The Wind

Rhonda was sitting at home eating crackers. She started getting sweaty. She opened a window. A breeze of wind blew. She sat back in her chair.

There were some loose papers on the coffee table. They blew off from the breeze.
"Oof." said Rhonda, as she bent over to pick them up.

They blew off again.
"I guess I need a paper weight." said Rhonda.

The closet door, by the kitchen, was open. She ate another cracker. The closet door started to creak closed, "Errr..", then it shut, "Klee-unk."
"Must have been the wind." said Rhonda.

The cabinets in the kitchen were also open, because Rhonda was somewhat dim, and disorganized. She didn't think to do stuff like close the cabinets. Suddenly they all slammed shut "Wamp", "Framp", "Klonk", "Cronk", they all said real fast in succession.
"Sheesh, that wind." she said.

A nice vase on the countertop flew off the table and crashed into the wall, "Whoo-pshoo!", splattering flowers and water, but instead of water it was actually filled with blood, so blood is what splattered everywhere, actually.
"Will this wind ever stop?!" asked Rhonda, humorously exasperated.

Rhonda reached for a cracker and they all rose up to the ceiling, levitating, then rained down on her like cracker-hail. Pieces of broken cracker stuck into her cheeks like shards of glass.
"Silly wind blew my crackers off the cracker tray!" Rhonda exclaimed, with surprise in her heart.

Rhonda's arms were tired anyway, from reaching over to grab so many crackers, so she decided to rest her arms on the comfortable arm rests of her chair. She looked at her tired arms. Suddenly, before her very eyes, multiple scratches and cuts appeared on her arms.
"Slik. Slik. Slit!" they said.
"Ouch! Dang wind." she said.
"Get. Out." said a loud whisper voice that echoed through her home.
"This wind's noisy!" declared Rhonda.

Rhonda decided to reach for her cup of relaxing tea, that had been sitting out cooling for a couple of hours. She brought the teacup to her mouth, sipped a tiny sip, and the water was beyond scalding hot. It burned the tip of her lip and started bleeding.
"Yow! Hey wind, where were you on that one ha ha!" she said out loud, "Shoulda blown some of that 'hot' away!"

Then her chair blew over, with her seated, dragging her across the room, and caging her against the wall."It's surprise-windy out today! The news needs a new meteorologist, that's for sure." she laughed, as blood trickled from her upper lip.

Finally, screams wailed from her walls, the chair rose and clung to the ceiling like a magnet, so did Rhonda, so did the cracker crumbs, so did all her home wares, the stove flames ignited, the flowers on the floor wilted and rose, everything began to rotate around the room, and blood rained from the floor up to the ceiling. It was the setting of a nightmare. Rhonda spun around the room.
"Gosh, this wind sure is kooky!" she shouted.

All at once everything stopped, collapsed to the floor in silence.
"Oh, fuck you." said a deep echoey voice.

Bad Bullies on Dweeb Duty

Melvin Puberty was a little twerp. He had a pocket protector clipped on his underwear and the pocket protector got pulled over his head. He got his head flushed down a bowl of soup. He sat around and put Elmer's Glue all over his hands and peeled them off. That was pretty cool. But bottom line. Melvin was a twerp. A dweeb. A dunderhead. A little wimpy weenie!

Melvin was much smaller than the other guys. It seemed like he hadn't hit puberty yet. One guy who picked on Melvin was Dale Armpit. He was a shaggy, cruddy, dust muffin. 

"Hey Melvin, why don't you go run off and make some good grades!"

"Okay fine, I will but you better not pick on me." said Melvin.

"Shut up! Before I beat up your lunch money!" said Dale. 

Dale didn't know how to pick on people very well. Melvin was still scared and ran off. He tripped and dropped his Trapper Keeper. 

The next day Dale Armpit and Billy Snott cornered Melvin.

"Hey Melvin, how those good grades comin?!" said Dale.

"Fine." said Melvin.

"Prove it dweeb! Lemme see your progress report!" said Billy Snott.

Melvin showed them his progress report. They laughed.

"Heh! Pretty good grades, dorkus!" said Dale Armpit.

"Yeah just what I expected," said Billy Snott, "the geek is pretty smart!"

Melvin was terrified by this horrible torment. He ran away. 

The next day Brian Buttpatrol, Dale Armpit and Billy Snott cornered Melvin Puberty.

"Hey Melvin! We all got hair on our balls." said Brian Buttpatrol.

"Do you?!" said Dale Armpit.

"No... not yet." said Melvin, nervously.

"If you don't have 'em now, you're probably never gonna get em! Ha ha ha!" said Billy Snott.

Melvin was mortified. And shamed. He ran off. This harassment had to stop. He was going to think of a plan. He did.

The next day Melvin Puberty marched right up to the bullies and said, "Hey guys, I know you guys are big and I'm small, but I'm going to drink a bunch of milk and that will make me grow and be strong. Milk is good for your body and your brain. So keep that in mind next time you pick on me like you do!"

The bullies were outraged. Speechless. They looked at each other, wide-eyed, in disbelief, as if their manhood had been stripped. They didn't know what to do. 

Melvin walked away chugging a carton of milk. His body severely rejected the dairy, and he had to go run to the toilet and spend the rest of the afternoon with painful gurgly diarrhea that lasted three days. 

Cynthia's Zone

Simple Cynthia sat there staring off at the wall. She shifted her eyes to the ceiling fan and zoned out. She shifted her eyes to her coffee cup. She zoned out again. She shifted her eyes to the rim of her cup. She sipped her coffee. Her eyes went back to the wall. She zoned out again.

Cynthia was a plain lady. She only wore light blue sweaters and white pants. She had a lady bob haircut. She often sat wide eyed. Mouth open. Zoning out. Cynthia would zone out perhaps too often. Where was she going?

"Hey Cynthia, come on back from Mars, wouldya? Uh-ha-ha-ha!" said Ted. Ted was the guy who made great jokes and laughed at them.

Want to know where Cynthia would often go when she zoned out? Okay I will tell you. She was in a remembering place. She was remembering a man who was a real stud from her younger years gone by. His name was Brandell. He wore a flipped up collar, cool sunglasses, and was adventurous.
"Hey Babe, come for a ride." Brandell would say.

It was a memory line that Cynthia would repeat all the time. "Hey Babe, come for a ride." She would play it on a loop in her brain. She'd imagine the way Brandell's chest looked in the sunlight. It was so smooth. You'd have to be a fool to not want to kiss his handsome and studly chest.

Often Cynthia would talk to Brandell in her zoned out memory.
"Hey Babe, come for a ride." Brandell would say.
"I'd love to."
"Feel this fantasy-wind blowing in our faces!"
"Wow, I'm a princess, and an angel, and a butterfly, and a mermaid! I can be all these things."
"That's right. Let's choke your parents to death, baby."
"Okay."

Then she'd snap out of it, realizing she took it too far and too dark. But still, the Brandell memory was strong, influential and got her through the days. She talked to him all the time.

"Hey Babe, come for a ride." Brandell said another day, in her fantasy.
"I want to. I am stressed about all the other things in my life. I wish I could get away. With you."
"Babe, you can." said Brandell.
"It sure is a comfort to talk to you. I like us talking." confided Cynthia.
"True. But who needs talk when I'm this handsome?" said Brandell.
"Ha ha that is true too." said Cynthia, in her fantasy.

Brandell in the zone-out zone was the only real friend and romance she had. The only person she felt safe talking to.

One morning she decided she'd had enough of her empty dead life. She was going to find Brandell for real. She knew if she could see him he would help her reinvent her life. She could be living life as it had only been lived in the zone-out, but in the tangible zone! They could ignite each other, excite each other. Go for rides. "Hey Babe, come for ride ...come for a ride ...come for a ride." he echoed.

She did all the proper modern day searches that people do and tracked down his info. She hadn't seen him in so long! She called him on the phone.

"Sure, I remember you." said Brandell
Cynthia's body throbbed with life,"Would you like to meet?" she asked.
"That sounds fun." he said.

Cynthia went to meet Brandell and he was real fat and bald and even his facial hair that he didn't used to have seemed to be bloated. He was twice as boring and miserable as Cynthia.
"Here's a picture of my wife and fat kids." Brandell's fat kids had gray hair.

Brandell had been too much of a hunk and had always only gotten everything he wanted. When he hit a certain age things weren't as easy, so he gave up on life real quick.

"Well I'm out of things to say." Brandell said in real life. That seemed to be his new catchphrase, replacing "Babe, come for a ride."

Cynthia left defeated. This hadn't worked out as planned. But she at least took solace in the thought that she could go back to the zone and spend time with studly young Brandell.

Cynthia went to zone out into her coffee, eagerly seeking the Brandell of her fantasy. But he was gone. A ghost. A smear. A memory smudge. Young Brandell had been replaced. Only the fat, bald, slurry Brandell remained. She dug and dug and dug through her fantasy, only finding the modern Brandell. "Well I'm out of things to say." he'd say. She had deleted him and replaced him with the updated version.

What would Cynthia do now?

The Book of Judith (and Susan)

Blustery Judith was a real bonehead of a lady. She would whimper and whine all the way to the library. She was like
"I want attention what about me??!!?"
"Shh!" everyone would say to her. And they were right.

One day she was on her usual library route, walking and whining, as expected and "Whap!" she hit her head on a sidewalk sign.
"Oooh! That hurt!" she said.
Everyone laughed. Because it was justice for the all the agony she had put everyone through with her whiny, whiny ways.

Then she stepped on a thumb tack that penetrated her shoe sole.
"Oooh a tumb tack touch my toe! It hurt!"
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" said Planet Earth, because she deserved it.

Next a doggie that didn't like her nipped at her pants and ripped a hole in the bottom.
"Youch!" she said.
Next she hopped around on one foot until she got to someone's car so she could sit on it to remove her shoe and the thumb tack. But the car had been toasting in the sun so the hood was hot and it burned her bottom.
"Yikes!!!" she said as she popped up. It was too hot and it burned.

Next, Blustery Judith took her shoe off and taped it on the hole of her pants covering her burned butt. She walked up to a very sweet, kind and hard working child making sidewalk art. He was giving the art his all.
"No one's going to like that art you are making." She told the kid.
"Hey that is mean. You're not just whiny, you're mean too." said the kid.

Then Snoozy Susan walked up and took to Blustery Judith's defense. Snoozy Susan was pretty whiny too as a matter of fact. Yeah. The poor sidewalk kid was upset.

Then God showed up and said to Snoozy Susan and Blustery Judith that he was writing a new chapter of the latest Bible and he was going to write books about them. They were excited.

"Yeah, it's going to be about how you are both pretty terrible. People from churches will use you as example of God's word of how not to be."
"Awww maaaan. Maybe I can make a suggestion or two." said Judith.
"No! It's my book." said God.
"Well I've read a lot of books and I was actually going to the library just now."
"Me too." said Susan.
"Well maybe this book will end with you two getting locked in the broom closet of the library for weeks?" said God, smugly.
"Is that a threat?" asked Judith.
"Maybe." said God.
"Well perhaps you'd like to hear from my lawyer." said Judith.
"Whoa whoa, wait, let's not get litigious, here. I've got a lot riding on these new books and don't need the bad publicity." said a cautious God, as he backed away and ran into the clouds.

