He trained the blood with my name. Every

He trained the blood with my name. Every Briterise he sang my name to it. The blood was learning me; only me. No other blood knew anybody. They only carried them; they were a conv

ertible firebird, similar to what the Bandit drove, in the movie Smokey and the bandit, but he still hasn't seen the movie yet... "What's a man to do" he implores

Only one thing he could do, pick up an orangutan and drive around in a Mack truck calling for companionship on his CB radio. He was the last of a lost lifestyle.

His kind died out when it was discovered that women weren't all that interested in riding with orangutans in trucks. Eventually the orangutans had to do all of the driving, and the

y evolved dexterous thumbs. It was survival of the fittest(in the job market) and the orangutans were at the top of it all. From truckers to pasty chefs, the skilled workforce of

orangutans dominated labor market. Business owners were very pleased--until the orangutans decided to unionize. They soon formed the Orangutan Federation of Labor,

Where it was impossible to tell which one actually needed maternity leave, and which orangutan actually just wanted time off for booze and bananas.

Big Bob agreed. "Isn't it pathetic when the right hand does not know what the left is doing? ".only six months had passed since the Great Depression set in and already the minions

were growing pale and waifish. Gone were those bright shades of gold and blue, those goofy expressions and crazy stunts. The minions waited in bread lines like anybody else.

All looked hopeless. Then a horse galloped into the clearing & spoke. “Hark, citizens! We're free! We won’t tolerate this!” A citizen spoke. “Hey, get a load of the talking horse!"