Unlike the rest of the Royals, The Duke of Mervin’s Gate was a down-to-earth kinda guy.
Some called him Duke, others called him Merv. He was cool with either.
His family wasn’t.
So, he bummed around in the kitchen, watching chefs prepare meals and feasts.
He asked if he could help, and after a few weeks of learning, he had his own toque and knives.
Pretty soon, all the meals were prepared by him. And they were delicious.
And laced with a slow-acting poison.
Oh, the tragedy.
Some called him King, others called him Merv. He was cool with either.
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Long ago a friend of mine mentioned she’d had an erotic dream about Rush Limbaugh. Oh man, gross, was my thought. Rush Limbaugh! Are you freaking crazy I thought to myself. Why that’d be like having a dream about Merv Griffin for God sake. Or…. Oh stop it mind. Quit thinking about terrible scenarios to this dream thing. And the names. “Oh Rush my love….” “Mervvvvv, you really are a studly stud.” Just the thought of it drives me to the fiscal cliff. lol And let’s not start thinking of old politicians! I smack my head and read a book.
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