Farewell Mr. Nimoy. May your katra live on

Farewell Mr. Nimoy. May your katra live on among us and teach us the wisdom we need to survive in a harsh universe, to live long and prosper.

On second thought, we shall mount an expedition into the afterlife to rescue you from the fecundity of death so you can live long and prosper amongst us.

But I looked in the garage and couldn't find the sporks. Our mission to rescue you from Hades' dim realm suddenly looked more risky.

So began our first mission at hand, retrieve the sporks needed to rescue you from Hades. I will not lie, it was a tough and perilous journey, the sporks cost 2.99 each! But I went

to Hell and back for you so you better appreciate it. The worst was Cerberus's breaths. Three times the halitosis. What do you guys feed your Hellhound, sulpher and brimstone?

Whatever. It was gross, okay, but Hell wasn't so bad. It was better than my aunt Velma. Now that was some serious halitosis.

Satan showed up and bought a pack of three. His minions were made of hay bundles and loved flying kites. Never mind the air pollution, they were told. So they played daily at the

power plant, with Satan watching fondly as his minions flew their kites. Most workers at the plant got used to the sight of several hay bundles trundling by with kites. But one

particular n'er-do-well wasn't sittin' pretty with the status quo no more. It was Smitty, all right. Smitty La Rue. God warned Lucifer 'bout Smitty. Now he's pink-slipped forever.