Miller sent me this delightful tidbit on custom fortune cookies:

“A big whale falls from the sky and squashed you until you’re pretty much dead. Not completely dead, but pretty much.”

I hate it when that happens, but it’s nothing compared to this debacle:

“In five minutes, you will be attacked by a pear. It will eat you because you were going to eat it.”

In the immortal words of Shakespeare: Exit, pursued by a pear.

* From his Winter’s Tale.

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