I used to see people on the streets fingering

I used to see people on the streets fingering their belly button. I tried it, but i got my finger stuck.

I was rushed to the emergency room. Already 3 of my fingers were stuck in my belly button. They wheeled me into the OR. I overheard the nurse "4th case of Black Hole this week."

The surgeon, Dr. Navel, was finally able to fix my fingers. Once they were pulled out, however, they were covered in squishy grey fuzz which stayed with me forever.

Oh how I loved that fuz. We would prance through the meadows together and walk hand in hand down cherry blossom orchards. We would always love each other. We will never part. Ever

& ever & ever after happily - that's us. We were all fuzzed up. Then the cold winds of winter started to blow that fuz away. We'd stare at the dishwater draining down the sink and

dare each other to drink the water. But that was then, before we knew about the sort of deals one makes to get out of doing real work. Now Fozzy Bear and I live in a motel.

A flea infested hell hole that was as cheap as the day was bright. Literally so as the going rate for a room there was determined by the wavelength frequency of ambient light in a

Bee hive where the workers outnumbered the queens by a margin of 15 to 1. The Sea Pilot was run by a family of sea monkeys. They kept a spa in a top secret location. I went there.

Derwood Kirby was sitting in a hot tub, beckoning to me. I pretended that I couldn't get my towel unwrapped and fled to the Ladies Room. Derwood lept out of the tub and was hot on

me like sriracha on fried noodles...naked. He ran into the ladies room, and I swung open the stall door and hit him in the noodle. Out cold. Then I went home with Allen Funt...