Times up.... here's a fresh start. (Taken from Mr. Monk, Camp Counselor)

Remember, one or two small changes. It's more fun when everyone gets a chance.


“Yeah!” he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in stunned, frozen silence.

“Randy,” Natalie began, “That was so…original.” And she began applauding. Soon the rest of the group were applauding also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep bow.

“Okay, who’s ready for a snipe hunt?” he asked. “Choose your partners!”

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. “A snipe hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here,” he said, handing Stottlemeyer a flashlight.

“What’s this for?”

“High beams. If someone’s having too much fun, aim right between the eyes.”

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive ‘snipe.’ AnnaMarie happily was holding a bag.

“Yeah, right,” said Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and strutted into the woods.

"Yeah!" he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in stunned, frozen silence.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began crying. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep bow.

"Okay, who's ready for a snipe hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A snipe hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a flashlight.

"What's this for?"

"High beams. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the eyes."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive 'snipe.' AnnaMarie happily was holding a bag.

"Yeah, right," said Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and strutted into the woods.


[/quote]

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in stunned, frozen silence.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began crying. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep bow.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a flashlight.

"What's this for?"

"High beams. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the eyes."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive 'THE MONK.' AnnaMarie happily was holding a bag.

"Yeah, right," said Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and strutted into the woods

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in stunned, frozen silence.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began crying. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep bow.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a flashlight.

"What's this for?"

"High beams. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the eyes."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive 'THE MONK.' AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"Yeah, right," said Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in stunned, frozen silence.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began crying. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep bow.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a flashlight.

"What's this for?"

"High beams. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the eyes."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive 'THE MONK.' AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in stunned, frozen silence.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began crying. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep bow.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a flashlight.

"What's this for?"

"High beams. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive 'THE MONK.' AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in stunned, frozen silence.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep bow.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an egg McMuffin.

"What's this for?"

"High beams. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive 'THE MONK.' AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep bow.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an egg McMuffin.

"What's this for?"

"High beams. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive 'THE MONK.' AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a guitar flourish.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an egg McMuffin.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for the illusive 'THE MONK.' AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods. [size="2"][/size]

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your partners!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the arm. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an egg McMuffin.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition. If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream.

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the knee. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an egg McMuffin.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS"he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" hunt?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the knee. "A monk hunt? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an egg McMuffin.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the knee. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an egg McMuffin.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" pizza pie?" he asked. "Choose your toppings!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk pizza pie? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my meaning, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a hershey chocolate sunday ?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and jumped like a cat into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the knee. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer an egg McMuffin.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods. [Monkfan45, I skipped yours because you're changing way too much, and taking out some of the fun things that others have put in -- one or two SMALL changes next time --OK? ]

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were crying also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars."

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into boy-girl couples. The younger children, of course, were contented looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to let them have fun, only not too much fun, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into hilarious laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their age, were consciously looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the junior counselors breaking up into hilarious laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their age, were consciously looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their age, were consciously looking into the bushes, shrubs and trees for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a deep lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were consciously looking into the bushes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and catwalked into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Randy," Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding in the bushes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!" Natalie began, "That was so…tasteless." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO also.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Ammunition." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding in the toes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.

"I AM THE EGGMAN, WE ARE THE EGGMAN, I AM THE WALRUS" he shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!" Natalie began, "That was so…nonsense!." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO in chorus.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Stretching out." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding in the toes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.
[/quote]

"You'll thank me later!!! You'll thank me later" Monk shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!" Natalie began, "That was so…nonsense!." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO in chorus.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Stretching out." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding in the toes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.

"You'll thank me later!!! You'll thank me later" Monk shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!" Natalie began, "That was so…nonsense!." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO in chorus.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream, unaware of its hallucinogenic properties.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the chin. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Stretching out." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding in the toes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.

"You'll thank me later!!! You'll thank me later" Monk shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!" Natalie began, "That was so…nonsense!." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO in chorus.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream, unaware of its hallucinogenic properties.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE MONK" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the ear. "A monk dance? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Randy Disher Project´s swinging classes leaflet, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Stretching out." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding in the toes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for chocolate Easter bunnies. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.
[/quote]

"You'll thank me later!!! You'll thank me later" Monk shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!" Natalie began, "That was so…nonsense!." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO in chorus.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream, unaware of its hallucinogenic properties.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE CHARLES MANSON" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the ear. "A CHARLES MANSON DANCE? Randy, are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Randy Disher Project´s swinging classes leaflet, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Stretching out." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding in the toes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for toenails. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.

"You'll thank me later!!! You'll thank me later" Monk shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!" Natalie began, "That was so…nonsense!." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO in chorus.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream, unaware of its hallucinogenic properties.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE CHARLES MANSON" dance?" he asked. "Choose your pickles!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the ear. "A CHARLES MANSON DANCE? Randy, are you sure you want to lead?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Randy Disher Project´s swinging classes leaflet, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a can of mountain dew.

"What's this for?"

"Stretching out." If someone's having too much fun, aim right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding in the toes, shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for toenails. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.

"You'll thank me later!!! You'll thank me later" Monk shouted, finishing up with a tootsie roll pop.

The campers and the staff sat in soft, frozen ice cream, wondering how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds!" Natalie began, "That was so…nonsense!." And she began meowing. Soon the rest of the group were GOO-GOO-G´JOOB GOO-GOO in chorus.

Randy, unfazed by the response, took a quick lick on the ice cream, unaware of its hallucinogenic properties.

