He passed the object over the glass case.

He passed the object over the glass case. "So what can you give me for it?" The pawn broker put on a loop and peered down. "Well, in this condition, I would need an appraisal."

"Are you kidding? It's in mint condition!" That forced the pawnbroker to admit that he didn't know what the object was. The seller then admitted that he didn't actually know either

. The situation grew tense and sweat beads started sprouting from the pawnbroker's forehead. They locked eyes as the seller slowly drew back, his hand resting on the buzzer.

They simultaneously slapped at the pawn ticket which wooshed off the table and landed in a parrot cage. The parrot promptly gobbled it up and squawked "

Its mine now!!" And flew to his secret dungeon in the far off lands of Scotland. But someone followed him to the dungeon, who was

Was that at the top of the rickety ladder there was a chicken coop with feathers. You climbed this ladder at your own risk! "I dare you, climb up to the attic!", he said as the

feathers started burrowing into my skin and filling me with foreboding. Was that the sky falling? I started running around like a head that had lost its chicken Tandoori. The attic

was full of hungry addicts like us, heads that longed for chicken Tandoori but were afraid to scour the streets for a decent Indian restaurant for fear we'd run into someone

who'd pity our bodyless state. The worst is when they would offer to "mount" our heads on mannequins they had already bought. Even without a body my trigger finger was itching.