hands were duct taped to forties and you could see up her short skirt. Inflamed with rage he started to type out 'Slut' in the comment box

before tabbing into his Firefox window with lolcats.com in it's address box. That site was his Valhalla; filling him with tranquillity only matched by that of

countless birds of prey that have had their wings clipped and claws properly tagged by talented zoologists. Lolcats would have continued to bring him joy had it not been for eight

days previously, when his beautiful wife Cassandra of 28 years had tripped on the overturned LongCat, as did many people. Unfortunately, they were at the Grand Canyon at the time,

and as she flew over the edge, he knew, never again would he caress her slimy, hairy legs, nor hear her voice that sounded like a sweet, sweet trombone. He shed but a single tear.