Wayne was a misery-guts. 'Wayne the whinger',

Wayne was a misery-guts. 'Wayne the whinger', they called him at the office. He didn't care what they called him. He had plenty to grouch about

firstly, who had taken his pencil sharpener. THAT ISN'T FUNNY he cried out loud. Secondly, he had tripped over whilst climbing the stairs and ripped his

nose off on a bizarrely placed spike. Modern architecture....it's a

travesty. In the beginning of the last century, artisans from ten countries would come together and chisel stones, designed especially for that spot. Gargoyles scowled toothy

ominousness from above. He summoned the black powers and numinous essences. The Gargoyle's stone skin dropped away in shards. Their eyes turned green and looked

piercingly straight through him. But he'd met Gargoyles with black powers before and knew they could be tamed with a surprisingly mundane substance. It was

squab-grois would make a delightful dish, if only the pigeons would sit still long enough to catch. Sometimes, he would pose for hours, just waiting for one to perch upon him,

and after he perfected the bronzed look in a tanning parlor, he looked convincingly like a statue and they began to settle, nesting in his hat. He didn't have the heart to eat them

one by one. Instead, he doffed his hat and gulped down the whole lot of them in two bites. Runaway saliva oozed down the felty fedora. He belched in delight.