Mrs Peel's friend from the Royal Society

  • Mrs Peel's friend from the Royal Society examined the strange lump on the victim's back. "Hmm, I'd say Morgellons but the colours of the fibers are wrong, and the sparkly
  • bits are atypical. I recommend 12 mg risperidone daily & visits to the turkish bath." but Mrs. Peel raised her eyebrows & clucked emphatically. Her reputation as home-remedy queen
  • mother had been dismantled by a feature article on the adopted child she'd claimed to have raised. In fact, this child was not from Africa but from a small woodland
  • in the southwest corner of Central Park. Quite nice actually. They'd dined on castoff hotdog buns and squab tartar, which is an acquired taste, to be sure. The fake orphan grew to
  • love his new pet monkey who he affectionally dubbed Marbles. He would laugh as Marbles danced and the two would wrestle in the park. But one day Marbles got a bit to rough and
  • broke the birdbath over his head. Marbles was whisked away to monkey jail for destroying the habitat of the mysomalleefowl, an indigenous germaphobic bird. He shared a bunk with
  • a rather shy lemur, who's ring-tail was long enough to fall to the floor from even the top bunk of the hard, slab-like bed. When Marbles asked her what she was in for, she replied
  • "It's the boredom which gets you mostly, Marbles. I'm a lemur who likes the great outdoors," Marbles touched the slime growing on the prison walls. The cell door clanged and
  • banged open. It was Pat, the ambiguously gay prison guard. He/She pointed at Marbles & growled, "YOU. OUT!" The lemur's eyes filled with tears. "Good-bye, Marbles, & good luck."
  • The lemurs were imprisoned for a reason, and frothing at the mouth, they lunged upon Pat and tore him to shreds. Next stop, late night talk show hosts.


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