The thing is, it was pitch black. I couldn't

The thing is, it was pitch black. I couldn't see anything, except her eyes. I could see her eyes, shining like an ax's blade. They almost rang. But there was no light, so how

ricocheted across the dark room smacking into my cat, killing it instantly. I let out a welp of surprise and began crawling my way through the clutter towards my pet. Suddenly I s

..aw my dog mount the recently deceased cat. He was always humping her in life and we would all laugh but this was just sick. I stayed and watched until I was finished. Suddenly a

thought crossed my mind. Is it bestiality if one partner is dead? Or would that be necrozoophilia? Had my cat consented when it said 'Meow'? Was a dog stuffing a stuffed cat 'taxi

zoology?' And another thing, how consummate are interspecies relationships? One night with my cat and the dog ties the knot? Hey-o!" Offended, Johnny Knoxville's pets left his

care and went searching for a new home. The pets traveled to the next city (by hitching of course). Fluffy Sally smoothed talked her way into the home of a 67 yr old artist who

had convinced himself that self immolation could pass as performance art. Fluffy Sally lapped at her milk bowl and wondered if her fur was flammable

. Sarcastically, he lit the match. the closer the flame came to his gasoline-soaked clothing, the more snide his comments became. At that sparking instant, he saw irony for what it

was when a draft suddenly swept through and huffed out the flame. "Harold? HAROLD?!" his mother's screeching voice pierced his daydream."Are you playing with matches again?"