"We should humiliate God!" said Judith to Susan.
"Okay I'm in!" said Susan.

Judith and Susan went on a journey into the desert and God was so embarrassed by the rotten stuff they did. But he didn't publish the book about them. They had God under their thumbtacks. These goddamned women beat God!

Moppo Makes You a Scarf

Moppo was a sweeper in the village market. He made scarves in his spare time. No one wanted the scarves. He handmade them. They were amateur scarves. But he knitted and stitched and wove them. That's got to count for something right? Moppo wanted people to keep warm for when the cold time came.

"Hello I make scarves for cold necks like you." He said to people.
"Oh that's nice. I don't need a scarf." said people.

"I make these scarf all the time. Maybe someone would like to buy?" Moppo told his friends.
"Oh they seem pretty." People said with passing disinterest.
"If you don't want to buy, maybe you will take?" said Moppo.

Scarves are just not very interesting to people. Moppo tried to spice up scarves. Maybe a new color would work. Maybe a pattern. Maybe take a risk with new types of scarves. Maybe he could experiment with making a scarf itchy?

"I try very hard to make these scarf." Moppo told people.
"Oh, well don't wear yourself out, hehe." said people.

"Hey, I make special scarf. This scarf actually very itchy!" said Moppo to a lady.
"Why would someone want an itchy scarf?" said the lady.
"Because..." Moppo wasn't sure how to answer. He was certain it was an exciting idea when he made it, but when face to face with the incredulous lady who thought itchy would be bad, Moppo felt discouraged.

Moppo was desperate for people's approval of his scarves. Surely, the people would love them. His scarves are different from plain scarves. Some scarves are practical. Not perfect, but everyone needs scarves!

Moppo asked to meet with his dear friend Schmutzie. Schmutzie was busy, but loved to eat, so Moppo asked Schmutzie to meet him at a diner so he could share his stress on the situation. They met, but unfortunately the diner was working on removing the floor that evening. Moppo tried to explain his sadness about his scarves, while a large group of men chiseled each individual floor tile.

"Clink-clink-chank-clink-pink!" said the floor chiseling.
"No one seem to want my scarf. I make it all by myself." complained Moppo.
"I cannot hear you!" said Schmutzie, as he shoveled flakey wet potatoes with oil into his mouth. That was a popular, but messy appetizer.
"I try to get people to be interested. Am I wasting my time?"
"It's loud in here! Geez my neck is cold too!" shouted Schmutzie, over the clinking.
"Why don't you take one of my scarf?" said Moppo as he held up one of his scarves.
Schmutzie grabbed the scarf and wiped his oily flakey mouth off, along with his greasy fingers.
"Hey nice napkin!" said Schmutzie, "Listen, I can't hear you very well. I'm going to go, it's too loud. Always a joy to see you though, Moppo my friend."

More time went by and Moppo kept making scarves, almost hopelessly.

"It's chilly around my neck area." said a person.
"Scarf?" he'd mumble to the person.
"Eh, it's almost warm season." said the person.

Moppo dragged his feet and broom.
"Everyone don't care about my scarf." said Moppo.
"I think ye scarves is kindy nice."

Moppo's face lit up. He turned around and was taken with elation, then fear, then crestfallen and disheartened, but then a slight optimism. It was Schmatta the Witch.

Schmatta was oozy and bumpy and craggy and baggy. She was grizzled and crackly. Phlegm clung to her vocal cords when she spoke, creating a heckish quality. She smelled. The town didn't like her. She was a witch. She was mean too. She caused a couple of peoples' flower beds to wilt, and she turned one lady's child into a hen for a summer. But she generally was considered to have good taste, albeit, she did not push her opinions on people, so there would be little promotion for Moppo on her end, but Moppo recognized that this was something. He smiled.
"Thank you. Would you like?" said Moppo.

Then she turned Moppo's left foot into a hoof. He walked with a half "clop" noise from then on.
"I'm too hot. Keep it up, though!" said Schmatta the Witch. As she crawled off into the bushes.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough for Moppo.

The Confessions

Renardo gripped Bertie's arm in his hands and pulled her close to him.
"I need you." said Renardo.
"Take me." said Bertie.
"Okay." said Renardo.
"Wait." said Bertie.
"What?" asked Renardo.
"I can't!" said Bertie.
"Why, my love?" said Renardo.
"My father would not approve."
"I will speak to him!"
"Okay good."

They kissed passionately. Renardo stopped.
"Wait, actually..."
"What?" asked Bertie.
"Well, now that I think about it, I am kind of nervous of talking to your father." confessed Renardo.
"Were you thinking about that just now when we were kissing?" asked Bertie.
"I was." confessed Renardo
"Well I'll have you know I was thinking of how passionate I felt kissing you."
"I'm sorry I'm just not that perfect." said Renardo.
"Are you trying to start a fight?" asked Bertie.
"Are you?" fired back Renardo.
"No!" said Bertie.
"Okay I confess. I actually haven't really wrapped it up completely with my ex-girlfriend Sassha."
"You're still involved with your ex-girlfriend?!" asked Bertie.
"Yes, I've been keeping it behind your back." said Renardo.
"Well, I've still been seeing Pe Li, the Chinese man." said Bertie.

They dropped their embrace. Bertie looked away like a feminine woman might do. Renardo pushed his masculine cage-like chest out, to hide his locked up vulnerability.

"I need to be with you." said Renardo.
"I need to be with you!" confessed Bertie.
"But, I can't." said Renardo, looking down.
"Please." begged Bertie.
"Okay you're right." said Renardo.
"Hmmm, but now I'm not sure." said Bertie.
"Oh, you must." said Renardo.
"Okay." relented Bertie.
"But now I'm not sure either." said Renardo, as he took a step back.

Then went on like that for another few hours. And met up every day to have similar discussions between kissing. Usually at different locations. A car. A house. A secluded house. An empty parking lot.

One time they met up and Bertie confessed that her urethra was burning. Renardo confessed his burned too. They could not confirm if their burning urethras came from one of the two of them or from Sassha and Pe Li.

Another day they were confessing their yearns to one another again and a door opened behind them. No one was standing behind it. They felt a chilling evil energy and the space where they stood felt heavy. It was a ghost who was tired of hearing their goddamned tiresome back and forth. The ghost scared them. They never went back to that house.

They went to Bertie's house to continue. Bertie's Father interrupted them.
"I've been waiting for you to talk to me!" said Bertie's Father.
"I was going to do it, I swear." said Renardo
"No coward shall be with my daughter."
"Okay, I understand." said Renardo.
"Wait." said Bertie's Father.

And then they went back and forth for a long time and life stayed like that for all of them until death.

Schmalchtach's Discrepancy

Shmalchtach the Screamer had strandy wild hair. He was pissed and he screamed and knocked over the table and pulled his pants down in the nice restaurant and his underwear down too and started peeing on his meal in the restaurant. The waiters ran out. Shmalchtach lifted an old lady's blouse and wiggled her breasts.

Schmalchtach took a handful of the fancy creamed thick mashed potatoes and pureed cauliflower off the plate of an old man across from the lady and mooshed 'em in his mouth.
"Vah-vah-vah-vah!!" he said right in the stupid old man's fuckin' face.
"Lehhhhhh!" Shmalchtach continued, as he wiggled his tongue through the mashed potatoes and cauliflower, while particles of them flung from his mouth and clung to the plates and tablecloth beneath his face.

Then Schmalchtach turned around and "Fluhhhch!!", spitblew the remaining mashed potatoes out of his mouth onto a handsome man with a nice suit's face and suit.

The waiter and management rushed over to Schmalchtach, whose pants were still around his ankles.
"Sir, what is the problem?!" said the management.
"ARAAGHH!! GAH! BRAGHH!!! REEEEE!!" Shmalchtach said, pointing a finger up, enraged.
"Was the food not to your satisfaction?" asked the chef.

Schmalchtach sat on the floor and began the scrape his bottom on the carpet.

Then Schmalchtach's son Jared walked in. The lights dimmed and a spotlight pointed at him.
"Dad!" shouted Jared.
Schmalchtach looked up from his scooting on the carpet. "Raahhh!!?" he said.
"Dad, I know you're angry. I'm angry too. We've all been angry since your favorite bar of soap ran out of itself."
"Mehhhh!" said Schmalchtach, who was very stinky.
"But you have the money to buy more soap!"
"Gruhh!" said Schmalchtach.
"I know it's not the same."
"Sir would you like a new 'hair salad'? We are very sorry the other was not satisfactory." said the management.

Schmalchtach had ordered a special salad with lots of human hair in it. The restaurant made it for Schmalchtach. No one knew what exactly was bothering Schmalchtach. Was it the soap? The salad? His son? He didn't share.

But Schmalchtach was very rich, if you didn't guess. People always compared Schmalchtach to Howard Hughes but there were many differences. Schmalchtach was a socialite, and a schmoozer. He didn't save his urine, he gave it away as a present. He didn't wash obsessively, he washed only when he fell in love with a bar of soap.

He owned this particular restaurant he was screaming in. The patrons of it that night wanted to be seen on the rich person scene so they pretended the spectacle wasn't a problem. In fact they were new to being fancy and rich, and thought it to be the most erudite behavior. So they all began rubbing their rectums on the carpets, flinging mashed potatoes, guzzling urine, and cramming extra virgin olive oil filet mignon aioli in their vaginas. Then they poured gallons of sparkling water everywhere just to waste it. A busboy working his way through college came out and with a hot crock and boiled his hand. Everyone applauded. And that set the bar for how billionaires who want to be liked by other billionaires behave in private. So if you can make a bunch of money you get to join in on their fun. It is truly a wonderful group of people to be accepted by.

Quoc the Nervous Man

Quoc the nervous man was walking down street trying no to step on little pieces of garbage that had been peppered on the sidewalk. Quoc have perfect "sidewalk strategy" for walking on the walk. See, he do his best to dodge splats, splatters, spuddles, puddles, and piles. To step on splat or spuddle would be a visit from death. Quoc was doing good, though. No spuddle. It was good day. Quoc has plain khaki coat. White shirt. Pants.

"I will get myself a bite of beef for lunch," he say, "Beef taste yummy." he thought to himself. He walked more to get beef.

A bus honked a big horn, "Bop!" and made him jump from scare. A little dog, walked by fat man, yipped loud, "Scripp!" and gave him shivers. Decision over if he should cross street, when there a flashing red hand countdown "Beep! Beep!...", or wait for the green light man, gave him a anxiety.

Cacophony of a those thing making Quoc nervous. He look around all over the street and sidewalker area. He know a few beef bites will make it all feel better. But the beef bites are still a walk away. He look around more. He look up at the sky. He look at his feet. He a whole man. He can do it. Deep breath he take. Exhale. Quoc ready for walk. He going to get beef.

