His long hair held magical power that if

His long hair held magical power that if cut would defeat him like a school boy being punched by his sister. Samson lay in Delilah's lap

pool like the decadent slug of bastardy that he was. Long hair, half-inflated air mattress, hung over, stained shorts with a bloated soggy pita on his chest. Delilah was sick of

her "Daddy" and her prey. She was beginning to think the former belonged included in the latter. She flung his leg off her thighs and sat up on the edge of the bed. She watched her

...her...you know...and asked for a tissue. Um. Ugh. I hate Game of Thrones. Anyway, the hunt had to resume. She and her "Daddy" were hunting very delicious but elusive prey: the

McDonald's Ice cream. Many a folk pray that they can sink their teeth into delicious creamy coldness, but often times the machine itself is broken. That's why Daddy had a plan.

Daddy's plan was to steal a few of Old MacDonald's cows (just a few small ones, he said) and keep them in a walk-in freezer in our garage, so that we could have ice cream whenever

we wanted (and we wanted ice cream all of the time) but I suspect now, all these years later, that he just wanted to have steak on the hoof when The Bomb went down. We never found

it got to hot for us living in the city we moved to Circlejerk. Our nearest neighbor was a mile down the road. Not far enough when I went on a sleep murder spree. The sheriff came

afterwards. I put the bloody axe in the hall, ringed by the four I’d butchered. The sheriff, ever a dolt, got on his radio: “Bring an ambulance. There’s been a terrible car wreck."