The piles of papers resembled the drifts

The piles of papers resembled the drifts of snow that blocked the view outside his tiny basement office. It was *so* cold. He lit the match

to cover the smell a bacon and maple syrup fart

would produce if it were heavy on the bacon, and the syrup was from Canada, probably one of the Northwest Provinces. I sniffed again, to be sure, and

took a too-large swig of the syrup, coughing and knocking the whole shebang onto the floor. The judges gasped in horror. Surely they would not let this transgression pass. Canadian

Mounties came into the courtroom after Mr. Justice made a phonecall, and dragged him down the center aisle with two lassos.

Earlier that week, he'd been on a strict kosher dill pickle and cabbage diet. He regretted this fact now that he was in court, facing a menacing judge and fighting to control his

reminded him more of a sedated rabbit. He knew which way the judge was going to rule from the start - the animal rights people had been protesting outside from the very start - but

he knew the judge failed to realize that they were actually terrorists waiting for the gavel to fall before blowing the entire block sky high. I acted fast and proceeded to

put my hand between the hammer and the lectern. It hurt like the dickens and I think I sprained my thumb. Fortunately, I had workman's comp & health insurance. The terrorists? Uh..