She told me her name was Luca and that she

She told me her name was Luca and that she lived on the second floor. Her story was so heartbreaking that I knew it could make me rich some how. So I stole it and put it in

a glass bottle and threw it in the ocean. In retrospect, my plan was fatally flawed but it seemed like a good idea at the time. When I heard the lyrics I stole fair & square on the

men's room wall at the Chuck E. Cheese's where I worked, I knew I had to learn to sing like the animatronics. But I'm a talentless fuck in a rat costume in a pool of his own vomit

wishing I could be in a pool of something else, like gold or jelly beans. Then it hit him like a ton of rhetoric. The solution to his occupational woes was being

posted through his door on a leaflet every Wednesday. He could sell Encylopaedias door to door and make his fortune. He set off for the Encylopaedia mine straightaway and

was disappointed to find the gate shut and secured with an ancient, rusty padlock and chain. "No use for 'em any more" rasped a dyspeptic passer-by, spitting into the gutter

the floor and bared his teeth, hissing at an unnatural, unearthly pitch. The old man never had any intention of helping me get through the gate. All this time he had been

biding his time, waiting for the right moment to suck the blood right outta me. Well, old man, I've got a little surprise of my own! I let him nuzzle my neck momentarily, but THEN

I reached into my pants, yanked out a polaroid photo of a bald beaver, and while he nearly died laughing, I shoved a silver cross into his heart. That was a close one!