Cha cha cha ching! Cha cha cha ching! Ker-ching

Cha cha cha ching! Cha cha cha ching! Ker-ching Ker-ching ker-ching! Oh, cha cha! Oh, cha cha! Ker-ching, ker-ching ker-ching!

we gonna have to resort to minimarket vigilantism?" Bob realized things the situation with the roguish register had become a matter for Capt. 711 Clerk & ducked into the photobooth

nightmare. The photobooth nightmare enacts its horrible, disgusting filth and shame spiral on its victims. Bob thought it would be fun to make wacky faces, but as the flash pulsed

Bob saw that the photo booth was printing pictures of his face being eaten by featherless birds. Worse, the photos weren't stopping. They flooded the booth until Bob was buried,

which saved us quite a bit in paying Bob's final expenses. All we had to do was to put a gravestone on top of the photo booth full of Bob and the photos of his last moments of life

.Mourners filing past the photo exhibit got a firsthand look at the hottie's affections that triggered Bob's coronary, his grimace as Bob's heart attack, closeups of the grimace

. Mourners filing past the photo exhibit got a firsthand look at the hottie's affections that triggered Bob's coronary, closeups of his grimace as he went into cardiac arrest, and

resultant wet spot on the stylish carpet. The widow was in the DJ booth crying angry as she prepped some technorequiem spoonerisms, which had been his favorites. How apt, she thoug

Ht as she played DJ Macbeth's classic, "Out, Damned Spot". The club was suddenly burning down after her cigarette ignited the kerosene lamps, meaning the damned spot disappeared.