"That makes no fucking sense, it can't be

"That makes no fucking sense, it can't be both." I muttered to Howie from across the desk space, "I can tell already A Tale of Two Cities is going to suck brass ones."

"That may be," Howie replied, "But I have a question for you: deal or no deal?" I froze. I'd always made fun of the idiots on this show, but it's actually very difficult to choose

an answer. Screw it, I thought, this would be enough money for my one way trip to Bermuda. "Deal" I replied, accepting my prize money and

bringing shame upon my family for generations to come. Even a sackless eunuch would have pushed their luck just a bit. Still, I felt righteously indignant on my way to Bermuda

Bill's, the cheesy restaurant up the road. I sat down and ordered some fruity drink with a little umbrella in it. How could they do this to me? How could they let that fat

evil waste of space ruin my life so completely? Contemplating my next move, I notice a fly land on my pancake. I ready my knife for a quick strike, but

the fly had a gun! The bullet lodged in my chest and I collapsed onto the linoleum. I reached out shakily, only hearing screams. The fly pressed the gun against my skull. Only an

ounce of my piss remained after venting my urine reserves into the delicate crotch fabric of my Armani suit. He put his one free palm over my chin, his fingernails in my very gums.

"Here, take mine," he muttered, moving his mouth uncomfortable close to mine. His breath smelled like a cat's steaming insides, and staring into my eyes, he began to disrobe. Ugh.