Once upon a time there was a little boy named

Once upon a time there was a little boy named Johnny.

Johnny was named after his younger brother, Johnny.

The one who was aborted. He saw when the fetus came out of his mom's fat snizz. Its head looked more formed and had skin pigmentation. The rest was red and blotchy with a wonky eye

like the cashier down at Walgreens. That cashier had always given him trouble. Always short changing him, asking for ID when he tried to buy snuff. But he got his revenge

one day when he came in for his refill on his hemorrhoid prescription. "Do you have any questions?" the cashier asked, avoiding eye contact. "As a matter of fact, I do," I said.

"Now, when I rub the cream on, is that supposed to be followed by a real sharp stinging sensation akin to being attacked by a vinegar-soaked porcupine? Because

if not, I want to complain." "Are you using the applicator provided?" asked the nurse. "No," he replied, "the dog ate it. I'm using an old wire brush I dug up in the garden.

Sure it's rusty. Sure it looks like it'd been buried in the dirt a long time. Sure it scratches the skin when I use it, but that doesn't mean my wire brush is useless, said the doc

tor. However, he looked a bit spooky - wearing his white-a-long-time-ago robe. Was that a stain of blood on his shoulder? Indeed it was. Was it fresh? Well, it certainly looked so.

"Don't look at me like a psycho burmese stalker. Its ketchup, little misshap with the heinz bottle. Should stop having midnight snacks. Causes nightmares." She didn't sleep a wink.