When folding stories, I find it a lot better

When folding stories, I find it a lot better than drinking on St. Patrick's day. Too many drunks in Andetsdonville, my mum complained. Better to fold storied, she told me whilst

preparing the fireworks that she would launch into the attics of the neighbors she despised. "So many yahoos about on these so-called drinking holidays," Mum mused. St. Patrick's D

ay wasn't about the Leprechauns or the Pot O Gold at the end of the Rainbow any more. It was about drinking green beer, lots of it and then, who would get lucky in

"Will you be my bride?" She blushed and slowly nodded her head. This is a dream come true! Shoshanna and Shoshinnie, happily ever after.

But when Shoshanna awoke from her dream only to find her dog Wuffles snoring in her face, she despaired. Had Shoshinnie been only a figment of her fantasies? She could still see

traces of her neon fright wig scattered about the cold bare floor and the half eaten chicken sandwhich on the window sill.

By the time that Tina Laguna got to the scene the chicken sandwich had already been tagged & bagged. She had no trouble finding where it had been because the ants found it first.

The ants were bright red and crawling all over the stains that she could see in the carpet. The sandwich had left a nasty musterd stain and Tina could only immagine the annoyance o

f the landlord when he learned he’d have to call both an exterminator and a carpet cleaner. Tina chose not to deal with his wrath and decided to move out and not renew her lease.