God how he hated Tuesdays, if it wasn't the

God how he hated Tuesdays, if it wasn't the motorcycle gangs, it was the school kids, all clamouring for more
then their share, at the all you can eat pancake bar
,which was a shady operation, so they all went home with food poisoning. They thought that was the worst of it, but
their visits to the toilets had produces strong liquidity #6's on the Bristol Stool Charts and then they desired
more fruit. They were going to move up that chart one way or another. Perhaps they could save housing money if they just moved into a bathroom. Think anyone would rent one?
Later...well, it might as well be a bathroom, except that it lacked a toilet, shower or sink. But it was about the same size. Now their love could blossom unhindered by
rules, regulations, or common sense. She stroked his massive chin, the gray whiskers tickling her fingers. "Sugartits, lemme tell you a story." The candle flickered, casting
an eerie pattern of light across the lusty pair. He began to weave his tale. "I once knew a bloke out of Lancaster that could fry up a mean turkey. This shit was to die for, hon."
Her eyes lit up and she salivated a bit. He described deep-fried snickers and left the bar with an arm on her voluptuous hip and winked at the guys. The skinny chick was dumbstruck
but vowed that never again would she waste her time with low-fat foods, fresh fruit or vegetables. Always remember kids: the cool people eat raw lard and sugar.

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