The vacuum turned on by itself. Glowing light.

The vacuum turned on by itself. Glowing light. Roaring. The poodle cringed.

The new robotic vacuum cleaner was clearly evil thought the poodle. The lovely smells that filled the house were sucked away never to be sniffed again. If only

he could find a way to make it stop. He had already tried unsuccessfully enticing it into the garden. But the vacuum had a mind of it's own. Finally the poodle decided that if it

couldn't have a V1 rocket then nobody else would either. So he set about concocting a plan to rid the world of V1 rockets but as he was only a poodle it consisted simply of him

piddling on the pants leg of anyone he perceived to be a rocket scientist. This made the poodle very unpopular in most laboratories and did nothing to stop the V1 rockets from

pivoting gracefully away from the earth and towards the vast emptiness of the universe. The people cheered. The universe cried. And school was off for a day.

The folders of stories held a festival and celebrated the lost art of Surrealist games. The air was cleared of useless words and purified of obscenity. It was the happiest day ever

until the slam poets party crashed the surrealist festival. They swaggered in with four letter trash talk. The surrealists festival folded

quickly when a freaky dude with long armpit hair recited slam poetry:Junk is crap and crap is turd Turd is shit and shit is scum Riffraff is just one word And now this poem is dun

dun dun! Dead silence. No one clapped because no one was there. It was all a figment of his imagination. Everything. So let this be a lesson to y'all, y'hear??