From the consequences. He was just following orders. Blame belongs higher up. But where did the humanity leave the situation? When the computers made their changes. In themselves &

Then I screamed as well. Loudly and without warning. My coworkers turned into prairie dogs then Whack-a-Moles. I explained I saw shadows. "What kind of shadows," asked Lloyd from

After a bit of time and a lot of margaritas I was glad for this funeral. A funeral that was going to hang around my neck like an albatross. Still glad. I called for menudo for all.

full DNA-Tripp Field test even for the upper Echelons. Why on any of the Worlds would she ever what That! Her whole life depended on people Remembering. Who she came from.

From the single light anywhere near the dump site in the alley a shadow that moved against the other shadows could barely be seen; but seen it was. "They're here."

I need a hat to help me make it through, a hand to spread love to, and ammunition for the Folders Revolutionary Army. By the way, you've just been drafted.

At the funeral Polly’s old friend Snowy and his human kept asking pointed questions about mysterious visitors reported in the marshes near Misty Mountain. Where was Psycho?

assembled this Ikea missile silo me and Raul just bought for the wedding reception. Don't worry, he paid using his stepdad's work expense card. Are you stoned? Dammit Lonny! You

So when he was supposed to bop he actually bebopped. Mood die. Finished cleaning his room and she left some time after 3am after crying on the porch for an hour. A stray dog came

Only avoided the fate of Isadora Duncan because she was in an enclosed cabin far removed from any offending tires that might be lurking about. All this the Sleuth missed; lost in

miles beneath the skin; part of a DNA trip we are still on. Others claim a soul. One such was Brunhilde Maria Tallamontes. I didn't actually see it; I was there but that isn't the

Hoped. Mainly because Banksy gets all the press. Or the local taggers who don't remember their roots. Simple always gets complicated without roots. We come from the stars, why here

, like the one about the guy who put Steve Buscemi's face into every hotel painting he ever saw. I still check every hotel painting to see if it caught on. But that's another story

"...Red roses, too..." I said to myself again, interrupting myself. There seemed to be two of me, all of a sudden, and it was difficult to say which one was more rude.

-t one rip so hard that her mini skirt flew up in back. "Let that fix your little red wagon, you sexist jerk," she snarled as he gasped for air, "Women are not a commodity." With

breakfast spreads. She especially liked the ginger marmalade. Good old Grape Jelly was no match for the fancier spreads, and it fumed in the fridge until it grew mould and she had

male business with their scantily clad dames, but women were not so keen to give their money to the winking broads on the screen. "I don't think so, ho," they replied as they left

It turns out that they were fine, as were your '79s and '80s, but your '90s were a little rough on your hair. All that gel weighed it down and made it fall out into the grave

out in his yard by the rubber tree. The banana and the rubber tree grew side by side for many years and blossomed together until one day it occurred to him that the two trees

Out in the open he went, Winne the Pooh was not looking.