The biggest, meanest rat...

Once there was a really big and potentially mean rat. The rat was disproportionatly large compared to the rest of the other rats in the colony. As if this was not bad enough, the rat's name was Cecil, and it's common knowledge that the only other rat ever named Cecil was a politician who made some very unpopular legislation regarding the so called, "Cheese tax."

Anyway, Cecil was regarded as one of the biggest and meanest rats ever to scurry the earth. Cecil's appearance was made even more scary, due to a large facial scar incurred one night when he tried to use a sleeping cat's claw as a toothpick. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The funny part, was that Cecil was not mean at all and had a generally cheery disposition. Unfortunately for Cecil, nobody was willing to look past his hard exterior and see who he really was. Nobody for instance knew that Cecil was an accomplished unicyclist. Cecil just wanted to be known and accepted for who he was.

One day, Cecil decided that he was going to let everyone know who he really was. Cecil climbed aboard his favorite unicycle and began riding around the colony. Rats stopped eating and stared with mouths agape. "What the heck is Cecil doing?" they whispered to one another. "Perhaps he's gone crazy, or is having some type of diabetic emergency." some replied.

After some time, Jasper the rat asked Cecil, "Hey, Cecil. What are you doing riding on the one wheeled contraption?" Cecil smiled and replied, "I'm riding a unicycle. It's like a bicycle, but with only one wheel, hence the name unicycle. It means a one wheeled cycle." Jasper frowned...not so much because Cecil was riding the unicycle, but because he used several big words that he did not quite understand. Thus not understanding, Jasper decided that it would be the right thing to do to act as if he disapproved, though he was not sure of what he was disapproving of.

"Hey, Cecil" Jasper said loudly enough for all to hear, "How about you just go ahead and stop doing whatever it is you think you are doing? You look silly and you are endangering the safety of our tails. Tail safety, after all is one of the foremost concerns in a rat colony...everyone knows that." All the other rats nodded in approval. "Yes" they said, "Tail safety is of utmost importance."

"This is who I am" Cecil announced, "I am a unicycler, which is not really a real word, but it's what I am, and I hope that you can accept me for who I am."

"We can't" the rats said, and kicked Cecil out of the colony.

The end.

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Little monster...

There once was a little monster who lived under the bed. Little monster lived with his family and had a very happy life. Little monster had a hard time getting to sleep every night, because he was afraid that there might be a child on top of the bed. "Mommy monster", Little monster said, "I'm afraid that there's a child over the bed." "Silly little monster" Mommy monster replied, "Don't be silly. There's no such thing as children."

"O.k." Little monster said, "and can you turn off the nightlight and open the closet door?" "Of course Little monster" she said lovingly. And with that he fell fast asleep.

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Willy's last stand...

There was once a little boy named Willy. Willy was a small and timid boy who did not like to draw attention to himself in any way. Willy was often overlooked when selecting teams for dodge ball and other playground games. Willy did not like this, but refused to bring it up.

Once, both teams were completely picked and ran off to play "Red Rover." Willy stood there alone wondering why nobody picked him for the team. He did not particularly like "Red Rover", and would much rather played another game, but he would have liked to have been picked none the less.

Willy enjoyed drawing and art was by far his best subject. Willy did not however like math. Math was his "white whale" so to speak. Worse yet, his teacher, Mrs. Bottom DID like math very much and made the class spend an inordinate amount of time on the subject. As if this was not bad enough, Mrs. Bottom enjoyed letting the other students know how poorly little Willy did in math.

One day, Mrs. Bottom called little Willy up in front of the entire class. "Willy, you are the worst at math in the ENTIRE CLASS!" The entire class erupted into laughter. Willy sulked and walked quietly back past the entire class to his chair. "Alright" he thought "If you say so, I AM THE WORST AT MATH IN THE ENTIRE CLASS!"

From that time on, Willy chose to draw, rather than to do the math work. He did not care about math anymore because Mrs. Bottom had declared him the worst. "Why should I try, if the teacher says that I am no good at math?" he declared to himself.

So it went, for several weeks. Willy refused to do math, and Mrs. Bottom continued pouring more fuel on the fire. Division, multiplication, fractions...deeper and deeper his frustration grew.

Finally, one day, Willy had enough. He was not willing to feel badly about his math challenges any more. He devised a plan to teach the teacher a lesson. It would be the pinnacle of his less than stellar school experience.

