there was a cat. his name was jose. he was

there was a cat. his name was jose. he was japanese. and yes i'm saying was...because he lost all his nine lives like....a couple minutes ago. i dont like cats...

But I had a strong liking for this cat. Maybe it's because it was hers.... and It was the only thing I had left of her. So I adopted a parrot. She like parrots.

The parrot had an extraordinary ability to not only mimic, but also to sing any Barry White number at will. This delighted her & she showed her thanks by

showing her tits! The parrot didn't have any mardi gras beads to toss so he

rose up mightily into the air, disappearing into the mardi gras street lights like jets in the sun. He focused his mighty parrot colon & launched a string of poo at her bare chest

it splattered like a Jackson Pollock painting. But he didn't see the Cajun hunter with rifle. A cloud of feathers and the parrot thudded on the ground. The Voodoo witch picked it

up, gutted it with a couple of quick motions, and had it breaded and fried in no time. "It's not all about magic," she said. "Sometimes you just have to eat good." That was my

first teacher in the fine arts of magic. more of a gourmand of magic ingredients if you ask me. So I had to learn recipes for newt tail compote with bat vomit aspic or virgin blood

pudding laced with dragon fly wings and black adder tongues. Actually it sounded kind of delicious so I whipped up a brew of