They all cheat at cards and the checkers

They all cheat at cards and the checkers are lost. My cellmate's a killer and they make me do push-ups in drag, but nobody cares if you're losing yourself.

So when the warden announced that a crotchet club was starting up at the prison, I was relieved. I needed a creative outlet, a way to redeem myself. I learned to crotchet booties.

Plus the crotchet hooks made nifty emergency shivs when the need to shank someone arose. Soon I earned the respect of my fellow inmates, and even the White Supremicists began to

learn how to read ancient Arabic. This proved invaluable when the warden asked the White Supremicists to decipher some ancient texts. I became king of the exercise yard.

My first act as king of the prison exercise yard was to name a court jester. Psycho Ted was nominated. Now I needed a fiddler and exchecker.

But who would be willing to take on the mammoth task of checking each one of my exes? There were hundreds of them, scattered across the globe, and each of those venomous witches

had noses the size of the empire state building and a vulgar personality to match. I couldn't believe my luck in attracting clones like

the clones good ole grandaddy used to attract. "Hello there, cutie!" She began to giggle, but then sneezed, blowing me several miles into a fallow field. Allergies! By God, I had

the full monty: cats, peanuts, gluten, pollen, to name a few. We were perfectly matched. We compared anti-histamines and shared inhalers. We wheezed together and sneezed together

and shared our epipens with giggly glee. Sheer bliss. We stayed together for a long time, too, until one day we both realized we'd made a rash decision...& went our separate ways.