It was a dark and stormy night as I pondered weak and weary I heard a knocking on my wooden

leg. Oh god it was the wooden leg mafia here to collect on the money I owed them. Quickly I

jumped from the hot air balloon and fell twenty three stories onto a wiener cart that just happened

to not be a wiener cart at all but the anti lingo police. They brought the pain of hearing Celine

Dion to my face as they cranked their CD players louder. With nowhere left to turn I hid in Miss

Cleo's recently grown afro where I met Maya Angelou. She told me I know why the caged bird

sings and its because Miss Cleo's hair spray smells like a horse's ass. Nevertheless I was safe for

now and I spent my time idly chatting with the poet that everyone seemed to love. I asked her

why this was and she said because anyone with a good enough rape story can find love anywhere.

I took this advice with me as I fired a grappling hook and caught the edge of the nearby sears

tower which was in the middle of a terrorist attack by three twinkies and a white guy. I was

mistaken for the white guy and the real perp got away. I had to spend twenty three minutes in a

squad car...well not really a squad car more like...a hippy van. Anyway, they finally let me go

once they realized I wasn't part of a government conspiracy to eat the lindbergh baby who was

chillin with them and lighting up a fatty as we sat. He shit his pants though and it was all Amelia

Earheardt's problem cause I can't spell her fucking name right. Anyway she took him into

custody on the grounds that he was too old to be shitting himself all over the place and I was free

to leave. I quickly found the FBI agents responsible for the demise of my beloved honky tonk

radio station "KYJ" kickin yodeler jamz 101. They put up a decent fight but in the end sheer

randomness won as I told them their wives said they needed to stand in the middle of the New

York City traffic and chant that they were koalas in the disguise of wendy's burgers that showed

them who the ayotola of rock n rolla was and it wasn't fozzy it was anyone but fozzy except for

fall out boy who can suck my nutz because my dumbass sister was singing their shitty ass songs

all car trip to new york. Then I watched a lot of bonus stage and tried to fall asleep but I didn't have any seraquel and

thats how I came to be writing this story at 4 o'clock in the morning. Insomnia is a problem for

me but so is touching my toes I don't know why I'd ever need to do that I mean most skinny

people can but not me thats why I think I'm secretly a big fat guy in disguise just like the koalas

and thats why we don't talk about fight club. You understand now? Good. See you next week.