I took a GAIT survey and discovered I'm a

I took a GAIT survey and discovered I'm a troll. My trollologist says the first step is admitting I'm a troll. I'm thinking of joining a troll self help group just to

help myself to some stupid tasty bridge-crossing goat meat. There weren't any troll self-help groups in the area, so I formed my own. The first meeting was held under a bridge

down by the river. There were three trolls there all under the auspices of getting help for our goat meat addiction disease. The first goat that crossed the bridge over our self-he

Was a doctor who treated goat meat addiction by offering horsemeat. Mr. Goat was a good cook. Our cats liked horsemeat too, of course. More than that, they meowed for more.

But I digress. Was I talking about doctors, addiction, meat, goats or cats? My ipod had recently played What's New Pussycat, Angie from the Goats Head Soup album, Doctor My Eyes

, Addicted to Love, and the Oscar Meyer Weiner song, so maybe that's where my delerium emerged. Funny how music does that. The Shareef don't like it.

So I had delirium to contend with, which impaired my ability to deal with things, so I wasn't handling it well. I wasn't sure where I was. I wanted to be an Oscar Meyer Weiner. How

the voice of the Jewish mother I never had piped up with "make sure they're kosherr" got there, I might never know. Just another task to fail at. She meant to go in armed & I did.

I died peacefully while on death row. I had been in prison for forty years, costing the state a king's ransom in upkeep. I miss those days. Hell isn't as nice. The food is awful.