The bird fluttered onto my window sill and

The bird fluttered onto my window sill and pecked away at my will to live. Each knock on the window pane was a reminder of the tequila I'd hoped to forget, but she was there, so

this milk maid had to hit the cheese. Or was it "Cut the cheese?" The hang over was interfering with the cliche part of his brain. That's alright, all enchiladas under the bridge

were good at distracting the bridge troll while he sneaked across to escape Oakland. It wasn't often you could get by without having to pay toll to the troll. But this time, TexMex

the bridge troll would have to troll for young trade bucks on his own time, not while he served as a toll collector for BART.

Truth be told, a respectable troll will waive the toll entirely if the traveler allows the troll to finger his or her

ear hole to recover the wax. Often leaving people walking in circles, straight into the

jaws of Quetzlcoatl. The gods must be appeased after all, and after red-heads their favorite sacrifice was ear wax. Why? The gods of old weren't telling and I was fresh out of red

herrings, but I had plenty of Gingers on hand. They had followed me gleefully like some pied piper to Guatemala and now I saw it as my duty to sacrifice them to Quetzlcoatl.

As the herd of gingers reached the Aztec ruins in the jungle, the feather serpent god appeared and danced a jig to celebrate my offering. I was elated as he took their hair and

combed it in elegant sweeps of joy-infused lust. The blood-letting would be swift, and those gingers would feel nothing. I, on the other hand, felt confused. Was this the end?