Soap floated in the blood.

Soap floated in the blood.

Mrs. Dowd did a double-take on the science fair title. Jimmy was a peculiar boy. "Where did you get the blood?" Jimmy mumbled, "Store." "Have you tried other ways to float soap?"

Jimmy looked at Mrs. Dowd. "What do you mean by 'float soap?' Mrs. Dowd's face flushed. "Well Jimmy, you take it out of the package and put it in." Jimmy felt tingly all over

and more than a little dirty. "I suppose I could use some of that soap, after all," he said, and held his hand out to Mrs. Dowd. "As long as it doesn't mean

we're married or anything." He chuckled nervously, and eyed Mrs. Dowd's expression. "Er, not that I wouldn't mind being married to you. That is, um... can I just use the soap?"

But the scene quickly shifted from "Dial for Men" to "Dial M for Murder." Mrs. Dowd liked her victims to be squeaky clean for remembrance's sake. After the gun smoke dissipated,

the handiwork over her husband, Mr. Dowd. "Let's see that copper-bottom Mary Poppins bitch perform a colonoscopy like THAT!" As she smugged proud, the children & nanny were slack-

blabbered with incompressible gibberish in a veritable waterfall of verbal diarrhea that cascaded over the precipice of reason into the land of character hemorrhoids that drink

of the waters of creativity and passion." And with that magnificent master stroke of randomness, I took a bow and stepped down from the stage. I love Open Mic nights. :)