It was a dark and stormy night...when a dog crawled out of a little hole in the... wall.   I screamed, for the cat 'twas missing!.. "Bah!," I said, and immediately left the house to buy a new one.   As I drove down the wet road...I saw my beloved cat crawling...and twitching across the hard and silvery...bomb!   Damn those Russians!   I extracted my AK-47 (a Russian submachine gun) and blew away the bomb from the cat, but I had accidentally...hit the dog....oh, well, he deserved it.   Those Reds must have figured out my identity and where I...go to see blue whales and--agh!   As I was shooting the AK-47, I let go of the wheel!   The car crashed into a...Russian tank!   They have opened fire!   I think I might have just started WWIII between the U.S. and a country with an economy the size of a pea!   Look!   Its a...flying pig!   It dive bombed the tank, destroying itself with it.   The aroma of charred swine filled the air.   Just then a pack of hungry homeless people ran at the free dinner and...discovered that they like their ham cooked rare.   Mass riots broke out everywhere!   I decided to...run like hell when I just happened to trip on my cat.   My cat held a P-45 colt pistol in my face!   The shock!   He was really a Russian Secret Service agent planted to...discover where I lived and secretly plot against me and...to sell me unisex hair products to test so they wouldn't test them on his Uncle Bill.   I said..."Ha!   I'll never reveal the secret of the Avocado-duck death bomb program!   Especially not the part where...the ducks eat the avocados!   Finding out about my secret plans, the cat promptly shot me in the leg, and... I gave him a kitty treat for being so unique.   Just now I had noticed he had a pop gun.   I only had a cork bruise on my leg, but the cat had ran off with the...chicken who rather resembled Bad Vlad Lenin.   Coincidence?   I think not.   The chicken was probably his brother in disguise!   I started chasing after the cat and his Mad Bad Vlad in tow.   They promptly stopped at a department store where they bought some plaid.   We were chasing a Mad Bad Vlad Wearing Plaid Lenin with a cat in tow...while he screamed, "Brian will never write another passage again and he is...Really Bad Vlad in disguise! [Ed. note:   he is also the person who wrote the passages in purple(and that is a pretty nasty shirt)] "String him up!   Lynch him!   Stone him!," cried the masses... they hung him by his toes, burnt the pen and his wretched ties (yes, the ones that clash with themselves).   We wish he would...wear colorful ties with pigs on them.   Anyway, if the chicken is Mad Bad Vlad in Plaid and Mad Bad Vlad in Plaid is Brian, then Brian is a chicken.   If you juxtapose the vowels in Brian you get brain.   If you do the same to chicken, you get check-in, which is what you do at hotels.   If Brian is a chicken, then there is a correlation between checking in and brains--so if we go to a hotel we get smarter and the Russians have the worlds biggest hotel!   It's a conspiracy!   Hang on to yer avocadoes and yer ducks!   The Russians are smart--what's the back-up plan?   Put the car in reverse, look behind you, and move out slowly.   Aha!   That's it!   They've been following me all along because they want to switch my avocadoes with evil parsnips!   But they can't follow me if I'm driving in reverse, they can only precede me, which means I can follow them!   Say, there's Bad-Vlad-in-Plaid-Who's-Really-Brian...I'm chasing him now!   Run like the coward you are, sissy-ninny!   Wuss!   Yer mother was a communist!   I wish I...had a nice juicy drumstick right now.   Wait, Really-Bad-Vlad-Who's-Really-Brian is a chicken!   And he can't drive in reverse to save his life!   BOOM! (I really must thank whoever put that telephone pole there).   Chicken souffle for me tonite!..Chicken galore for everyone!... The pack of hungry homeless people immediately ran for the free food (again), so I decided to make a good dinner out of it.   I boiled it in raspberry sauce and then garnished it with yams and gourds.   Then I...mounted it with my bronzed turkey baster,   I--oh no! The Pussians have stolen my prized possessions.   They were in cahoots with those Iraqi scum.   No wonder why they're building their border armor column.   I had only seconds to arm the National Legion of Centurion Bicentennial Cordial Liberation Liberal Cat and Feline Association for Mounted and Armed Assault Against Those Bad Guys (NLOCBCLLCFAFMAAATBG).   They exited the barracks into the...wintery turquoise light.   Their loaded bananas and rubber chickens glistened in the phosphorescent light as they went to do deathly harm to the Pussian/Iraqi alliance against which they were hereby sworn to do battle by the master Kumquat from his secret base on the third planet from the nearest star to Alpha Proxima.   Speaking of Alpha Proxima, the occupants of the Delta-7th minor ellipse orbiter are currently boarding their avocado-duck ships as part of a plan to take over Vlad the Mad Glad Plaid Bad's home planet (Mars).   Then they will use Mars to mount a giant vacuum to suck up outer space.   We need to find something with which to clog the vacuum.   After pondering the slight problem, I determined that Brian the literary God (ha!) would make a wonderful vacuum clog.   His stories will not be... published by Random House, which will cause a violent reaction which could be detrimental to my secret plans to recover my prized possessions which were stolen by the Pussians assisted by the Iraqi scum who were informed by my traitorous canary, who I just discovered was selling state secrets about pudding mix to the Koreans.   