"I'm gonna make him an Coffin he can't refuse,"

"I'm gonna make him an Coffin he can't refuse," he said, gently stroking the dead, black cat his arms. For years he'd amassed his power and influence, he had a proper name, but
somehow he was still not happy, and with all his power and wealth, he was still bitter for the one who got away. And so as he stroked the dead, stiff, not to mention stinking cat
Who had voted for Shark Lady after he died. Yes, the corruption was that rampant. The stench of fascism was replacing the stench of demcracy. Animals voted too, so she would win
this year's election. However, the wild kingdom of mammals vs. non-mammals was rife with separatism and political unrest. Many sided with the extreme leftist aquatic types, eager t
o migrate into deep space regardless of the costs. Better sooner that too late, they argued. That made sence to many who didn't know sense from a hole in the skull to match the one
in their boxer briefs. So the intelligentsia's spacecraft led them to deal with the devil, while the presumed "useless" people spacecraft retained heart and soul in its celestial
diner mode where perhaps the light was cold but the people were slightly warmer, the menu was limited but the coffee was refreshable, and crayons for the kids
lay in colorful, melted heaps at the bottom of the Bun-O-Matic. Brenda had had it with those spoiled kids coming in here screaming and squirting catsup all over the diner every day
after school. Brenda closed the diner for 2 hours after school to keep the destructive kids out. First day: No problem. Second day: The kids threw Molotov cocktails at the diner,
and Brenda finally cracked. Broken and defeated she wept on the floor of the burning diner. "Fine!" she cried to the school kids, "take it." She dropped her apron and walked away.

Started: 2013-12-07 16:45:20
Finished: 2020-11-23 20:55:16

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