Update Schmupdate

The subtle shriek of Steinberg set the Upper West Side aflutter.

After all, he was the number 1 regional seller of Bunk and Trundle Beds, and that's not something easily laughed at. In fact, he was quite the minor celebrity on the Upper West Side.

"He was the kindest, gentlest soul you could ever meet! Also, the man knew discount home furnishings", said Sarah Schlongstein of 86th and Broadway.

"Oy, with the beds and the talking; this man...this was a man who could do things and etcetera", said Jewy McJewerson of 69th and Columbus.

So why was he brutally murdered by 12 ACLU lawyers on their lunch break? Why was the murder weapon a week old chicken salad sandwich from Lenny's? To answer that, we must go to the beginning.

Steinberg was born at the age of 12 on a cold night in 1954. Raised by an overbearing Jewish mother and an Alsatian in his late 30's named Floppy; he found himself simultaneously overfed and begging for scraps at the kitchen table.

After not living up to his parents expectations (his mother wanted him to be a Doctor, his father wanted him to pee on fire hydrants more), he decided it was his turn; he would go forth into the high stakes world of bed selling.

It was there he met Matilda, a drunkard/Irish girl who pleased men by pouring authentic Vermont Maple Syrup on their pancakes.

She sauntered into his bed store one day with a saunter that was saunterlicious. When she came up to him, his jaw dropped.

"Hello, I'm looking for a bed"

"AHIRSGAEG AINERGA E?IGRJ AOERJG AEOGRJA" he said, bleeding profusely from the bottomless gape where his jaw used to be.

After some super glue and minor surgery, he returned to her.

"Can I offer you a bed...Mrs?"

SUDDENLY, A newborn baby fell from between her legs; she took a swig of Whiskey to numb the pain.

"It's OK, I'm Irish"

"Oh"

"So, I'm looking for a nice comfortable bed to drink and procreate on"

"Well, we've got the Whore-O-Matic here...automatically contours to vagina size and weight. What's yours like?"

"Meaty"

"Meaty is a little vague, can you give me something more specific; a cut, for instance?"

"Hmmm...let's say fatty pastrami from Cantor's deli"

"Oh, you're an average!"

"Well, I was more of a Roast Beef in college, but you know how you can just let yourself go!"

"Do I?"

They shared an awkward laugh.

That's when 12 ACLU lawyers came in, brandishing a large, stale Chicken Salad Sandwich.

The biggest one spoke up.

"We're here from the American Civil Liberties Union and we think this short story is violating many personal rights of the readers"

The chorus of ACLU cronies spoke up: "YEAH!" "ME ANGRY!!" "WHAT TIME IS THE GIANTS GAME TOMORROW!!"

"Well, that's not fair, I mean, I didn't even write this tripe, right narrator?"

...

"Hello...narrator?!? You aren't getting away with this one, you little sack of..."

The chorus spoke up again: "HE'S STALLING!" "BURN HIM!" "I SMELL LIKE PEE!"

"OK, time's up, Steinberg!"

That's when they threw the moldy Chicken Salad Sandwich on him. He shrieked like crazy as his insides were being burned by scolding hot mayo.

"Oy, this is meshugana!"

THE END

"The end?...fuck you, narrator!"