| Old Mrs. Crombone
sat on the porch swing of her Scottish-Oak home, knitting a sweater for
Boogles, her tiny Pekinese chicken, when the doorbell blasted through the
air like a whip whipping the dead. Her knotted fingers barely able to grasp
the sides of the swing, she hoisted her fragile body from the warm spot
she had been perched, and started for the door. Boogles continued staring
at the sun as his master scooted away. As she opened the heavy front door
of her house, Mrs. Crombone was alarmed at what she saw. There, before her
very eyes, was a grown man dressed in a diaper, doing summersaults and rocking
to and fro on his buttocks, while making sounds like a space battle with
explosions. "What can I do for you young man?", she asked the
spinning abomination from hell. The man did not respond, not even aware
that a question had been asked him. He just continued with his self-made
circus of pleasure, now standing, arms outstretched, beginning to twirl
like a top. "Wooooooo!", screamed the man, "Woooooooo!".
To this day, Mrs. Crombone has no idea what the man was there for or why
he chose her house to display his talent, but she learned something very
important that day. Once the twirl's a'got you by the tail, there's no hope
of escape. |
