Sylvia at last drifted in, maneuvering as

ambo Number 5 song that drives everything that can detect sound vibration crazy. Sylvia and Hemingway covered their ears. Kurt had ear plugs in. He gave me the high sign.

I gave him the low sign. At this point, all we had to work with was a flashlight, two bags of ranch flavored Doritos, and a broken Camaro with a self-aware stereo system. Kurt ga

gged when "Free Bird" blared from the Camaro's speakers. "I hate Lynyrd Skinner," Kurt said & smashed the flashlight into pieces on the dash. All we had left now were the Doritos.

I said "Hey Kurt, lemme get a few Doritos". I heard a crinkle and he said "What Doritos? We musta forgot 'em." I looked at his orange-crusted fingers and leapt for his throat.

Doritos spilled out the front of Kurt's shirt and some got stuck between buttons. "I knew it! Trying to hide these from me, all this time. What kind of friend are you anyway?"

Suddenly his head began to spasm. The virus was no longer contained and his friend was losing consciousness. "Quick Mum, call an ambulance!" The smell of doritoes wafted through

the TV room. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and backed away from his convulsing friend, whose eyes exploded. They said on the news that the virus smelled like Doritos. He ran

the eyeball residue through the electrochromatograph. This virus smelt like Doritos because it WAS mutated Doritos cheese dust. Viral Doritos spread... like a virus. Symptoms were

tricky to spot. Since the only related virus known was Cheetosvirosis, scientists hypothesized that victims would turn dangerously cheesy. Various comedians have been hospitalized.