The day came. Willy was ready. In the middle of class, with Mrs. Bottom droning on and on about why one should think that divisibles were interresting, Willy stood up. He announced loudly, "This is entirely enough!" Mrs. Bottom stopped speaking. The students stopped not listening. All eyes focused on little Willy. "I have had enough of feeling bad about my lack of math abilities and will have no more of it!"

"Sit down and pay attention, little boy!" shouted Mrs. Bottom. "I think not foul one!" shouted the now determined little boy. And with that, Willy took off all of his clothes, down to his underwear. There he stood on top of his desk in his Spiderman Underoos. All eyes stared widely at Willy as he struck a somewhat heroic pose. "I will not be made to feel bad about myself because I do not do well in a subject that will not only have little effect on my adult life, but is also only deemed important by stuffed turkeys such as you, Mrs. Bottom!" he announced. "I am an individual who has great strengths in the creative realm, and there are millions who will enjoy my works that I will create in the future. There will only be a few hundred who will remember you because they had their joyful veneer tarnished because they were looked down on by you!"

Mrs. Bottom glared at the boy. "That will be quite enough!" she shouted as she lunged for Willy. Willy dodged her attempt and hopped to the book shelf. Like lightning, he climbed the shelf and then jumped onto the hanging lights. "Ha ha fiend! I've eluded your grasp!"

Mrs. Bottom poked at him with a long ruler. "NO CHILD HAS EVER ESCAPED SCHOOL!!! Not on my watch, anyways. Call Mr. Biggles the Principal." Marjorie Dorkman, the teacher's pet scurried over to the class phone and made the call. "CODE 1038, CODE 1038!!!" she shouted into the receiver.

Within minutes, Mr. Biggles and the local Police Chief were at the door. Looking wild eyed, Mr. Biggles pled with Willy to come down. "NEV-AAAAH!!!" Willy shouted defiantly. "Have it your way..." Mr. Biggles glared. "Call in the National Guard."

Willy jumped from the hanging lights and onto the hinged windows. "To freedom!!!" Willy climbed out the window and shimmied up the downspout and onto the roof. There, he marched back and forth yelling, "I am Spiderman! I am Spiderman!" over and over.

Classes emptied and all the school's students filled the parking lot to watch little Willy's protest. Fifth grade girls wept as they commented on how tremendously brave little Willy was. "He's dreamy. I can't believe he's only in fourth grade." they were heard to say.

The afternoon wore on into the evening. Still little Willy continued his stand. The firefighters refused to climb their ladders, due to a previously unknown widespread fear of heights. "We have never had to actually do anything like this before." The Fire Chief said, "Who knew we'd ever have to actually save anybody."

The Police were powerless, because the firefighters wouldn't let them use their ladders. "We just polished them for the third time this week." was their only reply.

The National Guard could not use their helicopters because the new President sold them so that he could finance mansions for underpriviledged homeless criminals who were here illegally from other countries.

And so it went. Little Willy marched on and on. He was given food and water by the fifth grade girls who rigged up a pulley system. He was given a much warmer Spiderman costume by his mother who was worried that he would "catch a draft" from marching in his underwear. He wore it proudly, despite the fact that it had a cape. Everyone knows that Spiderman doesn't have a cape.

On and on, he still marches. Willy's 36 years old now and still going strong. Mrs. Bottom went the way of the earth and Mr. Biggles retired to an insane assylum.

Willy's plan worked, and he has not had to do math a day in his life.

The End

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Four tacos for Donald...

There once was a small boy named Donald. Donald was five years old and lived in a abandoned ice cream maker with six cats. This may not seem like much, but Donald was small for his young age and did not seem to mind. Donald was very poor and realized that he was lucky, for some did not even have a nice ice cream maker to live in.

Donald was a particular young man, in that he only liked tacos to eat. This may not seem too odd, except for the fact that Donald ate the tacos for breakfast, lunch and dinner...every day. One wonders where a small poor boy would come up with the money for such a meal, but that is not the subject of this story. Besides, it's rude to ask such things.

One day, Donald went to the taco store and asked for "the ususal." Of course the taco man knew what the usual was and began to make up the tacos. "Where do you live little Donald?" asked the taco man. "I have a nice home, which is of course not any of your business." Donald said. The taco man thought about this for a while. He decided that he would follow little Donald home and see where he lived.

