"Eat your carrots!" Linda said, trying to

"Eat your carrots!" Linda said, trying to airplane her 7 year old son the undesirable vegetables. In any normal situation it would seem like the right thing to do - but it wasn't.

He was special. He could smell the cyanide through the carrots. Grabbing his mother by the hair, he judo chopped her in the throat. She coughed. He leapt to his feet and

said "You thought you could poison me with the Scarnsborough diet but I'm wise to that little carrot trick!". His mother smiled and said "The carrot didn't just contain cyanide

it contains a full daily supply of vitamin A. It will build up your immunity." I realized then my mom had an insane notion of building up my tolerance of all poisons. "Nightshade?

Kid's stuff. Have you tried iocane?" I feigned a handful into my mug and drank, dropping the rest into her own glass and smiling. For a moment, Mom

foamed at the mouth, a vacant stare drawing across her face. But then she slowly stood up and started removing her clothes. I expected the drugs to work quickly, but this was

a real-life zombie, for chrissakes'. Multiple lacerations, major stab wounds and missing vital organs seemed to have not slowed her down one bit, as she began a sprint in my

indoor training facility. It was the pinnacle of evil soviet technology. She sprinted around in the dark, working with machines, punching a speedbag every time she passed it,

Flighty as a cat with sleek, smooth moves she finished the morning routine."Time for an energizer drink," she reckoned. Another evil techy item that all athletes had to consume but