I wish my grandmother was here. She'd know

I wish my grandmother was here. She'd know what to do. Tomato Soup, Ritz Crackers, Grilled Cheese on White Bread, and a cold cloth for my forehead. The teapot whistled in the

potpourri. The steam wafted from my campfire scented with apple blossum and cinnamon. The Siberian wolves eyes flickered in the woods. Would they appreciate my country style?

The Siberian wolf waited until one of the scrawnier men left the camp to relieve himself. As the camped squatted the wolf lunged at his throat, gnashing its teeth deep into the blo

gosphere with its biting social commentary. "Pack mentality is really cramping my individualism," the wolf typed. Its camper-turned-editor nodded approvingly and rubbed its belly.

"and I want to be free, free to be myself, for myself, and by myself." "Good use of repitition there, Wolfie," said the camper/editor. "Keep writing. We have a deadline to meet." W

olfie, shocked at any praise for his work, developed total writer's block and just sat and gazed dreamily at the camper/editor. "You know, if drives me crazy how you wrinkle your

pants by just, like, USING them." "I'm out."Mark Cuban leaned back in his chair. "I AM JOHN WRINKLE, CEO OF KILL-WRINKLES-IN-THEIR-SLEEP LLC AND I THIRST FOR SEVEN HUNDRED THOUSAND

More guinea pigs for the acid test so we can patent our poison." Plyocene creatures appeared and threatened to sue him for manipulating the massive sculptures they made, which sat

Around the laboratory, silently watching him as he bowed his head. "You will not sue me." He muttered. The creatures gurgled as the poison took effect in their bodies.