Drag The River

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The last time anyone saw Nancy, she was down by the river.
With men. With guns.
“Drag the river,” I said.
Three days later, the divers had found a few cars, some guns, a lot of knives, and a pool table.
But no Nancy.
“Maybe they stuffed her into the pool table?” I asked.
“No,” said a diver. “We checked.”
“How about in the trunk of one of those cars?” I asked.
“No,” said another diver.
Nancy showed up three days later. She’d been on vacation.
I tried to refurbish the pool table, but it was a total loss.
Damn.

Baroque Bach Mountain

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Johann Sebastian Bach was known for his prowess with a pipe organ.
Johann Cristoph Bach was also a master organist.
Pretty much every Bach was an expert with an organ.
Especially Elton Johann Bach, but I think that’s a different kind of organ, okay?
Elton would frequently vanish to the Schwarzwald mountains with a rather dark friend for fishing trips.
He never did catch any fish, but he caught plenty of diseases.
On his final trip, his brothers showed up at the cabin.
They saw everything.
“Why?” they asked.
“Once you go Black Forest,” Elton wheezed, “you never go back.”

Unflappable

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Chef Jean Boudreaux was eager to be a part of the renaissance of New Orleans, and so he decided to open a restaurant in the French Quarter. But surprisingly, he opened a Chinese restaurant.
Precisely because it was such an unexpected choice of cuisine for its location, “Le Vieux Sécret Chinois” was a smashing success.
Another reason for its success: Chef Boudreaux’s legendary sangfroid. Nothing bothered him.
One time, some dumplings caught fire in the kitchen after having been left in the wok too long. Responding to the excited sous-chef’s shouts, Boudreaux was unflappable.
“Laissez les Won-Tons brûler,” he said.

Biggest Fan

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Hundreds of millions of people adore Guitarman’s music, and every one of them claim to be “Guitarman’s Biggest Fan.”
You see, that’s the title track of his number one album: “Guitarman’s Biggest Fan.”
Would they swallow a snake for him? Hell yes.
Would they jump off of cliff for him? Oh, hell yes.
Some of Guitarman’s fans take the title literally and eat themselves into a bodymass competition.
They keep score online, constantly updating their weight.
Wait… Two-Ton Tommy’s gone? Dead?
Heart attack. The funeral’s Sunday.
That puts me in second place, Mom. Second place!
Pass the mashed potatoes.
Please?

Good Humor

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The little white truck rolled slowly through the suburban neighborhood, its arrival heralded by the intermittent jingling of bells.
Excited customers poured from the houses, clutching shiny quarters. They queued up, jostling each other for position. The truck halted; the driver hopped out, looking jaunty in his starched white shirt. The chrome-plated money changer on his belt caught the sun.
Jimmy was first in line. “Gimme a tube of Astro-Glide, please.”
Mary was next. “I’ll take the Warming K-Y.”
The Lubes-On-Wheels driver smiled. Nothing put his customers in a Good Humor quite like the arrival of the Vice Cream Truck.

Dancester

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They called it Dancester – the place to download dances.
Just put in your credit card, sync up your iMind, and you’re ready to dance like the best dancers do.
Of course, not everyone wants to pay for their dances. That’s when the pirated dances started to appear.
The Lords Of The Dance didn’t like their dances getting ripped off, but Dancester couldn’t do anything to stop it.
So a series of pirated dances commanding dancers to slash their throats appeared on pirate sites.
Nobody could prove anything, but the piracy ended quickly.
The Lords danced for joy at the news.

Manny and the Pickle Factory

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Manny had worked at the Pickle Factory since he was a teenager.
As the years passed, he developed a sick obsession. Day after day, a single thought pounded inside his head: He wanted to stick his dick into the pickle slicer.
Too bashful to discuss his obsession with his wife, he sought psychiatric help. But the drugs the headshrinker prescribed were powerful, filling Manny’s head with an unpleasant metallic buzzing. He stopped taking them.
Eventually, Manny yielded to his impulses.
His supervisor caught him in the act. Horrified, he fired Manny on the spot.
He fired the pickle slicer, too.

Sick Sick Sick

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Today is June 6, 2006, which may be variously rendered as 06/06/06 or 666.
Believers in the literal truth of the Book of Revelations are collectively Shitting a Peach Pit, for 666 is the Number of the Beast. Whereas, 36D is the Number of the Breast.
It is the birthday of Auntie Christ…and Uncle Christ will be in a world of pain, for he forgot to buy Auntie a present.
And it’s the area code for Arkham, Massachusetts.
I will observe the day by coloring in my Coloring Book Out Of Space. There’s a lovely picture of Cthulhu in there.

Mime 2

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Andrew Ian Dodge continues the tale of the mime…

Maurice was trapped in a bag on the Thames. Those who had been harassed by the mime would find delicious irony in this fact. Maurice assumed he was heading downstream as he wasn’t overly hot in the bag; his face-paint remained in tact. He tried to move a bit in the bag and was able to move around a tad. He couldn’t sit up at all; he could hear others mumbling to themselves. Occasionally he heard voices speaking in an odd language; one involving lots of gutteral grunts and clicks. He was overwhelmed by the fishy smell. The boat stopped…

Perseids

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Perseus, Kentucky was the place to go to watch the Perseid Meteor shower.
In early August, Perseus bans all outdoor lighting to make meteor-viewing easier, but some years the full moon ruins the view.
The city council came up with a plan: launch a rocket during the new moon and shoot artificial comet dust to burn up in the atmosphere for a spectacular show.
It worked brilliantly.
Pretty soon, every community wanted their own meteor shower, more brilliant than the first.
Leave it to those crazy rich Saudis to go overboard.
Allah’s will, they whined.
Who needs an atmosphere, anyway?