She stretched out blissfully in her hammock,

She stretched out blissfully in her hammock, the weight of the day not yet landed. The neighbor's dog, on the other hand, snout thrust through the fence, barked incessantly at her.

Rex usually was very friendly with her.Perhaps he smelled the scent of her recent liaison with the mailman? He continued to bark at her through the fence.She got out of the hammock

backwards because she was scared to do it any other way. Without insurance, the potential cost of injury was more than she could handle. Thinking this, she walked toward the dog.

It just sat there, staring at her with its one good eye as she approached. Her instincts were off; she didn’t know what to do, but the decision was made for her when she stumbled

into a giant pile of mud. It tasted like chicken. She wondered why there was a giant pile of mud laying in the middle of the road, on a crowded street in Manhattan?

She also wondered why everything that she had not tasted before, always tasted like "chicken." Is it the brain's default flavor profile when confronted with unknown flavors?

She pondered this again as she took another bite of her moo goo gai pan at The Belching Dragon. What she didn't know, was that nestled among the mushrooms was the chef's

leprous ring finger. He'd been shedding digits regularly since "the incident" last year in southern Guam. "Damn, I KNEW I shoulda gone to Cluck 'n A Bucket!" she cried when she bit

into the deep fried digit. He quickly snapped it from her hands and rushed himself to the emergency room. They were able to reattach it in spite of the crispy coating. Meanwhile,

the dipping sauce was just going to good waste. But Fred would be glad his buddy Carl was sleeping on his couch. Carl fridged the sauce, and Fred came home and enjoyed it later.