Nice. Walk. Calm. Here come Quoc floating down sidewalk like he owns this town. A man asking for change over there. No problem. A woman with face wrinkles selling merchandise over there. Wave hello. A power tool drilling behind that open gate. Noisy, but no big issue. A lady with young child in stroller moving slow. Quick pivot, and Quoc is on his way. Peace.

Quoc keep walking. Noise all around. Pretty normal. One noise still noisiest. The stroller lady from before. That noise still near. Quoc turns around gets a glance. Stroller Lady is behind him. Quoc take a few steps faster fast, to make stroller noise less loud. Stroller noise stays the same noise level. Sounds like it still right behind him. Quoc walk faster.

Quoc turn around again, Stroller Lady still very close proximity. Hmm. Quoc take many steps faster. He want to lose that stroller noise. It become a very distracting from the world now. Is Stroller Lady follow Quoc?

Quoc worry if he turn around again Stroller Lady going to be offended that he keep staring. Or that he feel he has right to tell her to get away from him by giving her a rotten glance. Sidewalk belong to Stroller Lady just as much as belong to Quoc, after all. But Quoc remain nervous.

He still walk faster. The noise of wheel roll rubbing and bumping on sidewalk "Clobba-lobba-lobba-lobba, Clobba-lobba-lokk!..." reverberated through the universe, and into Quoc's ear to brain. Quoc cannot seem to shake Stroller Lady. Maybe she is a demon and Stroller Baby with Stroller Lady is demon ship navigator.

Feel like Stroller Lady chasing Quoc. And she going to jump on him, or stab on him, or eat him up. Quoc walk so fast now. Lightning? He only concern with losing Stroller Lady noise. He lose focus of "sidewalk strategy". Quoc slip on a splatter. 

"Ah!" say Quoc.

Quoc stand up. Clean pants dirty now. He turn around. Hey, he in front of beef bite place! Stroller Lady pass him by. New thing to be nervous about: How to pick what flavor of beef best to eat? 

Maybe Quoc just a nervous guy, and outside world not actually a threat. Maybe Quoc fear of thing come from something happen to Quoc at young age? Who can let Quoc know the answer?

Barry the Changebeast

Barry was worried he would turn into the animal creature again when the full moon showed it's face. It happened every full moon, which was roughly a couple of times a month. So pretty frequent. It happened a lot. "Tonight you will not change." He told his reflection in the mirror. Intently.

He said that every time though. It still happened. He'd grow paws and canine looking teeth and hair. He also got bubbly bumps on his back.

He also would stay at friends' houses and say "Don't let me out of this room!" then he'd turn into the man animal creature beast and massacre his friends and smash their home. Then he'd wake up back to normal and wouldn't remember. No one in this town and world had heard of man-animal-morphing-at-moon-time-beasts. It wasn't a thing that pop culture had lore about in this story, so there were no special bullets or tricks known to stop him. Well there was one special trick where if you pricked him with a plastic sewing needle dipped in nail polish remover, but there were no mystical gypsy ladies or psychics to tell everyone about it. Plus even if you knew, you couldn't get close enough to prick the Changebeast without him shredding you to slop.

It was a small town with limited resources. Otherwise you'd think they'd have paid attention to all the murders and massacres happening.

One night, Barry had a lady he'd been dating over to sleep at his house. He didn't pay attention to what moon it was gonna be. Because people often just go on with their lives and only notice the moon is full when they look up and see "Oh it's full tonight, pretty." So Barry forgot then he massacred the nice girl he was seeing.

He also massacred cops. Because he was fast, they never caught him. One time the cops cuffed him but he snapped the cuffs, then ripped the cops who cuffed him's flesh to ribbons. He got away. Security cameras caught a lot of the horrible incidents on camera, but Barry didn't fit the description of the Changebeast he changed into. So he got away with it. He isolated himself inside his home by getting a bunch of cinder blocks and building a wall inside his room where he was real cramped. But then he woke up the morning and found that everyone in his town was dead. He had killed them all.

"Oh shoot." he said with extreme and unbelievable sadness. He was so sad about it.

He walked and walked and walked and went to another town. Then another town. Then another town. He met a nice lady who worked at the circus, because she was always changing towns too. Then they fell in love real hard.
"I like you you're cute." she'd say to him.
"Aw that's nice of you."

The circus lady had a great idea of keeping him in a traveling circus cage where they usually keep animals. She was very ugly. Also she was very organized so she kept track when full moons would happen. So Barry didn't have to stay in the cage all the time.

Turning into a Changebeast was like the equivalent of Barry having a period menstrual cycle. When he got older he went through manopaws and it stopped. They were finally happy. They had a lovely son. Barry and the Circus Lady didn't realize that the Changebeast Syndrome was hereditary and was passed down to their ugly child. One day the son turned into a Changebeast and massacred them all.

The Vigorous Hunt for Snood Butts

Detective Priss Biggle was on the case of finding Snood Butts. Snood was a bad guy who was out to trouble make. "Heheheh." said Snood real bad.

Luckily, Snood was got sloppy and left a trail of clues all over the city.

Priss didn't see these most recent set of clues, but he had a tough gut, and followed his instincts. Priss's instincts lead him to the Bridgewater 7, a movie theater. To find see the new movie with his favorite handsome star Chett Hotler. This one was supposed to be an action turn for Chett, who usually did dramas, thrillers, and an appearance in a silly comedy called "Mean Supervisors", which was about three silly, but funny, and also handsome white guys who kill their mean boss and are scared of gay people, it was a hilarious hit. But this new action genre turn for Chett, titled "Maximum Crispness", looked cool, and also featured the very hot actress, Kraley Suspo, she was beautiful, and there was expected to be a tiny bit of brief nudity on her part. Detective Priss was very excited about the movie and just had to check and see if maybe Snood showed up to see it. He had a real hunch.

Meanwhile, badboy Snood went to Speakman Bank on 1st and Elgin to rob it.
"Gimme all the fucking money. I want all of it." said Snood and his best Goon, who held a sharp knife.

Meanwhile, back over at the Bridgewater 7, Det. Biggle ate handfuls of popcorn. He didn't usually get buttered popcorn, but he was so excited about this movie that he dubbed it a special occasion. Also getting butter was kind of like being undercover, since he didn't usually get butter.

Back at the bank, Snood Butts shoveled all the money they could in four bags, while his Goon held a knife to to a lady's breast.

Then back in the movie theater, Det. Biggle watched a cool fight scene, he had read in an interview that Chett Hotler learned a little bit of Tae Kwon Do for his role, and did a couple of his own stunts. Det. Biggle paused from eating his popcorn and watching to glance from side to side around the theatre from his seat. No sign of Snood Butts.
"Freeze, Scumbag!" said Chett's character from the movie screen.

Finally, back at the bank, Snood and his Goon were making a run for it with their bags full of money, without interference from any Chett Hotler types. Just as they were leaving the cops rolled up, having chased Snood's trail of clues, and fired a shot at the Goon. Goon took one in the back, but they managed to make it to their getaway car, which drove them to a helicopter, which flew Goon and Snood to Costa Rica where a shady unshaven doctor named Remulade removed the bullet and they dined for years in anonymity, with exotic women and tropical drinks at their side.

Det. Priss Biggle started ordering butter on all subsequent movie theater visits, and remained very enthusiastic for the next Chett Hotler vehicle.

The Groovy Trip

Sally Speckles was so exhausted from walking around all day. She had long beautiful hair, man. She went home and dropped acid. In her chemistry lab. Then tripped so hard! On a rollerskate she left on the floor. She shouldn't have built that chemistry lab, because that required her to put her chemicals away. Like the actual acid that she literally dropped. She was bad about putting stuff away. Like her rollerskates. She should have put those away too. This wasn't the first time she dropped acid and tripped. "Wow look at all the colors!" she said, as she glimpsed inside her favorite kaleidoscope that she left out on the counter.

Then she went to what seemed like a whole other reality, where she saw surreal imagery through another perspective. It was called a "dream". She had fallen asleep because she was so tired, and was experiencing "R.E.M. sleep", which is what people most commonly dream during.

Sally Speckles loved science, and reading.

She put on her rollerskates the next day. She met up with up with Billy Balls near the boardwalk. Billy Balls was an athletically fit guy. He loved sports. Sally loved rollerskating. But she was really picky about where she rollerskated, "Like, this is totally groovy man." she said.

"Stop complaining." said Billy Balls.

"I mean it. It's totally groovy. How can I rollerskate on a sidewalk with this many grooves? I'm telling you, man, it's dangerous."

Sally was right. The sidewalk was too groovy to rollerskate on, man. She was cautious because she'd just bought some new acid to replace the acid she dropped in her chemistry lab the night before.

"Watch this I'll run across it fast to show you it's fine!" said Billy Balls.

Billy ran real fast across the sidewalk and pretended he was playing football. Sally accidentally rolled onto the sidewalk, dropped the acid, and Billy stumbled over her leg.

Billy's favorite Coach showed up. He saw the whole Sally-Speckles-spectacle and laughed at them. "Haha! You dropped acid and now you're tripping Balls, dude!" said Billy's Coach, to Sally. Sally turned so the Coach could get a better look at her feminine face. "Oh sorry, I thought you were a dude with long hair and a lady's body." said the Coach.

Sally argued with Billy.

"You made me trip!" said Billy

"I told you it was groovy, man." said Sally to Billy.

Then Billy slipped on the slippery acid and landed on the pier that was cracking. The pressure of his impact caused the pier to collapse. Billy fell in a body of water.

"You just gave to pier pressure!" said Billy's favorite Coach.

"Great! Now I'm wet and will track water in my home. I'll have to get new carpets!" said Billy.

"Carpets are terrible! You need rugs! Not carpets!" said Coach.

"No, I'm gonna get carpets! Carpets I will get! Carpets!" shouted Billy.

"Don't dude! Rugs! Don't dude! Rugs!" Coach commanded. 

That settled it.

Finally they all three went back to Sally's house and shot up heroin.

Granny the Prankster, Granny the Sleuth

Granny Whitehouse was a giggler and a prankster. She would often put firecrackers in her underwear. "Woo hoo hoo hoo hoo! That was a crackler!" She'd say.

Granny pranked everyone. She looked and talked like a sweet old lady, so no one expected it from her. Sometimes she'd have visitors to come keep her company.
"Oh Dearie, have some sweet toast, with my yummy spread I made myself."
"Thank you, Mrs. Granny Whitehouse," the visitor would say.
Then they'd bite into it and there'd be a piece of aluminum foil under the spread.
"Ew it tastes like metal!"
"Wee hee hee, that's not the homecookin' you'd expect from someone who looks like me, right? I gotcha!" Pranks like that. She was the master of deception.

But she most liked playing pranks on herself, to find amusement, when there were no visitors around. It truly made her feel comforted. She and her neighbor's cat would laugh and laugh about them. That's why she'd put firecrackers in her panties. She was pranking herself.

Sometimes she'd put mousetraps in her closets, so when she'd reach for her sweater they'd snap.
"Ooh! It hurts! I got me!" Then she'd grab her hand "My fingers are sensitive, but the thrill of the prank is worth it!" So she kept pranking herself.

