I was born shortly after the Civil War, in a town called Bill. I like spare change, carpet fibers, and pizza. My favorite color is cow spots, and i enjoy orange things. THE END.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was June 2nd, 1923, The night was nauseating, the air was viscid and sultry. I had just landed my plane on the freeway, traffic was a fuss. As I exited my craft I spotted on the road, not one, not two, but three, ugly, dispicable, dirty, spoons. Naturaly after I saw these items I became very sick, and grossed out. I couldn't contain myself, I knew I just had to heave, retch, spit up, throw up, vomit, so I did.
Later that evening I was consuming a deceased, and roasted, young duck alone in my hammock outside of the Seven Elevan on 10th st., past the market. It was quiet, too quiet, and before I knew it I was being bludgeoned from behind by a riled, young man with a hulking pipe, and a wretched underarm stench. I didn't know what to do, then I remembered what my old karate sensei Shomari taught me, so I screamed like a cat in a microwave, apparently the shrilling sound of my girlish voice was to much for him to handle, he scampered off into the East.

THE END.