The stalwart lemon scoundrel pimped out his favorite seashell collection for a day of ease at the local confetti merchant’s egregious beach house.

Seven gin and tonics and a piña colada graced his lips before the evening was through, and his precious chest of abalone changed hands for the first time in fourteen years.

A celebration was in order. Confetto McFetti called up his favorite mariachi band and lit all the loose champagne corks ablaze with his trusty acetylene torch. The neighbors had nothing to say about the festivities; they owed that eccentric man next door a couple of favors.

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