“You’re acting like a child,” I told Paula Deen.
“That’s sexual harassment,” she replied, wrestling me to the ground.
From the corner, Wesley the Cynic made a joke about beige sedans, in reference to a racist jibe Paula had notoriously spoken the month before.
Once Paula was distracted by my removal of her toupee, Wesley and I began to devour the grapes that grew from the ceiling.
“We’ve lived here five years and never thought to eat the grapes,” I said, and we both burst into laughter.
The Navel Observatory 