As I lay dying on the road to Costco, I was

As I lay dying on the road to Costco, I was passed by dozens of pilgrims, the holy, the walking ascended, in the world but not of it, their faces lit by their uplifted palms, resi

n-stained Cheetos-orange fingers protruding like tens of points of bright light in the night's approach. I refused to die. By will alone I raised up, grasped a pilgrim and asked

if he forgot his pop-gun. He claimed to not know what I was talking about, but that the bag of Cheetos was his. "Hand it over and nobody gets hurt." "Easy there, Pilgrim."

But the Chinese fellow, who had long hair & a sling pack, made weird hand motions and changed his stance. Next I knew I was on the ground. "Never take Cheetos from a Shaolin priest

. Especially when he's wearing a fanny pack." You learn something new every day. It took awhile, but finally I worked what the Shaolin priest's hand gestures meant.

The priest faked an eye poke, slapped his cheeks and then pulled them apart and said "Nyuk nyuk nyuk." The Shaolin priest was a three stooges fan! He responded to the priest by

mocking his Curly. "I've seen better Curlys in my grandmothers bed pan," he said but in a very think Prussian accent not seen since 20 minutes ago when that other guy used it.

"Son of a bitch!" stammered Larry. There was a stomach-turning moment as Moe and Curly stood there, stunned. The universe felt like it had imploded. "You knuckle-head..." said Moe.

He gave him the porverbial noogy. Then with a swat on the butt and a "Nuck, nuck, woobity, woobit," the stooges exited stage left where three hot mamas were waiting.