"Okay, who's ready for "THE CHARLES MANSON" dance?" he asked. "Choose your ranch hand!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed Disher by the ear. "A CHARLES MANSON DANCE? Randy, are you sure you want to lead?"

"Oh, it'll be fine. The key is to sway your hips, only not too much sway, if you get my Randy Disher Project´s swinging classes leaflet, sir. Here," he said, handing Stottlemeyer a bag of popcorn.

"What's this for?"

"Stretching out." If someone's having too much fun, pop them right between the particulars"

Stottlemeyer looked up to see several of the older campers and even more of the senior citizens breaking up into incontinent laughter. The younger children, by virtue of their hairstyle, were self-consciously hiding their toes, searching through shrubs, trees, and the camp store pretending to look for toenails. AnnaMarie happily was holding a taser waiting for the signal to use it.

"What would you doooooo for a Klondike Bar?" asked Stottlemeyer, as he turned, rolled his eyes and danced into the woods.

*************************************************************************
Can we start a new one? Someone, anyone? Please?

Your request was heard. Can we use a portion of the preview to "Goes to Germany?"


It was a beautiful Monday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn’t in a cable car. I was in a Buick Lucerne that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad’s largesse. He’d actually bought the Buick for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who’d turned it down because she didn’t want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she’d never be able to pick her car out from the others in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won’t let me drive within a one-mile radius of her school for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Tiger Woods drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it’s only to haul his clubs around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Buick. My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk’s apartment and saw the black-and-white police car parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of adrenaline into my bloodstream and made my heart race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I’d met Monk, I’d visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was a corpse.

This wasn’t good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid that one of them had finally come after him.

I double-parked behind the cop car, jumped over the yellow tape like a track star, and ran into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed officers stood in the entry hall, their backs to me, blocking my way.

It was a beautiful Monday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Buick Lucerne that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Buick for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from the others in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of her school for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Tiger Woods drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his clubs around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Buick. My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the black-and-white police car parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of adrenaline into my bloodstream and made my heart race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was a corpse.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid that one of them had finally come after him.

I double-parked behind the cop car, jumped over the yellow tape like a track star, and ran into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed officers stood in the entry hall, their backs to me, blocking my way.

It was a beautiful Monday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from the others in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of her school for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Tiger Woods drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his clubs around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the black-and-white police car parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of adrenaline into my bloodstream and made my heart race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was a corpse.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid that one of them had finally come after him.

I double-parked behind the cop car, jumped over the yellow tape like a track star, and ran into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed officers stood in the entry hall, their backs to me, blocking my way.

It was a beautiful Monday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from the others in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of her school for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Tiger Woods drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his clubs around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the black-and-white police car parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of adrenaline into my ice cream sandwhich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzorella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid that one of them had finally come after him.

I double-parked behind the cop car, jumped over the yellow tape like a track star, and ran into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed officers stood in the entry hall, their backs to me, blocking my way.

It was a beautiful Monday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of her school for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Tiger Woods drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his clubs around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the black-and-white police car parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid that one of them had finally come after him.

I double-parked behind the cop car, jumped over the yellow tape like a track star, and ran into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed officers stood in an embrace, their backs to me, blocking my way.

It was a beautiful Monday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Tiger Woods drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his clubs around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Dale-the-Whale had finally come after him.

I double-parked behind the cop car, jumped over the yellow tape like a track star, and ran into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed officers stood in an embrace, their backs to me, blocking my way.

--------------------

It was a beautiful Monday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Dale-the-Whale had finally come after him.

I double-parked behind the cop car, jumped over the yellow tape like a track star, and ran into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens stood in an embrace, their backs to me, blocking my way.

--------------------

It was a beautiful Monday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Dale-the-Whale had finally come after him.

I double-parked behind the cop car, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens stood in an embrace, their backs to me, blocking my way.

--------------------

[/quote]

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a black BMW 3 Series and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Dale-the-Whale had finally eaten him.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens stood in an embrace, their backs to me, blocking my way.

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a cable car and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper car and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Dale-the-Whale had finally eaten him.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens stood in an embrace, their backs to me,depositing some eggs on the ground..
[/quote]

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a cable car. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper car and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on his wheel.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi had finally eaten him.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens stood in an embrace, their backs to me,depositing some eggs on the ground..


____________________________________________________________________________

This one is hilarious! I'm literally lol-ing out loud as I read it.

!chik!

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper car and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving a Ferrari convertible instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi had finally eaten him.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens stood in an embrace, their backs to me,depositing some eggs on the ground..

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper car and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi had finally eaten him.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens danced a jig, their backs to me,depositing some eggs on the ground..

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your lungs.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old Jeep finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper car and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi had finally eaten him.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens danced a jig, their backs to me,depositing some eggs on the ground..

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of chicken.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA car finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her popcorn out from her dentures in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi had finally eaten him.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens danced a jig, their backs to me,depositing some eggs on the ground..

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of fish.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA car finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her bubble gum out from her hair in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of enemies over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi had finally eaten him.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens danced a jig, their backs to me,depositing some eggs on the ground..




I really hope I did this right...

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of fish.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA car finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her bubble gum out from her hair in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of fettuccini Alfredo over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi and Dale the Whale had finally eaten it all before I got there.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two uniformed chickens danced a jig, their backs to me,depositing some eggs on the ground..

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of fish.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA car finally crapped out. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her bubble gum out from her hair in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of fettuccini Alfredo over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi and Dale the Whale had finally eaten it all before I got there.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two strip dancers were pole dancing, their backs to me,..
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