Ironically, it happened on a Thursday.

Ironically, it happened on a Thursday.

Mr. Thursday pulled Mr. Saturday from the burning wreck of the Lincoln Continental. The bank heist was a complete disaster. He called Monday on the phone.

"We need a ride, last Tuesday!" Mr. Monday said he'd do his best to help out Mr. Thursday and Mr. Saturday, but it would cost them. Mr. Thursday ordered a chocolate sundae

but it was accidentally delivered to January's table. "I'll take that!" said August, swooping in a swiping the chocolate sundae. The were momentarily distracted by November who was

but not the higher truths of the Dharma. When March spoke of finding solace in the three jewels, May giggled and descended one level of existence, into

the life of a senator's wife. She stood beside him as he regurgitated the party line. She saw his clenched jaw as he said it. She suffered with him. May was before March again.

Then one day, as she nodded absentmindedly in the background as he gave another useless speech, the senator's wife suddenly tore off her clothes and exclaimed, "I can't take it any

where - this outfit requires specialist dry cleaning!" The senator faltered, his keynote speech on local launderettes clearly unappreciated by his now naked wife. All eyes turned

to her. Capitalizing on her nudity, she mounted a white horse, shook out her flowing blond hair, and rode off. A reporter stepped up: “Would you care to comment, Senator Godiva?"