Shorty wasn't usually good for much other

Shorty wasn't usually good for much other than odds at the track or a pull off a flask. But Shorty wasn't coming from the track, he was coming from Guantanamo. And he'd brought

back local Cuban horse tranquilizers that would make Shortys bets at the horse tracks even better! "STUPID TRADE EMBARGO! Gee-golly this is going to make me rich!"

Well, that's what Tom Arnold had worked up. His one man show. He'd been up all night on it. He drank 84 Rockstars, but no coke. Roseanne was unimpressed, she lit a cigarette

and blew the smoke lazily back at him. "Tom," she said, "You are such a pathetic excuse for a comedian." Roseanne could be a stone cold bitch sometimes but he knew she

was warm on the inside. Just never towards him. Tom sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks." He kissed her lips and left. It was time to meet his mistress at the

to track down his now ex-wife and break the news. It would be hard on her but he was counting on that. He'd always hated her and had started the affair just to hurt her and

OH BOY, & now look how the tables have turned. She & his ex-wife?! "We never meant to hurt you," they said, not convincingly. He walked away from his entire life at that moment.

Joining the French Foreign Legion, he hoped to forget about the women in his life. His ex-wife and mistress would send him postcards from Fuji. Regrettably, his first mission was

to conquer the Amazon tribes, who refused to let him pass his mission without first answering the average annual rainfall of the Amazon basin. They knew the answer--did he?