It’s Monday, time for a Fiction in 58.
He awakes in a fog, head splitting, mouth dry. He’s naked. With him in bed are a hooker, goat, two midgets dressed as clowns, a robotic dog and a large, empty bottle of canola oil.
A wave of nausea washes over him as his memory remains out of reach.
“There’s a punchline in here somewhere,” he finally croaks.