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
. 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,
"There are traces of nitrous oxide in this strawberry pie."
But of course that didn't worry the waiter. Suddenly a blowfish
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
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
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.
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
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
, 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.

Started: 2011-05-27 15:01:04
Finished: 2012-01-08 18:29:38

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