I miss her cigarette stained teeth, her stringy,

I miss her cigarette stained teeth, her stringy, dirty hair. I don't care she smells like Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup or she has a unibrow. Ivanka Spanka and I are in love.

But sadly I shall never have the pleasure of meeting Ivanka for she lives over the hills and far away. Unless

she decides to rent the tenement next door, in which case we would be neighbors and probably sit on the stoop and talk all night. She seems like the kind of person who would

truncate another's Folding Line in some sort of truncating motion not unlike the finger across the throat gesture you just now imagined but not that used nor subject to copyright.

But now you've run out of ideas for a good story, or even a good follow up line, which is worrying, because there is still space needed to be filled with words words words

that's how we all came to be: nothing, then something. Every animal on earth has a face, after all. And many have five digits. I am humbled by yeast. There, but for the grace of

God, the baker's bread would not rise. All the work the baker puts into grinding the wheat and kneading the dough would be worthless if not for the magical ingredient.

He turned quickly to the cupboard and took out a small bottle, running back to the oven. "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition" he whispered, tipping the bottle over the bread.

No one could have imagined what happened next: the most wonderful thing! By magic or miracle,no one could ever say,but the bread multiplied x infinity & world hunger ended forever.