"Funky!" screamed Bootsy Collins, sweat spraying

"Funky!" screamed Bootsy Collins, sweat spraying from his

left shin. It had been a hard day on the track and he was ready to call it today. Quite suddenly, a large mountain rose up in front of him, covered in edible sea urchins. "What is

happening here?" he mused to himself. Unfortunately, he was not such a fan of sea urchins, preferring chicken to any kind of crustacean. A burning in his thighs

meant the sea urchins were ready to eat. Ever since he'd gotten slow cooker capabilities installed in his thighs, his cooking had improved dramatically.

But finding pants into which his slow-cooker thighs would fit was problematic. He was eventually able to locate some jodhpurs that did the trick. But by now the urchins were famish

ed by their lack of fame. They'd expected their arrival would be met with Urchinmania. They had expected giant billboards announcing their arrival and hordes of fans blocking the

Toiletry shop across the street. But Alas, noone came and the had a clear look at the plungers and toilets across the road. "If only we could get a song on the radio" said Brad. "T

o think that no one would even take a chance to understand how pristine the toiletries was such a shame"

A mess resembling a Jackson Pollock. I stood back, amazed at my own invention. Later I won second prize in a local art competition and was rejected outright by the Readers Digest