First of all, ditch the checkbook. It’s on-line bill-paying with a credit card from our office from now on. That signature of yours is worth something now, so we can’t have it floating around. Plus, if some ass-wipe from nowhere can rip off your payment to your telephone company to pay their own bill, just imagine what a determined Chinese hacker can do.

As a history buff, I spent my recent vacation on a week-long road trip to sniff out real American history, and failed miserably. I wasted hundreds of dollars and put countless furlongs on the car to arrive at the completely faked Abe Lincoln Birth Cabin in Hodgenville, Kentucky, for example. This monument to a great president contains not a twig from the original cabin, but the shed-like structure stands close to my home in the Midwest, so that’s where my ill-fated journey began.

Welcome to the Book Villa! We are a family-owned bookstore (and purveyor of pornographic magazines; yes, those magazines are still available in print) located downtown. Things are rough in the city these days—you’ll pass dollar stores, a bingo hall, and empty storefronts on your way here—but take heart! The recession is temporary. We feel lucky to have jobs, and so should you. We’d say you were hired for your unique qualifications, but this is retail, so we’d be lying.

Writer received the patient in their room. The patient, Van Gogh, Vincent, male, age 35, initially observed sitting on the bed smoking tobacco.

Two oddly shaped chairs were observed by the writer in the patient’s room, which were angled such that one imagined one would slide off and onto the floor if one were to try and sit.

The patient wore a blue cap lined with black fur and appeared disheveled with bad hygiene.

The officer tripped over Dali’s walking stick for the third time. “Do you really need that thing?”

“Do I need this walking stick? Perhaps. The visual is everything.”