"Hot damn boy, you could sell ice to Eskimos!"

"Hot damn boy, you could sell ice to Eskimos!" cackled Grandpa as I handed him the money. Three long weeks I'd spent putting that deal together and now it seemed

like there were less Doritos in each bag. Grandpa and his get rich quick schemes were child's play to me. What I wanted to uncover and bust these snack conspiracies. "Grandpa

What had happened to Yellow #1 through #4? I remembered I was wearing a red shirt. I looked to make sure and yes, I was wearing a red shirt. Was I a Red Shirt then? I thought of my

obsessive hours on TVTropes and realized that if I had become a trope, I was worthless. So I went to IKEA and asked for instructions on do-it-yourself seppuku. But first, a bite of

fresh, cold melon. Ahhhh. That was so good I have decided not to commit seppuku, even though I all ready have the Allen key, which would have probably hurt more. I'll just jump out

of this helicopter without a parachute and see what happens. Whee! ... well, that wasn't very exciting. We hadn't taken off yet. Now what am I supposed to do? Oh, I know! I'll

create the next great American novel. I sat down next to the helicopter and pulled out a rough piece of paper out of my satchel with a flourish. I pulled the cap off my favorite

jockey and berated him, “you know the colours for today and yet you still wore the yellow stripes! You’ve got to let go, Percival! The grey mare is dead. Decapitated by the

High Reeve. You need to vanish! The whole kingdom is after you, and the pervasiveness of your outrageous yellow stripes doesn't do you any favors." scolded the other warrior.