Note: The segments written by Eli Balin appear in normal typeface, while those written by Howard "Opus" Bialik are in boldface.
Snarlo walked up the marble steps of the central branch of the National Institute for the Institution of National Institutes. The receptionist asked to see his condom which he held in the left compartment of his new spectra-fold wallet. He to ok it out and placed it upon his nose, which was the size of a large kayak. "Darn," he said, "It's a little tight but I'll give it a try." He exhaled strongly through his gourd nose and blew the condom right off, hitting Leonid Brezhnev.
"Ow," exclaimed Brezhnev. "You son of a grunting mule with two feet stuck in the roadside mud and a varicose ulcer! What is the meaning of this?"
"Comrade Chairman, I wish to smelt ore."
This was, of course, the wrong time of the week for smelting, but Snarlo felt confident. He knew everything was in his favor, considering he had his lucky loaf of pumpernickel bread, given to him by a distant aunt in a place the name of which he could not quite remember, but which he knew had lots of gravel, pigeons, and green gardenhose which always spouted orange Jello.
He buried his fingers within the pumpernickel and shook the loaf above his head, triumphantly shouting, "This is my bread, and I want my butter, with my very own Star Trek pewter chess set where Captain Kirk sits in his chai r pointing his finger at Khan who is sitting the very same way, but is evil because he is pointing the other finger!"
The crumbs from the bread struck the ground and turned into hundreds of dwarves in Coast Guard uniforms, who sang,
The dwarves marched out of the office, one by one, each giving the receptionist a lingering sneer. The receptionist gathered all the sneers on a big pile on her desk where they all sat humming, drooling, and reciting Sir Henry Dorsett Smitherton -Grenville Humtwill Fenrud XXVII's "Ode to my shirt."
This, then, was the time for Snarlo to take action. He put Brezhnev in a headlock and forced him to yell out, "Now that's a good cup of coffee," which of course it wasn't, but that was only what Snarlo wanted to hear. He released the h eadlock and proceeded to furiously scratch his armpits, hoping to dislodge the family of Pzovmls (the P, m, and l are silent) which had been living there since the administration of John Quincy adams, who had never heard of "The Truculent Snail." This was, unfortunately, unsuccessful, and he cursed upon the grave of Charlie Sherube, an ex-kindergarten teacher who had spent most of his life working with children and small albino elephants. Snarlo could no longer sustain the Pzovmls' presence, so he snarfed 'em. The end.
An important lesson to learn from all of this is that whenever you take the pecan pie off of the waxed turtle, Lionel Richie always shows up to clean the windows.