The taco man placed the items in a small brown bag and handed it to Donald. Donald proceeded to return to his ice cream maker, with the taco man in secret pursuit. When Donald got home, he sat down in the dilapidated machine. The taco man was astounded and saddened by what he saw.

Donald opened the brown paper bag and retrieved the foil wrapped tacos. Upon opening the wrapper, Donald's eyes opened wide. "There are only three tacos in this bag!" he exclaimed. Donald was angry. I have gone to that same taco man for several years now, and this is how he treats me?!?" Donald's six cats peered hungrily into the bag and also looked quizzical...not because they could count and realized that there was a desparity between the usual amount of tacos in the bag and the amount in the bag today, but because it is a fairly common thing for cats to do. I don't know why, they just do.

Donald stood up from the ice cream maker and stormed back to the taco store. Seeing this, the taco man snuck away and ran all the way back to the taco store, in order to get there before Donald. Now knowing that Donald was without a decent home, the taco man could not bear to let it continue another day.

Donald finally reached the taco store and slammed the door open with a strong push. "What's the meaning of this?!?!?" demanded the boy. "I come to you for tacos three times a day for the last several days, and THIS is how you repay me?!?!? I should just find me another taco store to patronize. I seem to have enough money for tacos every day, of which I am not going to go into how exactly I receive such funds and you should not ask because it's rude. Apparently you don't need my money, of which nobody seems to know how I gain funds, despite being a poor five year old kid who lives in an ice cream machine with six...count them...SIX cats!"

The taco man laughed, which made Donald all the more angry. "Oh, little Donald. I gave you three tacos so that I could follow you home and see where you lived. I knew that you would come back to the taco store and I would then speak with you about your home." Donald's face got a strange little look on it. "Please, little Donald, I have a home with a kind wife, and a little daughter who is just your age. Won't you come home with us and live as our son?"

With that, little Donald ran to the taco man and threw his arms around him. "Of course, I'll come live with you." cried Donald. "You can make me tacos every day, and I will do chores around the house." Donald looked happily into the taco man's eyes and said, "Can I bring my six cats with me to your home?"

"Nope." said that man. And they lived happily every after. Except for the cats.

The end.

The moral: Four tacos are ok, but three just might get you a home.

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The land of Heranow...

Once upon a time there was a land of many people called Heranow. The land was very old and there were many wonderful things associated with the land. There were businesses of every sort, and entertainment of all types. There were many types of Heranows living in the land and they were very happy. Every Heranowian did their part to make the land a good place to live. Even those who didn't do much, took care of themselves and did not get in the way of the other Heranowians living in industry and peace.

Eventually, there crept in those into the leadership council that did not like the way that Heranow was run. They were unhappy citizens who thought that they knew better, how to run the land. This did not bother the rest of the Heranowians because they knew what was right, and thought that things would never change.

Sadly, those disgruntled ones gathered their friends into the leadership council. The disgruntled ones promised their friends power and control over the rest of the Heranowians. They held parties and told each other how wonderful they were, and how unintelligent the rest of the people were. They planned long and hard for the day that they would take complete control of Heranow. They knew that they could not do it in one day, but would take a long time...after all, diamonds aren't made in a day.

The disgruntled ones made it easier for their friends to make Druin, which was the currency of the land. The disgruntled ones made more and more friends, because it was secretly known that if you were a friend of the disgruntled ones, you would be able to get ahead easier in the land.

Quietly they waited and planned. Quietly they made little moves until soon, they were entrenched and could not be removed by the vote of the people. There quickly developed two classes of people. The workers and the takers.

This once great land was now marginalized. A time came when the voice of the people was to be heard regarding who should be the great leader of the land. The choices came down to two citizens. One was the leader of the Disgruntled ones. He was called, "The Chief Taker." His goal was to finally take complete control of the leadership. The other citizen was called, "The Chief Worker." Unfortunately for the rest of the Hereanowians, The Chief Worker was really an old and lazy taker at heart. This saddened the Hereanowians, because they wanted to have a true leader to make the land the way it was.

Unfortunately, the success of the disgruntled ones was total. The disgruntled ones colored greed on every post, on every docket, and on every flyer. Heranowians could look nowhere without seeing the things that the disgruntled ones wanted them to see. The largest part of the Heranowians began to believe the things that the disgruntled ones taught them. They did not remember how great the land had been. They were only interrested in that which made them "happy." This was the key to the disgruntled one's success.