The rampage of Brian could very well jeopardize the secret exploding hot-dog program but on the other hand, if his anger could be directed towards the Martian vacuum...which would suck up everything, including all of Brian's major works, and wouldn't be entirely all that bad.   After dispelling that problem, I once again turned to the difficulty at hand--the recovery of my prized possessions.   I had received information that they were hiding on Guava Island, which is the largest known source of mangoes.   I quickly caught...a wild mango!   Truly a violent and savage beast, I quickly subdued it and devoured it so as not to...ride the smelly thing (although quite tasty, the wild mango is quite putrid).   I needed to find transportation, so I hijacked a plane delivering Toilet Duck to the Philippines and flew it to Guava Island where I...found some ketchup and olives to garnish my mango.   I then...opened a secret buffet restaurant selling exotic fruits and vegetables which was secretly a covert action base for a military team to rescue my prized possessions.   They were highly trained in the ancient martial art form of... cookie baking which really didn't help in military operations but helped the restaurant a lot.   Their mango cookies attracted...several wandering Iraqi scum who happened to be in the neighborhood.   Too bad for them that they didn't know my secret ingredient was... llama tongues.   And it is a well known fact that all Iraqis are allergic to llamas.   As they were choking on a batch of freshly baked mango cookies...I asked them where their secret hide-out was.   After I cleaned partially-chewed mango cookie off my face, I told them that I was in possession of the only antidote for the Iraqi Llama sickness, which happens to be concentrated polyester juice.   Begging my forgiveness like the dogs they are, they told me it was...under the restaurant and the entrance was down the toilet drain.   Promptly flushing myself down to a watery doom, I arrived in an Iraqi loading room.   Arabs surrounded me with trillions of water balloons.   All I could do was offer them some soggy cookies and avocado duck chips.   They...said, "Avocados are not good for you.   They're high in cholesterol," and got angry at me and said they were going to...take my shoes and put them in a machine that would make them into tasty bite-sized morsels that don't get soggy in water.   I naturally said that he couldn't, since the shoes had been in my family for years and had become treasured heirlooms.   They were also very comfortable for walking.   So I turned to my foe and I...said that he could only take them if they sold the bite-sized morsels that don't get soggy in water at my restaurant.   They consented and...fell right into my dastardly but not-too-well-thought-out plan to retrieve my prized possessions.   The poor fools had no idea what evil fate was about to befall them (bwa,ha,ha).   We went back to my restaurant to work out the details and...then my super-secret espionage squad (who are also servants of the King) threw a counterattacking slew of chunky applesauce in the socks of my nemisi's ninja strike force in a fruit-mashing armageddon which ended with the destruction of Pluto's 3rd moon and the exodus to an artificial biosphere on Venus, where the battle ensued until...they died from lack of oxygen because... they neglected to notice that Venus' atmosphere is made of drain cleaner. (Which, coincidentally, is what we decided to drown Brian in after we read the last of his major works, entitled "Avocadoes and the Maori Alphabetic Coral: Etude Number 369.119 x 10 to the 19th, Chapter B.oo3.   Needless to say, the Venusians loved it.   No one else did.)   While rotting corpses meandered through space, the applesauce and fruit sloshed out of everyone's socks.   Fruit basket gruel coated the floor and as everybody was busy maintaining their balance, I ran for my prized possessions located in the control room of their secret base.   They were in view, but were guarded by two ferocious...dung heaps whose noxious odor would have killed me, had not the astral dung eaters rescued me, and at last my prized possessions were within my grasp, but...I slipped on a splotch of guacamole which the Iraqi scum were previously munching on before my dastardly plan took them prisoner.   While I was flying through the air, I noticed that my pants were extremely dirty, for I had forgotten to remove my laundry from the laundromat before I left home for Guava Island.   When I regained consciousness, I ...found my cat, who was really a double agent working for my restaurant in the first place.   He told me that if I gave him another kitty treat he would... work in the restaurant for free.   What an offer! but I had no kitty treats left.   My cat was furious and immediately extracted a deadly banana peel.   He... must have gone insane!   I tried to pacify him by changing his litter box, but he refused to listen.   He tried to fire the banana, but he forgot that cats don't have opposable thumbs!   Instead, he threw it at me so I... would slip on the peel.   Sitting dumbfounded on my @$$, I attempted to locate that betraying cat of mine, who the walrus groomer told me had my prized possessions which I was to retrieve by using a...very esoteric method which I refer to as the secret left wing spoon