Business was barely limping along at Sappho's

Business was barely limping along at Sappho's Noodle. The once-trendy pasta bar would have to diversify if it was going to weather the times. Gwen and Sarah, the owners, considered

pallets of various cultures instead of just this one. He mused silently, thinking of how to show this restaurant the error of their single-noodle ways. They were culinary Nazis.

Being an anarchist he constructed a pressure cooker bomb filled with soba, dotori guksu, ramen, Spätzle, Thukpa, Mee pok, glass &Bánh canh noodles. When it exploded in the restaur

-ant know one knew, because John Goodman saw the explosive, spicy dish and ate it. John Goodman dabbed his mouth and smirked at the anarchist. "Can I have seconds?"

The anarchist grinned:'About five I think', keeping an eye on his watch. It actually took 7 seconds until John Goodman's head started to turn red, sweat pouring down. Then he explo

ded. Luckily, The anarchist was well out of the way. Many lives were lost, but not his. Not now. Now was the time for someone else to go.

"Now serving, B6. B6 for the guillotine. Is there a B6?" The anarachist hastily crumpled his ticket and mingled in with the crowd. One thing about this coup, it was orderly.

"Would B6 please make themselves known?" The anarchist took off his trainer, pressed gently between the grooves in the rubber sole, and flung

his bingo chip down onto the card. "BINGO!" shouted out the anarchist. It was his guilty pleasure. How could his anarchist friends accept that he liked games, which require rules?