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I'm curious about the fifth item. What makes a potential wife-killer (or, perhaps, a man very interested in wife-killers) suddenly pause and say, "Hey, I think I'd like to look at some poop?" (And the steak and cheese? I guess looking at all those corpses made him hungry.)
This reminds me of something that allegedly happened in the early '90s, when I was fresh out of college and selling books at the local Borders. A story spread through the chain about an event that supposedly had just transpired at a Borders in New Jersey. It sounds like an urban legend -- hell, it probably is an urban legend -- but we all believed it at the time.
(The book titles, among other details, are approximate. Do not write me to say that you can't find them on Amazon. Printed for entertainment purposes only.)
A fellow came into the store and said he'd been told that a book he had ordered had arrived. The clerk searched the shelves behind the counter, found one with the customer's surname attached to it, and handed it to him.
The man's face changed color, his voice started to shake, and he said, "I didn't order this book. My wife did." The employee looked at the cover. It was called How to Divorce Your Husband.
Mortified, the clerk returned to the shelf and found the book the husband had ordered.