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The insane pastry chef slapped his bow-legged

  • The insane pastry chef slapped his bow-legged assistant. "What took you so long?" He grabbed the apple-fritter and set inside the Beast's chest. It was a doughnut Frankenstein

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  • . He reached down with his finger and pushed the pastry monster's doughy belly. It let out a high pitched squeal. "IT'S ALIVE!" the chef screamed. "They LAUGHED when I said,

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  • "There are traces of nitrous oxide in this strawberry pie."

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  • But of course that didn't worry the waiter. Suddenly a blowfish

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  • leapt out of the fish tank, and a man on table 5 said, "I'll have that fish!" "Certainly, sir," said the waiter, grabbing the blowfish and taking it back to the kitchens where

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  • they stuffed the fish with onion, garlic, tripe, bread and a touch of black pepper. 20 min in the oven and voilá, Blowfish A La Normandie. They forgot to take the poison out howeve

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  • and since they didn't have the antidote, Howeve died. She was not forgotten, though. Her family built the "Howeve Memorial Blowfish Hatchery" that you now find yourself trapped in.

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  • Poor Howeve. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pain and loss for her. I remembered our brief affair on the beach that chilly night. When the crab crawled up her dress and

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  • well... I don't want to get into the nitty gritty. Let's just say she had a particularly severe case of "crabs". In the emergency room I met a charming Gynacologist named Dr. Ruth

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  • , an old lady who didn't seem to realize the sepulchre was stretching just a tad too far. I mean, just because I would poke around in a place didn't mean I wanted to see it.

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