Sadie cried. Soft, small tears fell onto

Her tears, when properly harvested and sprinkled upon bits of earth, signaled rain from wherever it came. Sadie's tears were legend. So much so, she was called the Weeping Woman

by her husband who was sick to God of her moping around. Everything was a big cry fest. He couldn't even yell about it because she'd start blubbering. Oh they tried couple's

therapy to no avail. It was about a useful as giving Britney Spears a

clean pair of panties. If she wore then the didn't stay clean so for optimum cleanliness she kept them in her purse. At least his kept the fly's of her ice-cream.

It didn't keep her plastic pants clean, unfortunately, and the West Mississippi Plastic Pants Task Force wouldn't be proud of that. She covered the ice cream stains instead with a

another product she'd recycled ad verbatim, breast implants. She'd smuggle them from the "In & out with a smile" cosmetic surgery clinic she moonlighted at, but what she dreamed of

was recycling human waste. That's right, the stuff that goes down the toilet. You didn't expect that from a knock-out blonde, did you? She knew it would be the best fertilizer in

the whole of London, if not the world. If only she could market it, she could make a fortune. All she needed was an endless supply. She could get friends involved perhaps? A party

was held in her basement. She invited the neighborhood housewives to her Tupperware party for total world domination. All would be hers, if she kept a lid on it.