...in bed!" We laughed at the joke we had

...in bed!" We laughed at the joke we had made of the fortune cookie. Little did we know, the accurate prediction of that slip of paper would haunt us for the rest of our lives.

The next morning, Laura stuck the fortune in my cereal bowl to remind me that "This is the day you will meet your Maker" and we laughed over it again. I promised I'd be careful and

munched down the hazardous cereal. It wasn't cereal...it was the milk. I'm lactose intolerant. Laura came to my funeral and put on a great act at being sad. She cried for days and

started sleeping w/Mr Jacobs. That bitch, she KNEW i had a crush on him since 10th grade Bio. Being dead, but being able to see everyone was kind of cool. Laura was also wearing my

hot-buttered-popcorn flavored edible panties to her big date with Mr Jacobs but the joke was on her because during my time as a ghost I'd discovered that

a warmed bratwurst from her lady-parts. She slipped it in before dinner to give more of a beefy-odor rather than tuna-odor, and to stretch herself later to better receive him.

Little did she know her roast beef curtains would never be the same again! You see they enveloped the meaty sasuage in a way only a woman would

-n't, by holding the uncooked greasy thing in their arm pits. This gave them a strange gaminess that really spoke to their Irish Setter. He understood it. He wanted to bury them

like Kruschev buried the U.S. Like the Irish buried potatoes. Like television buries their programming under advertisements. Like we didn't when my grandma died. Like all endings.