Purkley Katzman died in an industrial accident. Got peeled like a dang grape by one of them machines used to stretch leather. Big juicy mess—everyone had a taste. Anyhow, he ain't here for short stories anymore, but you're in luck: Klipplinghands Greasythoughts is his virtuous son. Sniff up these shorts, then pass out from brain-asphyxiation, in the words of our dear STORY.

Invocation

Psalm: “Coat Closet Stink”

Liturgical Reading: “More More More More More Short Stories”

Concluding Prayer

Ooh ouch ouch, somethin in my bladder is pinching. Might be all them ants I let crawl up my urethra. Stings? Sure. But, hey, at least I'm never alone.