There's always something wrong with people.

There's always something wrong with people. Some people just fail to notice what it is that is strange about, say, their best friend or mom. So...what is wrong with me?

I examined myself in the mirror. Well for a start I've got an extra eye. Then there's that hole below my smelling organ with a worm living in it I use to communicate with. Wierd

is merely a derivative from the norm, and this was "far out." I even said as much to my reflection, the worm exuding from my facial orifice to dance as such. My extra eye spotted

itself in the tall grass near the carcass of the panther's kill, apparently a gnu who should have known better to diversify his porfolio by loading up on pork bellies. The worm had

Transmogrified into a demon, with sixteen legs, ten heads and 394 teeth. Monique fainted upon seeing it and was rushed to the hospital. She had a nervous breakdown on the spot, X.

L. Termagro gently moved his palms above her and thought "seven". XLT had been awakened by the disturbing thought: "You will be baptized in the blood of the fallen," but Monique s

-aw their images reflected in an overly-ornate mirror, and knew at once what she, Termagro, and XLT really were: Religious hand-puppets putting on a Sunday school show. Monique

when Alfred Hitchcock suddenly entered, in profile of course, in time with his theme music. He began his usual greeting: “Good eve-“ “Oh, SHUT UP!” interrupted Monique. “You’re so

cliched! Why can't you just show everyone your face instead of staying in profile. And who's playing the theme music?" Monique had had enough. She didn't want to know the story.