By Alan Combs

It has been interesting the last few weeks watching certain neighbors down the street prepare for a festive occasion at their house. A week ago, I saw them bring in a couple of cases of whipped cream in squirt cans. The next day, they brought in several bottles of Wesson oil, the gallon size. My suspicions were aroused the next day then they hauled in a gross of Trojan condoms. Last night it came to me. They brought in a carload of plastic household goods — the type you can buy at neighborhood meetings. They are having a Shtupperware party.

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