And so on went the land, sliding lower and lower on the horizon. No one knows what happened to the land of the Heranowians. They supposed that it went the way of so many other cultures that have come and gone. Perhaps there were a few who remembered the golden days of Heranow. Perhaps they were able to wake the others from the slumber of self-centeredness. Perhaps...

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The job fair...

Second grader Timmy Tonka's class attended a job fair. There were all sorts of professionals there to help the little tykes start thinking about how their education will do little to help them in the real world. There were real estate agents, tax men, painters, military men, and many more.

Little Timmy walked up to one man who was holding a large clip board. "Well, young man", the old man asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" "I want to be a professional race car driver.", Timmy said with enthusiasm. "That doesn't sound very practical." the man said, dousing Timmy's excitement.

"Well, in that case," Timmy replied, "I would like to be involved in the manufacture of telephones." "Telephone building is primarily dominated in Asian countries by large corporations, and therefore you will not be able to do that," the man countered with a smug little smirk.

"I wasn't finished," Timmy interjected, "And you are interrupting...I want to be involved in the manufacture of telephones. By that I mean that I want to be the guy who provides the ink used to draw the schematics used in the design of the angles of the screws that are used to make the motorcycles that carry the design notes regarding the computers that utilize the computer automated design programs that devlopers run to measure and chart the plastic casing for the calculators that estimate the cost of payroll for the people who clean the facilities wherein the crime scene tape is manufactured that was used to surround the building where the corporate executive embezzled thousands from the company that sells the metal used to make the multi colored wiring that is soldered within the telephones that are manufactured primarly in Asian countries by large corporations."

With that, the man stared blankly at Timmy. And with that, Timmy kicked the man squarely in the shins and walked away.

The end.

P.S. Little Timmy Tonka grew up to be just that.

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Cristobal the overanxious paperclip...

Many people underestimate the interrestingness of the common everyday office. Take for instance people's misconceptions regarding everyday office items. One might think that, say, a stapler is quite uninterresting. Well, they would be right, for as everyone knows, staplers are quite boring conversationalists and somewhat self-centered. After all, it's the staples that do the real work.

This story focuses on a young paperclip named Cristobal. Cristobal was a very impatient sort of paperclip. He could not wait to someday be useful and hold some really interresting paper together. Cristobal had long ago heard of the interresting chatter that paperwork engaged in and longed to be involved.

Cristobal was tired of the same old paperclip babble that he was forced to endure. His living quarters were entirely too confined for his liking, and he was linked to the other paperclips by that awful little boy that sometimes came to the office on Saturdays to work with his father. Additionally, Cristobal was linked to Brenda and Jill. The two would not stop talking. Brenda was an "artist" and hoped one day to be bent into a really unique statue of a horse or something similarly abstract. Jill was just plain annoying. She only talked about how bent she was that she wasn't linked with her true love Samuel. He was a really shiny plastic clip that marked a music book at the bosses home. Cristobal couldn't stand Samuel, as he was very pretentious.

Cristobal was practically humming with anticipation. Some days, he would interrupt the others and yell that he "just couldn't stand it any longer." Everyone looked at him strangely.

One day an official looking businessman walked close to the plastic cup that Cristobal lived in. The man had a VERY large stack of important looking papers. Cristobal practically jumped out of the plastic cup. To Cristobal's great dissapointment, the man just took a tin of mints from the desk. "Those aren't even his mints", Cristobal glowered.

Then one day. Today actually, Cristobal got his big chance. An overweight temp waddled over to the plastic cup and began to pull the linked strand of paperclips. Up and up he went, until Cristobal finally broke free from the plastic jail. "At last! At last!" he yelled as the waddling temp unlinked him from the rest. "See you suckers!" yelled Cristobal. "I'm off to make new friends, and I hope to never see any of you again!" he added for good measure.

The temp seized Cristobal in his orange Cheeto stained fingers. Cristobal almost passed out with excitement as he felt the paper being forced between his arms. "This is it!" thought Cristobal. Cristobal read the words at the top of the very important papers..."T...P...S...form. That sounds VERY important!"

And so Cristobal lived happily ever after with his new TPS friends. They talked for hours every day...every day that is until an unfortunate fire burned down the office.

The end.

P.S. Fortunately, Cristobal was treated at the Office Depot burn clinic for underprivilaged office supplies. He went on to live a full and rich life as a counselor for narcissistic staplers.

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