Stan's father worked in the landfill, just

Stan's father worked in the landfill, just like his grandfather had. Stan wasn't so sure it was for him. It didn't help that everyone called him Stinky.

Aside from people calling him Stinky, living and working in a land fill wasn't so bad. Undesirables didn't move in next door. No one did! Anything you fond could be claimed "Mine"

and, if you didn't want to claim something, you could freely hurl it at your co-workers. It was all fun and games working in the land fill! Stinky soon amassed a collection of old

idiots picked up from the local bowling alley. They smelled like a mixture of urine, Miller beer and stale pretzels. Stinky brought these old fools to work so that he could

set them loose in his boss's office. There's no telling what kind of damage a group of drunk bowlers could do to a room with glass walls.

The glass walls were not damaged, however—The bowlers instead aimed for the glass ceiling and wound up giving each other massive concussions and terminal brain damage. I laughed so

softly I couldn't move a tissue. The laugh, like so many others, lapsed into pained sobbing. What good is a hickey if the person who gave it to you isn't picky? Each is unique,

like a starflake, a perfect expression of love. Like a suction mark from sucking a cup onto your face for too long, except delivered touchingly by another. Sobbing, I

wrapped my tentacle faced lips around my spouse's tentacle faced lips and gave one last goodbye leeching. Then we tapped a brain tendon against our eyes in a gesture of love. Gr

eat for it to end like this. True love in a hard shelled body is something that will sound in the trashcans and pizza boxes of the city tonight. I exited left, my wife, right....