The mousetraps that caught her fingers never caught any mice. She did have a mouse problem though. It was always alleviated by the neighbor's cat. Almost always. Neighbor Cat would usually come snatch and kill the mice in her house. One week though she noticed the mice weren't getting killed. And she was laughing alone at her self pranks, instead of with Neighbor Cat.

Granny went to investigate. She grabbed supplies; magnifying glass, soft sneakers, so she could tip toe around the neighborhood, etc. She peaked in every house window. Where could Neighbor Cat be? She also would leave grocery store bought shrimp water juice at the windowsills, porch ledges, and door handles of all the houses. Both because the fishy shrimp water would attract the Neighbor Cat, and if that didn't work, it would really start to stink, and function as a great stinky prank!

Granny Whitehouse put on her sleuthing cap real good and finally found the most suspicious house in the neighborhood. She peaked through the window. What did she see? It was a gang of Goombas! Holding Neighbor Cat tightly!

Granny Whitehouse's friend a hostage. She listened carefully.

"Dis cat gonna help us sniff out the prized diamond mouse!"
"Yeah."
"And the good guys will be dead."
"Then we'll be rich!" said the Goombas.

Granny covered her mouth in fear. She had to figure out a plan. What would she do? She held her breath, as not to make a peep, and thought hard. Just then, firecrackers in her panties started sizzling and soaring and whistling.

"Oh no!" she said out loud. What a prank she'd played on herself.

The Goombas reached out the window and grabbed her. Granny's Navy Seal training kicked in. She broke Goomba #1's finger and shoved it in his ear, gouged Goomba #2's tongue deep into his own throat, causing him to choke, she squirted the shrimp juice in Goomba #3's eyes, and the concentrated amounts of lactic acid caused his eyes and face to burn. There was some dumb bimbo sitting there, probably a Goomba girlfriend, Granny snapped her neck, just in case. Then she scalped the Boss Goomba with a pair of fingernails clippers in record time, and shoved his head of hair down his throat. All while her panties smoked, whistled, and burned. She had a high tolerance for pain. Granny grabbed Neighbor Cat and left, all without leaving a finger print.

On the way out she spotted some squirrel droppings in the yard and couldn't resist meticulously collecting large amounts of it to leave in a burning bag on the porch. Neighbor Cat and she went home and ate all the mice together. Gotcha! Granny chewed on a rubber mouse, to prank herself, while Neighbor Cat ate real mice.

A Crackless Life Cycle

Duke Shitstein cracked his head on a sharp corner and his brains leaked out on the ground.
"Oh shhharrrr..." said Duke in a slurry voice.
"Duke! You spilled your brains! It sounds like you're trying to say 'oh shit' but you're slurring!" said Ronnie Garbage, Duke's buddy, "Here lemme help you out."

Ronnie Garbage picked up Duke's slippery slimy brains off the ground. They jiggled, and he had trouble keeping them in his hands.

"Woops!" said Ronnie, as the slippy brains jumped and bounced, from hand to hand, back on the ground.

"Got em!" said Ronnie again, after he picked them back up, and was certain they wouldn't slide out. But then they did!

"Oh no, I was wrong, I dropped them again!" Ronnie bent over to scrape them up with his fingertips once more, they were breaking into little pieces.

"Uh oh, this ain't good." said Ronnie.

Finally Ronnie got all the brains into a little chunk puddle he cradled in his hands. He made Duke bend over carefully so he could dribble them back into Duke's skull crack. Then Ronnie took a mini-pocket keychain flashlight and clicked the light into his buddy, Mr. Shitstein's, skull crack, so he could get a peak inside his head. Ronnie decided to make a little joke to lighten the mood.

"Hey Duke, looks like there wudn't much in there to begin with! Heh heh heh heh heh!" Ronnie was implying that Duke wasn't very smart. It was just a joke though.

"Well now we can get on with our double date tonight." said Ronnie.

Duke and Ronnie went ahead with their plans for the night and picked up their double dates, Darla and Pepper. Darla had tall pink hair and stiff gel flakes in it. They went to a restaurant that only served cereal.

"I'll have the Frosted Flakes, with 2% milk," said Ronnie. He also ordered for his lady, Pepper, because he's a gentleman, "And for the lady, a bowl of Chex, served soggy."
"Wow you're classy." said Pepper.
"Do you have Alpha-Bits?" asked Darla.
"No Ma'am, just Cheerios." said the waiter.
"I'll just have Crispix." said Darla.
"Duke'll have generic Oat Bran." said Ronnie.
"You guys are picking up the bill right?" said Darla, who was very stingy.
"Yeeee." said Duke, who hadn't spoken in a while.
"Wow what a gentleman." said Pepper.
"We are studly." said Ronnie, who was really vibing heavy with Pepper.

Duke sat with his skull crack side facing away from his date and everyone, in both the car ride and restaurant. No one noticed until Darla came out of the Ladies Room and Duke was walking into the Ladies Room, because he was confused. Darla had been throwing up because she was bulimic. Duke went in to let some blood and brain fluid leak out of his brain, in private.

"Wow I had no idea you were leaking brain," said Darla, "I'm bulimic. Those are kind of the similar, right?"

They weren't really similar at all, but the leaky-pukey connection was enough for Darla to feel safe and open with Duke. Darla sought help for her bulimia and gained a whole lot of weight, but kept her hair pink and crusty. Duke had permanent brain damage, but maintained enough brain function to get a high paying job operating a fancy rollercoaster.

Duke and Darla got married, Ronnie Garbage was the best man. It was a secular wedding, but Duke's bubby, Ethel Shitstein, insisted on them doing the part where they step on the glass because she liked that part.

"Mazel Tov" yelled the secular people watching the wedding.

Duke and Darla had an ambitious child who became The President of the United Plates of America, an organization that collected rare TIME/LIFE plates that used to be advertised on informercials in the late 80s through late 90s. Does anyone remember those? Well they were very popular and came with magazine subscriptions. This organization also doubled as a secret society, with talking reptiles and amphibians that looked like cute puppets, but the cute reptile puppets were very old, like 132 years old, and they were racist. So that part was not good, unfortunately.

The Know-It-All

Sally Peckerhead wouldn't shut up! She raised her hand in class and was like, "Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, pick me! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh, I'm so smart!"

Then she'd get the answer wrong. Then the teacher would say,
"You're wrong Sally."
Then she'd protest, "No, I'm right. My Dad says!!"

Everyone in the class would hate her because she thought she was smarter than everyone, but would still get the answers wrong. The teacher called Mr. and Mrs. Peckerhead to tell them their kid was dumb and pretended to be smart.
"How dare you not encourage our child Sally! What kind of teaching is this?"

Word got around to the class kids that this happened, and the kids continued to think Sally was obnoxious and rotten.

One day Sally hadn't come out of the bathroom for a long time so the teacher sent Judy Bottomhopper to go get her. Judy opened the bathroom door.
"Sally, teacher says you gotta come back to cla-"
Then Judy said "Gasp!"
Because she saw Sally standing straight up, back to Judy, facing the wall, swaying slightly, and spooky-singing:

Little Miss Muffin / ate a muffin. Gimme a muffin / I love muffins...

There was also writing, scrawled in red, on the white bathroom tiles, "I will win! I will win!"
It looked real scary. It wasn't blood, though. It was red kid paint. Which decreased the amount of scariness significantly, but then she turned around and had an evil screaming demon face, which made it scary again.

The teacher called Sally's parents to inform them.
"But don't you see? Sally's been dead for over fifty years," said Sally's father.
The teacher gasped.
"And so have we." he continued.
The teacher gasped again.
Then a hideous laugh came from the telephone receiver,
"Ahhh ha ha ha ha ha ha,"
The teacher was terrified.
"Ha ha ha ha ha- ehem, sorry. Was just watching something funny on this new 'television' thing. You have one yet? Funny guy named Ernie Kovacs, you gotta see him." said the parent.

But Ernie Kovacs had been dead for over fifty years. And televisions have been around for over fifty years.

This explained why Sally would often raise her hand and give the wrong answer. Because she'd be giving a correct answer from over fifty years ago, that had since been proven false. Like about evolution, electricity, or Jews or something.

The teacher also looked up microfiche records to read up on Sally and the Peckerhead family. Apparently her family was very strict and abusive in an emotional way that made her feel like she had to over achieve and make a lot of money in the future. It was like a baby boomer thing. That's why she wrote the thing about "winning" on the wall. By the way, if you, or someone you know is a victim of abuse call 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453).

Oddly, Sally kept coming to school, because everyone knew she and her family were dead they just allowed her to answer questions and get them wrong. She passed every test. She made it to college even. She is now the head of a major corporation, very driven, but still thinks she's a little girl, in class and it's over fifty years ago.

Jim Bimbaugh's Positive Implosion

Thoughtful Jim Bimbaugh was the town's positive voice of reason. He was a tall older man with open eyes and a kind, gentle voice. Everyone asked him for advice. He was a good listener and seemed to have a good answer for everything.

"Thoughtful Jim, what do I do about this bad thing?"
"Maybe try seeing the good in it?"
"Thoughtful Jim, my girlfriend broke up with me."
"Maybe being with yourself right now is better than being with her."
"Thoughtful Jim, this one thing's making me feel down."
"Life's about navigating ups and downs. Not about only being 'up'."

People continued to ask him for wise advice. He always helped. So nice. So caring. Jim basically gave them the same answer every time. Thoughtful Jim began to be able to give this good advice in his sleep. Then they'd say, "Wow you're right, Jim Bimbaugh!" And come back a week later with a similar problem and get an answer with a similar outlook.

He wondered, why did people keep making the same type of mistakes and asking the same types of question?

He started to get goddamned sick of his same answer. Same answer. Same answer. Insightful outlook. Thoughtful take. Positive spin. Boring! Sick! Jim got a little discouraged by his boredom, thinking he was a fraud with nothing real to say, and nothing to offer. A one trick pony.

"Eh, it's just a positive spin." Jim said to himself.
"But maybe people need a positive spin. They just can't see it in the moment." Jim said back to himself.
"Hmm. That's a good point." he considered.
"Ah bullshit, I'm just giving myself a positive spin." he said to himself.

Jim was becoming very negative. The change actually felt good though. He decided to start being negative and unreasonable. What a burden this patience and positivity had become. Why did he have to carry the responsibility of being the wise man to these idiots who couldn't figure their shit out? Why couldn't these people help themselves?

First, Thoughtful Jim tried not calling people back who'd ask for help. He was usually quick to respond.

Second, he tried giving bad advice.
"Thoughtful Jim, I eat too many sweets." said a schmuck.
"Eat a lot of donuts, maybe you'll get sick of 'em." said Jim.
"Thoughtful Jim, my boss criticizes me at my job." said some dummy.
"Punch him." said Jim.

Third, he just tried being straight up rude.
People'd come back saying "Hey you gave me bad advice!"
"Figure it out yourself, shit-for-brains!" Jim said.
"You stirred me in the wrong direction." said some bozo.
"What am I, your fucking puppet master?!" said Jim.

