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No dice

Gambled over on July 9, 2006.

Tuesday came and went, and Alyssa Milano’s Feet didn’t leave the harbor. Something about a rat infestation eating out her innards, the health inspector told me. I offered to take the rats to Sicily and sell them to rat-fighting contestants, but the inspector said, “No dice.” He threw a pair of dice at me, just like they do at those rat-fighting contests in Sicily when they run out of rats to fight (and rats to throw at the gamblers), so I threw the dice back at him, hitting him on the nose, and shouted, “Those are dice, you gormless bastard!”

Impatient to start my journey around the globe on Alyssa Milano’s Feet—at least around the part of the globe surrounding the tiny islands of Lakshadweep, off the coast of India—I manhandled the rats off the ship, wearing sandals and carrying the rats by their handlebars, and deposited them in the health inspector’s beard, one by one. He nodded brusquely, thanking me for my conscientious disposal of 549,173¼ rats (¾ of a rat got stuck under the mizzenmast and wouldn’t come up no matter what I flung at it). I conscientiously objected to his very existence, and set sail before he had a chance to molest the beautiful Alyssa Milano’s Feet any further.