Figaro ran from the flaming house with Daphne (or was it Darlene?) slung over his shoulder. The mental images ravaging his brain were at once titillating, and disturbing. He ran approximately half a mile then stopped by a local park bench, to rest his back for a while. As soon as he sat down, Daphne-Darlene started pounding her fists into his back, snarling uncontrollably.

“I’m hungry,” growled the sepulchral voice of the woman on his shoulder. “feed me NOW!”

“All right,” replied Figaro, wiping a sweaty dreadlock from her fevered brow, “there’s a Wendy’s just up the street.”

“I DON’T WANT WENDY’S,” screamed Daphne-Darlene, “I WANT…