Maybe punching the boss actually was good advice? Jim didn't seem to know anymore, or care. The one thing he found pleasure in, was being rude to people who asked for his help. He told them to fuck off, and to go fuck themselves, and to go fuck their mothers. He also called them fuckfaces. Sometimes he'd go out of his way to be a shit to people who hadn't asked him for anything.

"Hey!" said Thoughtful Jim, to a guy in a brown raincoat.
"Yes?" said the man in the raincoat.
Then Jim shoved him.

He also spit mucus on a sidewalk.
He was having a great time with this change of pace and hadn't felt this good in years. What a relief! It was like he aired all that positive bullshit out of his system.

One day the phone stopped ringing.
"Good." he said.
Nothing.
"Hmm." he said.
Still nothing for a while. Like days and weeks.
"Assholes." he said.
Like a year or two, maybe five.
"Those people can fuck themselves."

He pushed all the people away and no one asked him for advice. Then he got sad because no one cared anymore. Then he asked himself why he was sad. He was alone. Then he tried to give himself advice, but he was more used to giving bad advice than good advice.
"Maybe you should go fuck yourself." he told himself, but that wasn't helpful.

Then he had to think real hard about what some good and positive advice would be, so he dug into the back of his brain to a part he'd locked up for a while.

Jim Bimbaugh applied his old boring positive, thoughtful, big-picture rhetoric to his current situation. It made him want to gag. He went out and arduously tried to be nice to some people. He was still bored by it and slightly repulsed. People were afraid of him, but he'd explain he'd been "going through a thing" and that he "was sorry."

Jim made apology pies for some people. His pies weren't very good though because that was never an area of expertise for him.

He managed to rebuild some of his reputation. Some people vowed to never speak to him again, and he was okay it, because after an interim period of beating himself up and feeling bad about it, per his advice, being okay with it was the best thing he could think to do.

Chippy the Artist

Chippy loved to make great beautiful pieces of art that were made out of smooshed potatoes.
"Hey look." Chippy would show someone.
"Ooh that's good, Chippy."
"I knew it." Chippy would say.

Chippy was a person, but no one knew if Chippy was a boy or a girl. I guess Chippy thought it was no one else's business. So Chippy wore a giant dark cloak all the time, regardless of the weather, and spoke in a grumbly voice that disguised Chippy's gender.

Chippy went to the place where Chippy usually went to make and display Chippy's potato art. Chippy felt creatively blocked. Chippy felt stressed about it.

Chippy went home and paced around, trying to figure out what to do with smooshed potatoes that might get a big reaction. Chippy removed the cloak she wore. --I say she because she did kind of look like a girl, by the way. Yeah. I think Chippy was a girl. Anyway, she clipped her nails. Suddenly, she had a potato idea! She threw her cloak and hood back on, and went back to the potato place.

"Hey guys, watch my idea." Chippy said, in the grumbly gravel voice again. --Actually, now I'm not so sure Chippy's a girl, that last gravel voice was pretty androgynous sounding.
"Ooh it's good potato art." said others.

The next week Chippy was out of ideas. Chippy went home. In private. Chippy took off the cloak. --You know what? I'm pretty sure Chippy is a girl.

She brainstormed and got frustrated. Then she decided, to hell with it. She cut off her hair and made it short. There! Boom! Pop! She had an idea! --You know, now that I think about it, Chippy with short hair really made her look like a boy. I guess Chippy probably was a boy.

Anyway, Chippy went and made another piece of potato art.
"We think it's good!" said the people who saw it.

Next week, Chippy is blocked again. Damnit. Chippy went home again. Dang. Chippy clipped more nails. Didn't work. Chippy cut more hair. No ideas. Then Chippy cut... himself.

He bled. It hurt. But... he had an idea.

"We like it." said the some of the people.
"Hey, you know this Chippy sure is mysterious. I don't even know Chippy's gender." said another person, --even though you and I both know Chippy is a boy.

Next week, Chippy's in trouble again. Idealess. Chippy looked in the mirror. Cloakless. --Definitely a boy. Chippy balled a fist out of his fingers. He started whapping himself in the face with it. Ouch! Why? Is an idea really worth it? He bruised his face and bloodied his nose. But he got an idea!

And you know, when that red blood came out of his nose, it trickled down to his big round lips and looked like lipstick. --I've got to tell you, Chippy made a pretty convincing woman with those lips. I think, actually, Chippy's been a girl the whole time, actually.

The trouble with potato ideas continued. The next week Chippy was mean to other people, this made Chippy feel bad about himherself. The following week Chippy drank drugs and became addicted.

Chippy's potato art got better, better and popularer.
"How does Chippy keep coming up with ideas for potatoes?" said the public.
Chippy worried the same question. Chippy's attitude got worser and worser.
"Hey Chippy, you a boy or a girl?" asked gossipers.
"Hey Chippy, I'm a fan how do you make potato mush art so good?" said fans.
"Hay Chippy, what's your secret?" said an invasive Magazina.
"My secret is 'you're a fuck face'." said Chippy, then Chippy spit at the Magazina. "Spit."

The art world was shocked. Chippy was running out of ideas for doing things to get ideas.
"I'm gonna walk into traffic, everyone! That's my latest and greatest idea idea." Grumbled a drunken Chippy.
"No don't do it, Chippy!" shouted a fan.
"Shhh! Allow Chippy Chippy's process. You want to see great potato art, don't you?" said another fan.

Chippy got hit by a car, didn't die, and made a great potato smoosh. It was a potato sculpture in the shape of an idea! Everyone was impressed. Except one guy who didn't know anything about art.

"Hey, stop wasting potatoes! I wanna eat that stuff." said the guy.

Sludgy Smudge in a Slump

Sludgy Smudge Jr. was melting. He was a blobby sludge who sludged through his sludge world. Sludges before him strived to ooze everywhere, all over, glupping and glopping any slop spot they saw. But Sludgy Smudge Jr. was unmotivated. Unlike his dad, who was a sludgy guy of the highest degree.

"Smurgle gurgle glurg lurg lurg." other sludges would say to Sludgy Smudge Jr., about his dad.
"Shmlurge." he'd say, which clearly indicated the pressure he felt to live up to him.

Sludges would seep into things, grossing people out. Sludges would pollute the fine quality of things.

"Oh dear, steer clear!" said a man to his beautiful wife with combed hair, when a puddle, a wad, or a waddle of pud, was near in the form of any type of sludge.

When it was hot sludges would liquify and dribble and ooze into one another. Sometimes one sludge would ooze into another curvy smudge with lipstick and create this bubbly, cruddly, cigarette-ash-banana-garbage smelling sludge. It was pretty sensual in a sludgy sense. That's when it was party time.

Mostly sludge was slippery around the sludgier parts of town.

One famous sludge, Gludge Smudgeworth, made history by sitting on a taxicab's tire and splattering on a pretty lady's dress during snow time. He was regarded highly, because many a sludge had not thought to do that. Sludgeworld people made him a statue of sludge, it melted.

Other sludges, like Smill Slubbins, were straight up phony sludgemuckers, who absorbed the ideals of sklucky sludges that scame before them. They blobbed around sponging sludge antics of sludge heroes, thieving the finest guzzy goo gloppers imaginable, slopping them off as their own, to sludgy celebration.
"Oh glooby dooby dooby.." Smill glurped, posing to be so humble and smumble, to the adoration of sludges everywhere.

Sludgy Smudge Jr. resented these sludges the most. They were the smoste regarbled, and that made him smick. So smick that he scouldn't scontinue. Slubbins had everyone fooled and Smudgy was alone.

He wanted and slawnted revenge, but what could he do? There was no sleame team big enough to asslemble that would take on the challenge of smaking down beloved Smill Slubbins. Smaybe Sludgy sneeded a slattitude ajustment?

Sludgy dribbled down a curb.
"Your dad slurr is great!" said a random sludge named Smurd.
"Sank goo." said Sludgy.
"Slime a big fan of your dad too." said asnother voice.
Sludgy looked up. It was snon other than Smill Slubbins.
Rather than scrowing scratitude, or even faux-politeness, Sludgy just oozed on by. Sludgy was too negative, some might say, but Sludgy was on death's door, so he didn't care.

Sludgy oozed up to the top of a building. He was gonna slowly ooze off the roof to his sludgy demise, ending it all. He took his big drip. It was slow thoughtful goo drop, down a long ride.

Rather than a sudden splat, he landed in the building ledge's rain drain, and guggled his sluggly smud down to the end of the dripper. This was the most patient spewicide in the history of sludge.

"Please Dear Glob, end it now!" he prayed.

He dangled and jiggled like a piece of jello, or a convenience store children's play goo toy, for what sleemed like hours, watching people scum and go.

After waiting for his demise he became more cognizant of things beyond himself. He noticed beneath him, at the bottom of the drop, was a fine and prestigious outdoor dining eslablishment. Sludgy became excited. He suddenly had a slurpose in this world.

"Splop!" he said with a splatter, onto a platter, of people-food, that had just slerved to some speople who'd splurged on krappetizers and red swine.

"Blreeeee!!" said Sludgy. He finally had purpose, and purple pus. It was the screatest day of his life.
"Diiiiiiiisgusting!" said the dining man, "Waiter!" he shouted, "I'm sorry, but there's sludge in this food. I shall recommend that this establish receive the lowest rating possible."

Sludgy Smudge Jr. was overwrought with sluclomplishment. He had sludged this man's nice meal in the sludgiest way and earned his sludgy throne.
"Phluck you, Dad and Smill Slubbins!" he gurbled. Then he died happy.

Eager Lisa's Ridiculous Aunt

"Does anyone wanna see my impression of my ridiculous aunt?" said Eager Lisa. She was at a party where lots of people were doing their very popular impressions of their ridiculous aunts.

"Anyone?"

No one wanted to see Eager Lisa's aunt impression. She walked toward the bathroom. On the way to the bathroom she passed some popular people at the party doing their impressions of their aunts and getting their backs patted on for doing these impressions.

"Haaa! Ha ha ha!" forced out Lisa, to let them know she enjoyed their aunt impressions. She wanted to get on their good sides so they'd like her aunt impression too. She didn't really think theirs were better than hers. No one noticed regardless. She was upset.

Eager Lisa got into the bathroom. She locked the door. She looked in the mirror, sadness and longing in her eyes. Then she snapped into her ridiculous aunt impression.

"You wown't s'moar p'tayta salid?!" she said in a boisterous loud voice, while pushing out her lips. She put her hands in her hair and pulled it up to make herself look funnier. She said it again.

"You wown't s'moar p'tayta salid!?!"

Lisa waddled her neck, and shook her tush, "You wown't s'moar p'tayta salid?!"

She tried splashing drippy water on her face and saying it louder, "You wown't s'MOAR p'tayta salid?!"

It was no use. Her ridiculous aunt impression was just not funny.

