‘Ouch! That hurt!”, she squealed loudly. “Why did you pinch me there, when you know I’d rather it be removed with forceps and novocaine. Furuncles are bad; carbuncles are worse.” The support group all nodded knowingly. “Let it all hang out, friends, Romans and countrymen, for the Emperor of the universe has spoken.” Alas, shoot the lala are strange lyrics unless the lala carried a pumpkin and a forty-four. Moving along, she remembered the time Charles was king. “Hit the road, Jack, and don’t come back no mo no mo”, she hummed absentmindedly, while stroking her reticule and smoking the last bit of Buff Snuff. But, the train of thoughts derailed at the sight of “The Kang” and his Queen, licking their lips and salivating for the Salivation Army of scourged crawfish ready to boil. Crawfish season is far too short but very succulent. Erstahs are soon gonna be slurped, fat and salty, with Tabasco and good lovin’. Th’end.