She'd always come running when I called. That one girl I relied on throughout the toughest of times. I couldn't imagine a day without her. Beautiful tawny eyes that stared at me with loyal knowing. Full of wisdom and life. I'll never forget her.

The tousled mane of golden locks always framed her just right when I saw her. She looked delightful, so happy and bursting with youthful energy. Her smile lit up my world, my lonely, oh so lonely world.

There was no one else around me, but for her... My dearest friend. I look at her now and...

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I shot my butler.

No, actually, I did.

Yea, I know what you're thinking. "This lady's crazy if she's just gonna write about shooting her butler as if it's no big deal. She's probably writing from jail."

Well, I'm not in jail. He's actually fine. It was just.... In the craziness of that day... I didn't even know it was him. One minute there was no one there but the smoke in my eyes and screams in my ears, and the next moment I had a gun in my hand and there was the butler. He took a step toward...

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I looked at the passport, and then back up at the woman standing in front of me.

"Are you serious?" I asked, a puzzled look on my face.

She looked sad.

"What is to be funny?" she said, her broken English somehow endearing.

"I don't know how they do things in..." I turned her passport over, and looked at the country name listed. It took up three lines, and many of the letters just looked like squiggles to me. "...your home country, but over here we do things differently."

"Is me!" she smiled, and I felt my tough exterior melting...

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A tall man stands in a park. His eye and cheek are crimson, blackening. A policeman stands next to him, getting out his notepad.

Policeman: Sir, is this your goat?
Tall man: No.
Policeman: Right. Can you tell me exactly what happened?
Tall man: Well, I was in my office and I saw a man underneath the tree. The goat was up there.
The tall man points to a branch of the tree. The policeman raises one eyebrow.
Tall Man: I thought the man was unconscious. I dialed emergency services, but they didn't believe me.
Policeman: No...
Tall Man: Anyway,...

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"Grandpop's teeth didn't look like that."

"How do you know?"

"Because mom always said you got his teeth. Do your teeth look like that?"

"Maybe after they'd been in the ground for fifty years."

"Not even. Look at the length of them."

"No, teeth keep growing after you die."

"That's nails, dummy. And they have to be attached still. You think teeth keep growing if they're just loose like this?"

"Who can say?"

"You know who would know?"

"Yeah, but she can't exactly tell us, now can she?"

"Well, she'd know for sure."

"Grandma's probably the one who did it...

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It was really quite simple. I called him in to prepare my nightly tea time, he walked into the room and I shot him between the eyes.

Was really his fault. He couldn't be counted on to keep quiet about my nature. Still, it was fun while it lasted. I called in the maids and they promptly set upon his body for removal. It was something like a week and I had gone through almost a dozen staff. They buzzed like flies when I needed them, but just could not keep to themselves when it came to keeping secrets.


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I couldn't sleep, so I went out for a late-night walk around town. When I got to the bridge, I stopped to look out at the bright lights in the city.

Suddenly, a woman came up to me and gave me a hug. Not wanting to be rude, I hugged her back as we both looked off in the distance. I'm not sure why, but she began to move her hand lower down my back. I tried to hint that she was making this even more awkward than it already was by moving my arm up, almost to her neck,...

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I fumbled about with my phone, waiting. She was going to be late, but I was always early. Damn nature and nurture. Or is it nurture and nature? What the hell, man. Concentrate.

She went to Northern Illinois. She got a degree in English and is currently working as a barista. God, what a stereotype.

It's ok, get out of your comfort zone.

Ok, I think that's her. Is that her? No, no. The picture of her didn't look like that. I am way too overdressed for this place.

And I hate tea. Why did I get tea? Should I...

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The dapper man picked up a penny.

Then he picked up a dime.

"Which of these is worth more?" he asked the children arrayed in three neat rows on the floor in front of him.

"The dime!" they chimed in chorus.

"Very good!" said the dapper man. "And why is it worth more?"

"It's shiny!"
"It's pretty!"
"It's more specialer!"
"I've got three of 'em in my pocket!"

"Great answers, children!" said the dapper man. "But actually, a dime is worth more because it's so much easier to use a dime for Rhyme Time!"

The children cheered and began to...

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"This is a little weak on the nose, and blunt in taste. To put it mildly, I wouldn't serve this wine to my guests, nor likely drink it for pleasure." Those were the only words I have ever received, in written communique, as it were, from the famous wine critic Perry Daniels. It was also my first review as a vintner. Unfortunately, besides being in the show, it was also published in the Post. A shame. And great annoyance.

Because of this man, my start in vintering is in somewhat of a decay. I am looking in to brewmaster jobs...

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