"Knock knock knock" said a knock at the door.
"Deedya fall in!?" said a partygoer at the door in a ridiculous aunt voice.
"Ha ha ha ha!" said other people outside the bathroom, in response to the line about falling in.
"Haa haa!!" overcompensated Lisa, from inside the bathroom, to let them know she was in on the joke too.

Lisa just stood there, holding handfuls of her hair up, water dripping from her face, nothing to contribute, as they knocked and spoke in strange aunt impression voices.

She went home unnoticed. She read her aunt impression bible which she had spent much money on:

She who can perform the finest impression of her ridiculous aunt shall receive all the keys to all the status kingdoms...

She did not understand it. She went to visit her aunt. She was even more saddened to realize that her aunt was not that ridiculous. She did not know where she came up with such an inaccurate impression of her aunt. She didn't even enjoy doing the impression.

Eager Lisa started selling real estate. Because she was so eager she sold a lot and became successful. She met a boring, handsome, to her, husband. She would sometimes do impressions of ridiculous aunts. He would be amused, but mostly because he loved her.

"Hey have you ever thought of doing that impression of a ridiculous aunt for other people?" he asked one day.
"Nope." she responded. But then she turned and winked to all her imaginary party fans.

The Boozey Man's Gift

Drunk Man Milton drank every night when he got home. He chugged it all down. One day he got home and he opened his cabinet and saw his booze bottles were empty. He must have been so drunk the previous night that he put the bottles back in the cabinet.

He looked in another cabinet where he kept booze.

"Shit!" he said.

More empty bottles from other nights he was too drunk to throw them away. 

He opened his wallet to see how much cash he had. 

"Shoot!" he had none. He must have spent it all on other booze that he drank other nights.

He went out to the ATM for more cash. 

"Your account is basically empty." said the ATM machine. 

"Shoot." He must have done something with all that money in his accessible at night bank accounts.

He went asking homeless guys for boozes. 

"I could sure use a little drink, pal." said Drunk Man Milton.

"I could sure use some change, buddy." said the homeless guys, in response.

"I don't have any change, I spent it on booze." said Milton.

"Get out of here ya bum." said the homeless guy, "Go get a job! Then gimme change."

"I'm retired! I worked for my money." said Milton.

"I'm homeless, I drank myself out of a job!" said homeless guy.

"Oh yeah, you think you're better than me, I drank myself out of a liver!" said Milton.

Then it dawned on Milton, he wasn't supposed to drink because he'd had liver surgery and he didn't have money because he'd spent all his money on the liver surgery.  And he didn't remember that he'd done all that because he was having a going away party at work that night, due to his liver operation forcing him into retirement, and at the retirement party he drank too much.

"Oh yeah..." he said. "I'm not supposed to drink anything at all!" said Milton.

"Uh oh. I'm almost there too." said the homeless guy.

"Shoot! I must have spent it on that liver operation." he remembered out loud.

Then the homeless guy gave him a swig of booze to be nice and then Milton went home and died. It wasn't super sad for him though because he was so drunk he forgot to have regrets.

His son Carlton looked for money in his will.

"Oh shoot! He must have spent all his money on his booze, then on a liver operation. And invitations to his big retirement party." Carlton, the son, was rather estranged.

"It's not sad that he died, and didn't leave me anything, it's sad that we lost touch. I could have gotten to know the man." 

Then he looked at the dated wallpaper and remembered his youth. That was all Carlton had. He thought it was very poetic. He wrote a song about it and sang it at a coffee shop.

"Hey man that was a real tender song, brother." said a guy with one of those lower lip dot goatees. This was the 90s.

The song had sensitive and poignant lyrics like Dad, I didn't know you well... and Dad, I know you liked to drink. Carlton sang it a lot with the style that was very popular for that time period. It was just a simple song about his dad, but people mistook it for Christian Rock. And Carlton made a little money in the Christian Rock circuit as a result. 

Milton looked down from our warm heaven and smiled. "That's my final gift to you, son." he said, from heaven.

Scumboys Make it Big

Bart Schrim was a big dreamer. He had pimples for sideburns, a sweaty brow, and a few wiry-chest-hair-revealing top buttons open on his dirty shirt.

Muck Bledsoe was big spitter. He had brown teeth, a mouth that seemed to always be open, a fat bottom lip, and an upper lip that naturally exposed his front teeth without him trying. He'd chuckle and you'd see those teeth and just imagine 'em doing and chewin' on dirty things.

These guys were the scum of the earth.
"I'm onna be a star." said Bart.
"I'm hungry!" said Muck.
"Let's go to Taco Barn!" they said.
Taco Barn was a fast food joint where they served shitty food. Lots of people ate there.

They started walking to Taco Barn.
"Hey I smell bad!" said Muck, as he sucked in sniffs from his exposed armpit.
"Lemme see!" said Bart.
Bart put his face in Muck's pit and sniffed up all the air around it, "It kinda reminds me of a pretty lady's dirty crotch. Ha ha ha ha ha!"
"Hey, you're right!" said Muck.
They both walked down the street sniffing at Muck's armpit and bumping into people from not watching where they were going.
"Watch it, pisshead!" they'd say to the scared bumpers.

By the time they got to Taco Barn they both had dirty rotten boners from fantasizing about the armpit smell. Muck wore sweatpants, so his boner was visible. Bart had denim shorts, so his was less visible. Bart saw the line at the counter and lost his dirty boner, because he hated a fucking line. Muck's sweatpants boner stayed for a bit.
"Psst!" said Bart to Muck.
"What!?" said Muck.
"I hate lines, let's rob this place." said Bart.
"I forgot my gun, but I still got my boner!" said Muck.
"Okay use that." said Bart.

Bart shot a bloody snot rocket into his left hand, and raised it in the air. It was bloody because the air had been dry lately. Muck put his hands around his sweatpants boner and pretended it was a gun.

"Aright you hairy piglets, we're robbin' your Taco Barn! I got a bloody booger hand, and my partner here has a gun!" shouted Bart, "W'ain't afraid to use 'em."
"We want all the money, and two tacos!" said Muck, as he pointed his sweatpants boner gun at frightened families and taco eaters.

The employees readied fresh tacos and a wad of cash for the boys, when all the sudden Muck had a bowel movement.
"Hold up! Stop. I just doo'd'eed my goddamn undies so I don't want the money." Shouted Muck.
"Ya hear that folks?" said Bart, "He already got his satisfaction, who here wants to see the result?!"

Muck went around shakin' his filthy bottom to all the appalled patrons and giggling about it.
"How bout you, lady? You wanna see?" Jeered Bart. "And YOU, Mister!" He said to another guy.
No one wanted to.

Muck continued to wiggle gracefully.
"Damnit Muck, you are so fucking talented! I'm talented too. Anyone here want to see my talent?!" Bart shouted to the restaurant, "Here goes. Ladies, pay extra special attention..."

Then Bart grabbed a random taco off a seated customer's plate and held it up for all to see.
"This is a girl's crotch!" said Bart, pointing to the taco. Then he stuck his tongue out, through his closed lips, and wiggled it up and down, knocking out the taco meat. "Ha ha ha ha! Tastes pretty good," laughed Bart.

"Anyone gonna put me an' Bart on TV for our talent?!" asked Muck.

Shirtless Shirley, who never took her shirt off, was pretty shy. She was sitting right there at Taco Barn. She had speckles and freckles, and was a red pepper redhead. Shirley had tits like pancake flaps, which is why she'd hide 'em. She thought she had to have TV tits, like the TV girls. Instead, to her shameful chagrin, she had flappy town tits.

"Ow bout you, sweet pee-pee? You gonna put us on TV?" said Muck.
"I ain't got a station... but I could help." said Shirtless Shirley.
"You gon' join'ar gang?" said Bart, real scummy like.
"Um, I'd like to." said Shirtless Shirley.
"How bout you thrash the irony of why they call you Shirtless Shirley, then?" said Bart.

Shirtless Shirley removed her shirt and exposed her freckly flappy pancake shaped tit flaps, for the first time without shame. She was exhilarated to be part of the filth.
"Those fucking tits look just like pancakes, don't they?" said Muck.
"Hey cashier, how bout some maple syrup for these pancakes over here!? Ha ha ha." shouted Bart.
"We don't serve breakfast after 10am." said the cashier.
Muck threateningly pointed his slightly more flaccid boner gun at the cashier and screamed "How bout now, piss eater?!"
"Okay, okay, whatever you say." said the cashier.

He returned with many plastic packets of breakfast syrup. They poured 'em all over Shirtless Shirley's flap tits, slapping the sticky syrup everywhere, continuing to make the pancake comparison.
"Who's got bacon!" shouted confident Shirley.
"We do!" said Bart and Muck.

Then they heard a siren coming. The three of them left at once. A news crew chased them for a few minutes. They had forgotten to eat, which was the original plan.

They ran into the filthy orange setting sun, and had a disgusting, perverted, piggish, masturbation with coughed-up stomach-bile, causing painful burns of the urethra, jealousy-fueled love triangle. Which resulted in multiple robberies, the death of Muck, the death-row incarceration of Bart, and the rehabilitation of Shirley, where she received stiff-looking, gravity-defying breast implants, and an appearance on a high-quality day-time talk show.

Friendship at a Nervous Party

Grenda went to the nice party she cared about. She wore her favorite dress that had a flower pattern on it. The rest of it was white, and the flower was green. Are there green flowers? Well there was on this dress.
"Your dress is pretty." said Danielle, who also had a pretty dress.
Danielle was hoping for a compliment back.
"Oh... thank you." said Grenda.

Danielle hung on the silence with her eyes open, staring, not blinking, eager to say thank you to a counter-compliment. Grenda stiffened her nasal-labial folds, those are the creases in the face beside the nostril holes and mouth corners, in case you didn't know what those were. Grenda was unaware she was doing this with her face. She thought she was masking her social discomfort with a natural looking expression. Danielle could tell that she'd made Grenda uncomfortable with her compliment expectations. Danielle immediately retreated to a feeling of shame, her face made an expression that conveyed discomfort. She shriveled and shrank. Grenda noticed.
"Um... I better go eat a piece of cheese." said Danielle, and she quickly ran to the snack table and ate cheese pieces to shut the worry in her brain off.

Grenda watched Danielle walk away, but assumed Danielle's exit had more to do with Grenda's social anxiety, and less to do with Danielle's discomfort. In fact, Grenda had no idea Danielle had any discomfort.
"See ya..." mumbled Grenda.
Grenda looked down in embarrassment. Then she spotted a stain on her dress. It was from some dip she ate earlier. At the cheese table.

Grenda was mortified. She immediately became suspicious that when Danielle complimented her dress, she was actually being sarcastic and making fun of her. The thought of being made fun of caused Grenda to furrow her brow. She didn't like the idea of being made fun of. Just then, Grenda decided to move in a new life direction. Grenda marched up to Danielle, who was nervous shoveling cheese into her mouth.

