It was about half past three in the morning.

It was about half past three in the morning. I sat in a small diner watching cars drive by outside. I noticed one or two other people looking at me, no doubt enticed by my scars.

The stares I had recieved were not irregular. I had gotten them many times before. At least the diner was friendly.

It wasn't my fault I was born this way. The diner did accept me for who I am. That is a green witch! I am...

dying as a house falls upon me. Good bye cruel world. Now back to the story.

My sis, the Wicked Witch of the West, sought revenge for the whole me-busted-by-a-house thing. She enlisted some munchkins looking to raise a little hell. Their darts brought down

the neighborhood BBQ because lawn darts aren't really that much fun. My Sis, the Wicked Witch of the West, or AKA Barbara, fed all the kids sugar to raise "hell." Suburbia is so

close to Hell you can get there by bus in eleven minutes, but I was so tired I fell asleep immediately and missed the stop. The next stop was Purgatory. It would have to do.

They told me after 10 lashings I could go. I watched wearily as those before me took their penance. I stepped in line for mine. An old man in front of me cried I took his too. Heav

Celebrate the accession of the monkey king. This monkey king had a PhD in history and wanted me to translate gibberish. The schizophrenic baboon was hired. He folded a new story.