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It all started with a thump. Then a ding.

  • It all started with a thump. Then a ding. And a swish. Next a fromp and a womp womp. It was terribly unimaginative but

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  • so was most hip-hop these days. MC Playskool was writing his latest beats on a Fisher Price piano he stole from

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  • his parent's basement. The humidity down there had done a number on the key board, but the sound was greatly improved by

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  • insulation that surrounded the walls. Inadvertently, the anti-mold material in the wall boards somehow caused

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  • the zombies to think twice about coming in. It's a good thing, since zombies love to eat

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  • brains. A recent study shows they prefer mushy ones, often found under Yankees caps. No surprise that most zombies live

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  • in Amherst, disguised as obnoxious Red Sox fans. No one would ever suspect that their fanaticism was a coverup for

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  • aligning with the chanting thugs. Their rant "nothing sweeter than beating Jeeter" was really more than we

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  • could handle, so we added a bass-line: "If it's wetter, it's better." Suddenly, out of nowhere, the chanting thugs broke out into a chorus line, complete with

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  • leg kicks and tutus. It was disturbing, to say the least, but it got our attention. I will never

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  • dance the Swan Lake ever again. What a depressing ending! My dancing days might be over, but I still like to

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  • eat pudding made from the eyelashes of my ex-boyfriends. Who would have thought that

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  • would cross my mind? I was trying not to thing about it, but the voice grew louder and were speaking nonsense, or was it?

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  • Was it the train wreck building beneath the surface that I refused to look at? Was it the past I'd been careening blindly away from for years? Was it her? So special and gone?

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  • Because if it was her then I didn't do a good enough job of trying to get rid of her. I started out irritable, then turned mean. I'd hang up on her when she was mid-sentence, just

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  • after I flushed the toilet. That would stop the calls for a day or so, but she'd always

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  • start texting me, "So, is your colitis better now? :* " I simply had to come up with a better excuse for not seeing her. I know! My marimba! I'll tell her I broke my marimba!

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  • "I'm over the colitis," I said, "but I had a nasty fall & broke my marimba." "Oh?" she said, "I didn't know you played an instrument." Nuts! I thought a marimba was a bone in your

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  • tailbone. That would explain all the pain in my ass when I walk. I said as much to her. "I think that's your coccyx," she replied. I just glared at her and her vast vocabulary.

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  • "That" I calmly explained "is the last thing on your mind". I spun, graceful, driving my exposed coccyx deep into her eyesocket. "Now my dear, THAT is what teen spirit tastes like"

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