"Hey." said Grenda.
"Gasp, hi, you startled me." said Danielle, with a mouth full of cheese.
"Did you see I have a stain? On my dress?" blurted out Grenda.
Danielle looked at the stain, surprised.
"So you do." said Danielle.
"Were you making fun of me?" asked Grenda.
"No, no. I really like the dress. It's pretty." said Danielle.
"Why'd you run away from me? I thought it was because you couldn't contain your laughter after sarcastically complimenting my dress." said Grenda, her voice cracking.
"No," responded Danielle,  "I ran away because I hoped you'd compliment my dress. And you didn't..."
"Oh." said Grenda.
"Yeah." said Danielle.

They both looked down and frowned.
"I'm so sorry. I was only thinking of myself..." said Grenda, as Danielle looked up, "I actually really love your dress. Maybe we could become nice friends and I could borrow it sometime?" Grenda suggested.
"As long as you're not just being my friend to borrow the dress..."
"That's such a negative place to immediately go." said Grenda.
"I know, you're right." said Danielle.
"We sure are being honest with each other." said Grenda
"Yeah, it's because of the alcohol we had, probably." said Danielle, a bit tipsy.
"This is a really nice cheese table, huh?" noticed Grenda, changing the subject.
"Let's eat more cheese!" said Danielle.
"Yeah!" They cheered.

They ate so much cheese they got sick, but happy-sick. Everyone at the party was like, "Damn those girls ate all the cheese!"

They ate tons of cheese. Then they balanced out all the cheese eating by getting really drunk and becoming good friends.

They made plans to stay good friends. But the technology collapse of 2017 happened a week later and they had no idea how to get in touch with each other. Cellphones and computers stopped working and became obsolete, and they were so enjoying their openness with one another they never got around to discussing their day jobs.

Grenda and Danielle both hoped they'd meet each other again, because of their positive experience. They didn't. But they always remembered each other's affect on the other. The major life changing risks they took that night would serve them in situations throughout their lives.

Danielle had a son and named him Grenda, as a tribute. Grenda had a bowl of cheese. She ate the whole thing in one sitting.

Hans the Beauty

Hans looked at his face in the mirror. He liked what he saw. He loved what he saw. He felt invigorated by it and prideful. Hans had always been pleased with the reflection of his face, and had a growing interest in it, but he could no longer contain his enthusiasm for it. It was glorious. He turned his face from side to side, slowly surveying his bone structure from each angle.
"Flintrick, come here at once." said Hans to a passing Flintrick.
Flintrick came and stood before the magnificent reflection of Hans.
"Look at it."
"Yes?"
"It is perfection, yes?"
"What?"
Hans, transfixed, touched his finger to the spot on the mirror where his reflection was shown, and zoned out.
"This..." he muttered under his breath.
"The mirror? Pardon?" said Flintrick.
Hans said nothing, hypnotized.
"Well, I've got go." said Flintrick.

"Behold it!" Hans said to the world. He dominated conversations, never allowing discussions to stray far from the topic of his face.
"Thank goodness for my face, for what would the people enjoy, if not it?" he'd say.

Hans also believed himself the perfect gentleman. When he met new upper class patrons and duchesses, rather than kissing their fingers, or shaking their hands, he would bow his head into their hand and allow them to caress. He felt he was being generous.
"You may touch my face." he would say.
"Oh..." many would say, with composed confusion.

He'd no interest in using his hands for general activity, only his face. One would think he'd be more protective of his asset, but the sensitivity one feels in hands, he preferred to experience at the touch of his cheeks and closed eyes. It was sensual.

Hans went everywhere, extending his neck in public places, allowing his face to catch the light, hoping for more adequate appreciation for his glistening beauty. He refused to believe his face wasn't getting the attention that it wasn't getting.
"Everyone loves it." He told himself.

He knew in his heart, his face was a blessing to all, and acted accordingly. Yet, what he could not understand was that, while relatively appreciated in his public circles, he was not pored over and beheld in the manner he saw most fitting. He required constant stares, the stopping of traffic, the holding of breath. He deserved it.

Hans' confused infuriation began to grow. Not yet fully blossomed, it clashed with his beauty.

One day, he gazed in the mirror, the finest mirror money could buy, illuminating his face with moody oil lamps. He examined the sleek curves of his lips and cheeks for the thousandth time, as the flame light tinkled about the room.
"Pleasure. Exquisite pleasure..." he whispered to his face's reflection. His vain ecstasy turned to a frustrated fury boil. Where was his reward?
"Why do they deny us the worship, we are entitled!?" He exploded, as he pounded his fist on the vanity table. The rattle of the fist pound caused a tip of the oil lamp, causing a spill of oil atop the lamp's flame, igniting a larger flame into Hans' beautiful face. His face burned and burned and burned.

He spent months in recovery, covered in bandages. When he awoke he had blocked out what happened. His brain clung to his mental state prior to the accident.
"I'm beauty. I define it." he told his doctors and friends.
"Very true..." They responded.

Hans' brain was in denial that he was a frightful and hideous victim of burn. Therefore, he still believed himself deserving of the most vigilant and immediate recognition. And it came more than ever. Anywhere he went he was met with stares of disbelief. His life was complete.

On his deathbed he finally coped with the accident that had long ago destroyed his face, and that the stares he received were not gazes of enchantment, but fixes of terror. This revelation gave him a heart attack, then he died.

Pink Cake, Blue Cake

Randy the Man and Martha the Woman's romance relationship was in trouble. They went to talk it out at a place in public one evening where couples went. They were trying to have a serious talk, but the music was so loud that Randy couldn't concentrate. He started yelling so she could hear him. Their conversation was also going in a serious direction, so it was easy for Martha to mistake the yelling for anger rather than volume.
"I feel like you don't hear what I say anymore!" complained Martha, under the noise.
"I can't hear what you're saying!" yelled Randy.
"You need to pay better attention to my needs." said Martha.
"What is this krap!!?" yelled Randy as he pointed to the invisible music.
"You think what I'm saying is krap?!" said Martha, hurt.
"No, I'm talking about the music!" yelled Randy.
"I can't hear you over the music!" said Martha.

They left and had a real good laugh about the misunderstanding with the music. Things seemed okay.

One day Martha the Woman wanted Randy the Man to help her bake a cake with blue frosting. Randy the Man was comfortable in his masculinity and had no problem helping with cake bakes. He also loved the taste of cake. The only problem was Randy had the manly task of fixing some stuff in the bathroom that he'd been meaning to fix for a while. Martha didn't mind fixing bathroom stuff, even though it was a manlier job, but she was busy baking her blue woman cake that day. Randy decided to forego bathroom repair.

"I'll help you bake the blue cake." said Randy.
"That's so sweet of you. Almost as sweet as good cake, hehe." said Martha.
"Well as long as it doesn't taste like that awful, shitty cake place in Los Angeles, California, on Melrose Ave, called Sweet Lady Jane, that's managed by an older, longwinded guy, with a grayish beard and longer hair, named Arnie, who brags about famous basketball players ordering special cakes there, but the cakes use too much oil, have a lousy texture, bitter frosting, and leave an overrated, bad taste in your mouth!" said Randy.
"Ha, don't worry. I know that terrible man and place you're talking about. It'll easily be better than that." said Martha.
"I've heard from many reliable sources that that guy Arnie is a real psycho, in addition to being an asshole." added Randy.
"Let's not worry about him or that place. Despite the satisfaction we would have if it went out of business, or if he stubbed his toe so hard it broke, giving him months of displeasure, someone who seems so miserable must surely live a miserable life. Try to remember that."
"What a wise thing for you to say, Martha."
"He's definitely a piece of rubbish though, haha." added Martha, who was British, hence her use of the word 'rubbish'.

Randy helped Martha with the cake. His job was to make the blue frosting. He hastily put a wrong ingredient in there, because he's a man, ya know? And the blue frosting exploded in his face, covering it, his shirt, and stuccoing the kitchen walls.
"Oh great!" said Martha, "that's just like you to do that."
"Cut me some slack!" said Randy.
"I was going to cut you some cake, but looks like it'll be a bit longer. Go wash up." said Martha.

Randy went into the bathroom, he looked like a drippy blue alien. He reached for the faucet knob and turned it.
"Drip. Drip. Drip." said the faucet.
"Uh oh." said Randy.
Randy turned the knob back and forth.
"Drip. Drip. Drip." is all the faucet said. It needed fixing.

"What's taking so long in there?" said Martha, who needed to bake her cake.
"Tap, tap, tap, tap..." said her stern foot, as she anxiously awaited his cleanly return.
"I didn't fix the sink yet!" said Randy, who could not see, because his eyes were spackled with blue. Martha continued to tap her foot.

The "Tap, tap, tap..." and the "Drip. Drip. Drip." began to blend together in a beautiful harmony, the tapping, representing her frustration with him, the dripping, representing the result of his procrastination and occasional incompetence. Randy reached for a cabinet handle that Martha had locked earlier, to get a towel for his face.
"Ricket, ricket, ricket." said the locked cabinet, as Randy pulled the handle. This noise was to be attributed to both of them, as she'd locked the cabinet for no discernible reason beyond 'over organization', and he was the one pulling on the handle. The "Ricket, ricket, ricket," laid over the tapping and dripping, created an even more perfect, natural, untrained, musical slice of life.

The numbing cacophony continued for who knows how long? It seemed to get louder. Couples from the whole building began to file into their apartment, to do a tribal, unchoreographed Hora-like dance to their beat.

Some couples came in to talk out their relationship problems, but it was too loud and they misunderstood each other. Later everyone ate the finished cake then continued on with their lives.

The Wacky Living Situation

Grumpo Dingboat was a grumpity curmudgeon with a furrowed brow.
"Mehh." he said, and "Hmmphh." he'd say, and "Pftt!" he'd go.

Winky Hapster was a happy chirpy guy who was easy to please and liked it all.
"Ooh lovely!" he'd say, and "You look wonderful!' he'd go, and "Feelin' great!" he'd declare.

Well they were friends, Winky and Grumpo. And one day they got in a situation, because of finances, wives leaving, and a person dying, and a confusing clause in a will, and strange unheard of stipulation in a city ordinance of the land where the building resided, of the lease they'd just signed, where they had to live together!

"Well guess we are stuck living together!" said chipper Winky.
"Mehh." said Grumpo.
"We'll have to make the most of it!"
"Pfft!" said Grumpo.
"Let me know if you need anything."
"Hmmphh." said Grumpo. Grumpo wasn't a mean guy or an asshole he just spoke in grumbles and groans. Winky and Grumpo knew each other well so they had a short hand.

One day they were eating food together that Winky made, because Winky was nice, and he loved to cook. Grumpo had had a long day at work. They ate the food together. Grumpo sat quietly. Winky rambled.
"And this man was so sweet, so I was sweet back. Then he held the door. Then a woman walked through and I held the door for her. I winked at her. Then I saw another nice man and we shook hands," continued Winky. "So the next day I brought that man a zucchini bread, I made sure it was moist enough to give out! Hey did I tell you I love my cousin who is a physical therapist?"
"Mehhh." said Grumpo, as he shoveled Winky's food in his mouth.

Winky and Grumpo seemed to have nothing in common. Sometimes Grumpo would make a mess and Winky would politely and happily clean it up. They were what you might call and an Odd Pairing! But their living situation worked very easily.

