Chicken pen buyin' a Monkey's cousin eggs

Chicken pen buyin' a Monkey's cousin eggs at your local market ya should always goose's Gregory Peck ter clock if any 're cracked. Wahn day I forgot ter goose's Gregory Peck me egg

... I sighed. Teaching improv at The Actor's Studio had grown tedious. I was sick & tired of the gibberish, the egos, the deceptive flippancy. I wanted to sell hotdogs instead.

My mastery of improv meant that I could declaim "Do you want fries with that?" with such depth, such conviction that my hotdog stand drew audiences of several dozen each evening

until I found myself in a steam room with Ray Croc. There we were, two giants in the fast food game, steaming. We nodded to each other in mutual respect, and then I let him

show me his quarter pounder. In turn, I unwrapped my soft taco. It was a spicy lunch and we washed it down with an ice-cold moral turpitude. Fully sated, Ray and I

Were at the Wildburger hole in the wall and enjoyed the scenery. It was the end of daylight savings time. Ray and I knew it saved nothing. It was from the golden age of agriculture

Because Ray hadn't set his clock forward, he missed his train, had to drive, got stuck in traffic, was late for work & had to stay later. If only he had set his clock he wouldn't

have had to stay late for work. But because Ray got stuck working late, he was there when the burglars broke into his workplace after-hours. Ray panicked, and hid behind his desk.

The Unexpected Short Ending.