There was an eye in his breakfast cereal,

There was an eye in his breakfast cereal, floating there in a 2% milk bath, staring up at him. No sign of an optic nerve or even any other gore - just a perfect eye with a green

sea of assorted fluids, paddling with a paddle made of 100% Martian steel to support local planetary business back home. The little green man looked down at his eyeball-raft and

thought of home. He wished he hadn't because it made him think of Hilda. The sea of assorted fluids began to broil and his eyeball-raft began to pitch and yarn. The Martian noticed

a curious swelling in his nether regions but discounted it as likely gravital undertow. Then, shockingly, suddenly, a geyser of Martian

*BEEEP* Color bars crossed the screen along with "technical difficulties." no-that was live tv gone wrong. The FCC is going to have their hands full with that sexually i

nadquate Radio-Unfriendly FCC Dodger, pirate radio doofus taking to the airwaves again with his anti-government, hippydippy alternative rawk and roll music that the kids all love

. Grandpa finished his rant and immediately nodded off. Grandma removed his sagging dentures & dabbed away the spittle tenderly. He was just as square as the day they met in 1969

that one summer that had been immortalized in a song by Bryan Adams. Grandpa reflected on the state of his aging, destroyed testicles. Years of injecting marijuanas into his penis

had depreciated the value of his family jewels, but despite that he was loaded; he was a grandpa, after all, even if he couldn't, for the life of him, recall any children.