Von Welshing Learns To Tell Lite From Long

or,

A Matter Of Rife And Deaf

Professor Von Welshing was taking his evening constitutional by the shores of Lake Inferior, which had been thickened by pollution to approximately the consistency of beef boullion. Three eyed toxic mutant catfish frolicked happily amongst a herd of deformed aquatic mammals. The neon glow of the radioactive wildlife stood in gorgeous contrast to the orange and purple sunset caused by particulate matter in the air.

A light rain began to fall, melting his wristwatch and taking the chrome off of his trailer hitch, a feat beyond the abilities of the women in his life. Sadly, he could not only count these women upon the fingers of one hand, he could also LOCATE them there, as well.

A waterspout formed over the lake and began to grow, blooming like a gigantic, evil, black flower, as thunder and lightning roared and flashed in the distance. Looming closer in the dismal twilight, the funnel quickly engulfed him. Anomalous catfish, dripping thick, viscous water, began slapping him rhythmically in the face, the beat being accented by a resounding thud, caused when an ancient and curious bottle of fairly good size whacked him up alongside of his fat head.

Von Welshing's head began to throb. Demons were assaulting his brain with jack hammers. The inside of his mouth tasted like a latrine full of dead skunks rotting in a leper's nightmare, and he groaned and spat out a couple of bicuspids.

Staggering across the dreary landscape, he stumbled over the antique bottle, which now lay at his feet. "Hot Damn! Maybe my luck is changing. I hope there's some fucking booze in this bottle." And, in fact his luck was changing. Changing to a vastly greater degree than he had anticipated.