"Grrr. Woof woof. Bark bark. Yap yap yap.

"Grrr. Woof woof. Bark bark. Yap yap yap. Whine. howl. Scratch scratch scratch. Brzzzt." Hugh found himself sitting in the dark. It was suddenly quiet. Too quiet. He tapped toward

the front of the stage, his dance pleasing the howling audience that filled the dark auditorium. The Beauty 4 Beasts program brought art to animals, although budget cuts for lights

had reduced the audience to waving glow sticks and peddling a bicycle to power a generator. Even with this effort by the audience the art was

edible. It was made of Almond paste and cheese whiz. When the babysitters arrived on the scene, it was over. They mowed down the zany art instillation in approximately

Were the Singing Nun, she could have sung "Dominique" and he would have slept eight hours. As it happened, only six hours were allowed. Five years later, he was crowned The King

Who Does Not Rule. He kept that title for the whole 6 year term. Six years later, he was an unemployed royal bumming habit rides from a really young Flying Nun. "I didn't take vows

to keep 'em," he confessed. "I just have a thing for nuns." Sister Bertrille smiled serenely & took his hand; she was high, after all. Thunder & lightening suddenly cracked the sky

forming the gates of heaven, through which he and Sister Bertrille passed. "Oops, I think I killed us," said the Sister. "You stupid nun," he said, and at once dropped through the

cloud that was solid only a second ago. Instead of the earth below, he saw a dark cavernous landscape, and the heat was like opening a oven door in his face. he knew that this