The 13 Helgas churned in anger, filling Osh

The 13 Helgas churned in anger, filling Osh Kosh with sounds that were whey too loud. See, they hated margarine. Corn oil is for wimps, they'd mutter. Real men like saturated

potassium cyanide in their meals. Ahhh, there's nothin' like a good ol' lethal asphyxiant to save a guy from his wife's constant nagging or from her incessant complaints about

the almond taste in her cereal. "This is Frosted Flakes!" my wife said, "WHY does it taste like ALMO--" she began gagging. I'll never forget what she told me as she died: "

We're never going to survive," and then right as death was upon her, she croaked, "Unless we go a little bit crazy." And that is why I have never gone totally crazy, just a little

bit crazy. I learned this when I was a roadie for Prince and the Revolution during the Paisly Park era. I'd mostly hang with Sheila E. and gossip about

which girl band Prince would "produce" next. Prince could take a piss near a microphone and make a hit, so having Vanity Six, Appelonia Six, or the Bangles ready with lipgloss

he chose to "produce" the Sioux Fall Warblers, a barbershop quartet from South Dakota. Prince knew he was breaking convention but that was the kind of dude he was. The harmonics

provided in part by THE Skeezy Ba'Furmp of Cattleprod, WA were off the chain! The number of headbanging teens that showed up to the soda shop was surreal. Prince, pleased with his

performance, retired to his ramshackle trailer in the alleyway behind the club. "Only 35 more shows and then I'll be free of this disgusting toad and his thugs." Then he smelled

bitter almond. "Crap! They must have figured out my plans" and collapsed in a heap. The trailer remained silent.