OUCH! Except he didn't really say "ouch".

OUCH! Except he didn't really say "ouch". Thomas cursed under his breath and lifted his foot to his teeth to rip off the remainder of his pinky nail. Who put

SUPERGLUE in his SHOES?! It happens like every week, but he can never find out exactly who keeps torturing him.

He would survive. The water rushed in from all sides of his fifth floor hotel room. The tsunami was cresting in 30 seconds. Only one thing to do. SELFIE!

Bruce Gilden, renowned critic, squinted at the TG-4 photo. Cascades of water frozen midair framed a grinning lunatic. "OMG. Finally someone who understood composition- & he's dead!

Guess he dabbles in DEcomposition now," Bruce Gilden quipped. "Being dead, that's thirty demerits, but at least the price goes up. We should all kill artists and get rich."

"Yeah, but that would mean buying all their crappy art, first," said Zetawilk, who had been standing close by, in the shadows, "and my delicate sensibilities will not permit me to

flaunt the foibles of bad marketing, let alone buying what you so loosely called crappy art. That is a disservice to crap." Woab looked at him blankly. She didn't know Zetawalk was

so passionate about crap getting it's due. Which, of course, is not what Zetawalk's rant had been about. But Woab had been distracted by all the shiny buttons on Zetawalk's jacket.

So Woab took out his scissors and neatly snipped off each of the shiny buttons, put them into his pocket and walked free. It was his life, and his buttons now.