Yes, It was my treachery that sank the ship.
I was paid by the enemy to scuttle it during the night watch.
However, as I swam towards the rowboat that was waiting to pick me up, I was entangled in the anchor chain and dragged to the bottom of the ocean.
Straight to Hell.
The anchor chained to my leg feels like it gets heavier every century I drag it, but I know that it’s my mind playing tricks on me.
Or is it my soul playing tricks on me?
I regret nothing.
Well, except getting tangled in this anchor.
As unfortunate as Helen A. Handbasket’s name was, one should not mourn her present circumstances.
Six happy but brief marriages, each to men more successful and wealthy than the last, have left her rich in memories and assets. Not many can say they have been first lady twice, you know.
So when people in this town say they’re going to Helen A. Handbasket, it is either to pay their respects or to beg of her a favor that only her great wealth and connections can provide.
Every community should have one like her.
But only one, to avoid nasty rivalries.
The 101st Clown Brigade may be the laughingstock of our armed forces, but this doesn’t bother them.
Every division has its Special Comedy Operations component, from the sappers disarming dangerous banana peels to cream pie chefs in the mess hall.
Some say that the Pentagon is full of them.
The most important aspect of the 101st by far is the team of rapid-deployment medical specialists.
After all, isn’t laughter the best medicine?
If you thought that a dozen heavily-armed Marines popping out of an APC was an impressive sight, try a few hundred of the 101st coming out of one.
Crosseyed Joe’s work was done. Black Bart and his gang of cattle rustlers were dead.
So was the sheriff.
And the barber.
For that matter, everyone else with the bad luck to be in the Last Chance Saloon this afternoon with Joe firing wildly.
Joe tipped his hat and rode off into the sunset, despite the horse’s protests. He spurred the horse harder and harder until the thing just gave up and ran for all it was worth.
That was yesterday.
This morning, vultures are circling over the canyon.
So much for Crosseyed Joe.
I feel bad for his horse.
Master Kwan sat in front of the student, poured the pitcher into his glass, and stopped.
“Is the glass half-empty or half-full, Stinkbug?” asked the teacher.
The student scratched his recently-shaved scalp. “It is full, Master,” he said.
“With what?” asked the teacher.
“It is half-full with water,” said the student. “And half full of air. Half plus half is whole.”
“Drink,” commanded the teacher. “Fill the glass with air.”
The student drank. “Delicious,” he said, smiling.
“It is not water, Stinkbug,” said the teacher. “It is poison.”
“Then it is a delicious poison,” said the student, and he died.
Want to know what’s more fun that a barrel full of monkeys? Watching the idiot trying to put them in there.
Okay, so you put a monkey in the barrel, close the lid, and grab another monkey. Sure enough, the monkey you got in there will escape the moment that lid comes off.
Frank has an easy solution to this: He kills the monkeys.
Sure, you could tranquilize them, but Frank really hates monkeys. And he really likes killing them.
By the time he fills up the barrel, well, he’s had about as much fun as he could possibly have.