"Your degree of mystery too starkly limited for you to be a perfect stranger. Fix that and I might give you another look. Well, I might. Give my love to dad. Goodbye." The board

not share my funny mushroom. No, no, no painkiller will I give he, no matter how much he begs me. You’re not in pain, Sam-I-am. Don’t whine! Your green eggs & hambone are fine.

worms by shoving a sardine filled with Mimosa Pudica Seed up my cat’s trap door, but that backfired when the cat launched the sardine from his wazoo directly into Granny’s porridge

other were ahead of him in planning for his demise. Amy had made a suicide pact with the gang that was contingent on them, jointly, help her in killing Sheldon for the insurance.

Mrs. Bucket-of-Chicken, real name Aileen Tuport from Napoleon, Ohio, got wind of this. She didn't worry a bit. It was well known that billy goats bluff. Sadly, they might've been

George thought he was God and that John was Gracie. "I hope this settles things," George said, unleashing a flood over there and a wild fire over there. "Say goodnight Gracie."

don't want to rain dance just now and I don't care where you got the gun from John. I'm just concerned about how close the fire falling from the sky is getting to us." John looked

in mind a mahogany hutch but Mag's modest end table behind wasn't a non-starter. End tables had their uses.When in Rome. So he took her to his apartment. Which he shared with him m

that day via the 20 mule team. It was slow going, as the day was hot and the mules were not amused. But I kept thinking of her, my ball and chain from Borox, and how we might grow

chew after he had read each issue, making frantic notes and writing various outraged letters to the editor under assumed names. He seldom referred to himself as "Doom-Cough". I had

up the spaghetti dish and onto the table. Then Gunjak slipped over the table's edge. She slid down until only the top of her noodle body was holding on while she dangled there. She

The 8th grade mixer was getting underway when a gaping hole appeared in the middle of the dance floor. Kids scooted away from it in an expanding circle. CRACK! The floor was lava.

Heidegger, like all cats, was unique in how unique he was. He did the typical cat things. He kept the typical cat hours. Vespers was his favorite. He grew up under a cathouse. Once

It was so distracting I forgot to towel off, and wandered into the lobby of the building looking for further refreshment. A walrus dressed as a cop apprehended me, even though it

beverages down his gullet as he undulated to a tune that only he could hear. "Oh crap," howled one of the cats, "Chaney is toasted again. We must restore order!" So the five cats

That is when it struck most us. We'd been expended. The enemy might as well have blown us up for all the good it was going to do us now. Most of us only had the air our suits made.

I didn't know if we'd come this way before. The moon was a ripped goon who was holding Doctor Zaius by his elbows; his lower penumbra wrapped across the Doctor's legs. The sewage

trials and tribulations of primitive vacuum cleaner robotics, those first Roombas that became dust-collecting knickknacks for the rich and famous; plant holders, & cat perching

ed her booty so hard that her Depends split & the Dude in the huge fedora stared at what he later described as a moldy chocolate starfish, which explained why he tipped granny 50

like an Xrvian slave girl inhaling an entire box of perfectly good Bodega caffeine pods through an opening in her elbow, but turned out to be a Valerian policewoman looking for the