Her skin had the texture, color, and scent

Her skin had the texture, color, and scent of a perfectly roasted marshmallow. Her hair was like a sheet of black plastic and her eyes were green diamonds. I held

on to her hips as we danced a suave Argentine tango, mesmerizing the audience with our sultry chemistry. We heated up the dance floor and her marshmallow skin gradually puffed up

and began to flake from her dancing body. A pack of wild dogs threaded between the revelers and fought for the tasty bits of her marshmallow detritus. She screamed when the leader

pack had been killed in a tragic motorcycle accident. The Marshmallow Poodle Skirt woman, wept. The dogs licked her face, oblivious to her heartbreak in the face of gooey-sugary

Cravings they experienced. The Wolf asked the dogs, were they prescribed as therapy? They said yes. They even had a note signed by Dr. Quackenbush himself.

Therapy was a traumatic but enlightening experience for the dogs. Bitsy discovered that much of her anger stemmed from embarrassment of having to wear silly clothes as a pup.

They all discovered in therapy that the shame of carpet pooping was a mutual embarrassment. Bitsy knew that most dogs like her had long got over this. She had not. In fact she

carried carpet shampoo with her at all times in case she pooed on the carpet. At least she could clean it up, but it was not easy, since Bitsy only had her paws to work with, and

Instructor instructed; always widdershins and accompanied by the Invocation of Hamburger Hill in Enochian. Bitsy vaguely remembered forgetting to turn off the gas just as the votiv