One time Winky and Grumpo were walking down the street together as friends. A nosey man they knew stopped them.
"Hey Winky and Grumpo, I hear you guys live together, that must get pretty tense, you guys are quite different, huh?
"Mehh."
"No, we actually have a great living situation, we get along, enjoy each other's company and everything!" said Winky.
"Oh. I would have thought because you guys are different that maybe you don't get along."
"I see how you could think that, but we get along very well!" said Winky.
"Okay. Well, see you." said nosey guy.

So a couple of years later the thing that made it so they had to live together ended, and they moved out. They stayed friends but didn't see each other as much.

One time they were both walking down the street, ran into each other, and started chatting.
"Grumpo, everything is going great with me and I'm feeling great today. What about you?"
"Pffft. Mehh.." said Grumpo.
"Well let me tell you more! Bla bla bla." said Winky with much enthusiasm.
Just then, the nosey guy from before ran up and interrupted them, "Hey Winky and Grumpo! I heard you two don't live together any more! Did you guys have a falling out?"
"Nopey we sure didn't." said a happy Winky.
"Oh," said the nosey man, "well I heard you guys got along real well, even though it seemed like you wouldn't get along."
"Yes that's true."
"Did you find that once you separated that your lives felt like they were missing something and you were longing for each other?" asked the nosey man.
"No, everything is fine for both of us!" said Winky.
"Oh I see..." said the nosey man.
"Hmmphh." said Grumpo
"Well you guys still seemed like a real unexpected and unlikely couple of friends." said the nosey man.
"Mehh." said Grumpo.
The nosey man walked away.

Grumpo was also big and Winky was smaller. A different lady walked past them and said "Hey you two are a Strange Duo!"

Then a street musician played a riff on a soprano saxophone that really matched Winky and Grumpo's dynamic.

The Oatmeal Phantomess

Melissa the Sorceress loved oatmeal. She lived in a kingdom where she could get access to different kinds of oatmeal. She knew all about all the oatmeals.
"This oatmeal is my fav!" she said.
"This one's not as good, but I still love all oatmeal."
"Somedays it just doesn't matter to me and I will take any oatmeal available."
Those are all things she said.

She would introduce peasants and erudite princes to this thing oatmeal. Erudite princes would act dazzled. Peasants would be pleased to receive. As well, all the trolls, oafs, ogres and troglodytes gobbled up the oatmeal she'd make and curate.

It was a point of pride how much she knew about oatmeal, and loved it. It made her feel unique. She could make it and not have to wave a wand or get some sort of dragon blood or anything. One day she found out that everyone liked oatmeal and it was a thing that was eaten and enjoyed in many ways all over. She was crushed.

"Hey want some oatmeal today?" said an oatmeal server.
"Um... I guess." she'd say.

She thought oatmeal was what made her unique. She was an oatmeal expert. She felt cheated that she'd spent so much time getting all this oatmeal info down only to not be a one-stop answer shop for all things oatmeal.
"Hey I know everything about oatmeal!" said some schmuck.
"Me too, did you know it's also good if you put sweet stuff in it!?" said some dumbass.
She yawned and scowled at these novices who ignored her.

Melissa was pissed. She cursed oatmeal. She cursed all things similar to oatmeal. One day she met a Sorceress named Sandra. She and Sandra loved each other and they went on a first date to get to know one another. They seemed like they'd be a perfect match. They both had form fitting scalp gear and large cloaks.

Sandra started talking about the stuff she liked.
"Have you heard about oatmeal? I think it's so cool." said Sandra.
"Yeah yeah, I know about oatmeal, yeah." said Melissa.
"What? Did I strike a nerve?"
"It's just, I knew about oatmeal for a long time and now everyone is always talking about oatmeal without giving me any credit."
"It's great you know a lot about oatmeal, but I don't think you deserve credit for liking the stuff." said Sandra. This was not what Melissa the Sorceress wanted to hear.

She cursed Sandra with an intense oatmeal appetite, which Sandra didn't mind. Then did a rain dance that made it rain oatmeal.
"Looks like it's gonna oatmeal rain." said and old man who looked at the sky.

The kingdom loved oatmeal and didn't mind that it rained oatmeal. Melissa felt stupid. Neither curse worked. She wanted to upset everyone but instead delighted them. Then she was upset because she didn't get credit for doing the oatmeal rain dance. This time she really did deserve credit, but again felt snubbed.

She plotted her next plan: to cast a spell on the next criminal scheduled for public beheading. It was Glenfield the Fop. Glenfield had been a bad boy and lifted the dress of the daughter of a wealthy family one too many times.

"Weeeheehee, I cannot say I have not heartily indulged in what pleasures thou has offered me, Lord!" declared Glenfield to the gathered public. The family was hungry for blood. Not oatmeal. Too bad though.

Glenfield's live neck was placed in the guillotine slot.
"Sssslomp!" said the dropping guillotine blade. The crowd's eyes awaited the satisfying and savage spillage. Yet, per Melissa's spell, his vacant neck did not spritz blood. It oozed oatmeal.

A collective gasp. A silence. A confusion. Melissa waited in anticipation to experience the public's evening in ruin. She fantasized her future as the Oatmeal Phantomess of the Kingdom. Yet foil would wrap her plan once again.

"It's not blood, it's oatmeal!" shouted the common folk. A clatter of murmur spread.
"Yum!" shouted a gentlemen.
"Gimme!" shouted a craggy old woman. The whole town, poor and rich alike, rushed to the body of Glenfield to slurp his body's oatmeal. It was like a great twist in a well written play. They expected blood, they got oatmeal, which was far more satisfying.

Melissa hung her head in discouragement. She wanted outrage, instead she gave them a great show with a delicious treat at the end.

But... she did not take into account that her oatmeal expertise would pay off. For her spell, she had replaced Glenfield's insides with one of the more delicious styles of oatmeal.

The kingdom mindlessly devoured Glenfield. There was not enough to feed them all. They began to fight and tug at his remains. Then they trampled and ripped each other apart in hopes of finding more oatmeal inside of people. It was kingdom times, so people were not as smart. They did not know back then, for certain, that some people weren't just filled with good warm oatmeal, and they wound up massacring each other.

Melissa the Sorceress looked up to see the mayhem. She had inadvertently achieved revenge.

"I think it's pretty sexy how you pulled that off." said Sandra the Sorceress, who had looked better than ever because she'd been eating lots of oatmeal.
"Oh, thanks. People should listen to me more often, hehe." beamed Melissa with modest jest.
"I think they will, you're the expert lady with great plan execution, as far as I'm concerned."
Melissa became a legend. She never revealed that her masterpiece massacre was an accident.

The Haunting of Ted Toilet

Ted Toilet woke up from a terrible dream! He shot up into a sitting position right in his bed. The dream was that bad and scary. He looked around his room, it was quiet. But he was puzzled about the sitting up part, because he was paralyzed from the neck down, so it was impossible for him to sit up, due to severed nerves--

Just then, Ted Toilet's eyes darted open! It had just been a dream about him sitting straight up. He was still paralyzed. Luckily his sexy breasty nurse, Daffodil Jones, was there to attend to him.
"I can wipe you up if you made any sleepy messes." she said, as she sat there wide awake, seated, in a big yellow nurse uniform, in the dark, eyes open, not blinking, teeth showing, hand-talons erecting, forehead horns growing--

Just then, Ted Toilet woke up in the morning! He was panting. He wasn't paralyzed, nor had he ever been, and his name wasn't Ted Toilet, it was Matt Bathroom. Another dream.
"Phew!" said Matt Bathroom, as he washed his morning face in the bathroom mirror, "I'm glad I don't have Ted Toilet's life." Then he chuckled with relief to himself and kept washing his face. Then he paused for a moment, with suspicion.
"Wait a second," he said looking at himself in the mirror, "I'm not about to, like, turn into Ted Toilet again or something am I?" he asked aloud as he turned his head toward the ceiling and to the rest of the room.

Didn't seem like he was going to become Ted Toilet. He walked to work at his boring work job.
"I'm not Ted Toilet!" he said to a man walking down the street.
"I didn't say you were." said the man.

"I'm Matt Bathroom!" said Matt to a lady walking down the street.
"Are you being a sexual pervert?" asked the lady.
"No!" said Matt Bathroom, "I'm being liberated."
"Oh well that's great then!" said the lady.

Months went by and Matt Bathroom did not wake up as Ted Toilet. Every day was a celebration that he did not have to live the life of confinement that his mental concoction Ted Toilet did.

He saw a man in a wheelchair rolling by him one time.
"Yesssss!!" he said to himself, because the wheelchair man reminded him of Ted Toilet and he was once again glad to not be Ted Toilet, the paraplegic bed-rider. The wheelchair man heard Matt when he said "Yessss!". Matt continued to live life to the fullest.

Matt enrolled in a playwriting class. He wrote a play about Ted Toilet's life. He insisted on casting himself because it was his vanity project. He reserved space to put it on in the cafeteria at work around Christmas time, when busy work was slow. A few coworkers participated in the production. He went through an arduous casting process to cast the role of Daffodil Jones. He settled on Pam Turner, a brown skinned, very attractive woman, who worked in the fax machine room. Pam's description was how he saw the part.
"Pam you're perfect. Perfect!" said Matt.
"Thank you, I've always had a slight interest in theatre, just as a hobby." said Pam.
"Let's rehearse the scene again where you threaten to wipe me." said Matt. Matt had written this scene quite explicitly and wanted to get it right.
"I think we have it down." said Pam.
"It's my art and my show, I'll say when we have it down!"
Matt began to get kind of grabby with Pam.
"Let me go." said Pam.
"I'm Matt Bathroom, don't you understand?! This is my art, this is my story!"
"I don't care anymore!"
"You're treating me like some kind of Ted Toilet!"
"Do you think you're somehow better than Ted Toilet?!" said Pam.
"Yes!" shouted Matt Bathroom, "I am better than him!"
"Find another Daffodil Jones, I quit."
"You can't quit! This is great writing." said Matt Bathroom, his ego ablaze. He had known it was great writing because his class teacher told him so.

Matt chased after Pam, down the stairs and into the street. She reached the opposing side of the sidewalk. As Matt attempted to catch up with her, he was struck by a bus and paralyzed.

Suddenly, he woke up in a bed! He'd had a dream!
"It was a dream!" he shouted.
Then he looked around him and saw he was in a hospital bed, his limbs in casts, his back in a brace, and his bare genitals exposed.
"Nurshh!" He couldn't pronounce his 'S'es very well because of the accident, "Nurshhh!!" he shouted.
The nearest nurshh approached. It was an older bald and skinny gray-haired nurse with a glass eye, named Perry.
"Yes, I see you're awake, what can I do for you?" said Perry the Nurshh.
"Tell me, ishh my name Ted Toilet or Matt Bathroom?"
"Sir, that answer is for you to decide..." said Perry.

Perry stared, smiling and giggling, until he smiled so hard that his cheek muscles contracted and his glass eye popped out.