A frame is only as strong as its glass. Fribalt

A frame is only as strong as its glass. Fribalt thought about this as she polished the painting, pressing just a little too hard. She caught her own reflection as it

leered at her from behind her rose-tinted spectacles. But there was something about the reflection that was not truly hers. Someone else's eyes lay behind her piercing blue glare.

The tears of her victims pooled and spilled down her cheeks in a tsunami of hot, salt streaks. They crusted on the skin and broke - creating ravines that bled red and black pus.

Beautiful. This will make a suitable offering. She poured it into a small pewter vessel. It was originally intended for collecting golf balls, but needs must. To the table.

She leapt astride her wingèd tapir and shouted to her squire to crank the engine. Lost at the county fair, the leopard who served her as squire didn't have the presence of mind to

tuck his tail in before the engine revved and the tapir propelled itself forcefully into the air, leaving the leopard on the cold, hard ground. "Well, my job as a squire is

over," said the ex-squire as he watched the helicoptering tapir disappear over the South American hills, "but I think I will study this new flying tapir species." The leopard was

in the process of becoming a pair of trousers and nobody cared. Predators are not often mourned, and this leopard wasn't the exception. Meanwhile, the wildlife kept on mutating

into various forms of clothing. Flamingo pants. Shark shirts. White rhino tightly whities. The world became covered in apparel where the creatures once stood...

which was certainly true of Hippo Hip Riders. Women wore them but asked the ultimate question: “Do these make me look fat?” “LOOK fat?” was the usual answer. “Bitch, you ARE fat!”