Turbo-donkey 3000

Have you ever had THIS happen to you? You have a large load of vegetables or other perishables to get to market, and your donkey just won't budge? I know I have.

Now, for a limited time only, BURTCO Industries has revolutionized your produce transportation problems! It's called TURBO-DONKEY 3000!!! No more will your tomatos become toma-don'ts! Your chickens will get there safely, your lettuce will arrive unwilted.


With it's patented, "Donkey rocket" technology, Turbo-donkey 3000 has the speed and acuracy that is unmatched in it's industry. Just look at THIS other major rocket powered brand.



It's way too slow and has been rumored to slam into cars, trees, an other immovable objects. THAT's a good way to get your food where it's going...as long as it's going to the MORGUE!


Yes, with Turbo-donkey 3000, you'll never hear THIS again, "Your vegetables smell like dookie!"


Just listen to this satisfied customer: "I used to habe los of troubles getting my coffee beans to market. With robbers, Federales, and Cartels, I yust could not get my beans to market without muchos problemas. Now when the Federales come, I yust flip a switch (click) I'm off! 'Nos bamos Turbo donkey tree tousand!' Aye, yi, yi!!!"







But wait, there's more! Now, for a limited time only, you can receive the free manual, "One thousand and one useful uses for a stuffed chicken!" when you purchase a Turbo-donkey 3000! The first hundred thousand callers will also receive the guide to identifying spider bites, "Spider bite or just MRSA?!?"


So remember friends, immitation rocket powered animals just won't cut it, and may cause permanent death! So order today, and your Turbo-donkey 3000 will be delivered to you immediately (Please allow six to eight weeks delivery as the Turbo-donkey 3000 is somewhat skittish and will not cross open water such as creeks and small fjords without significant encouragement).


This offer is not available in Florida, California, and Guam. They eat donkeys in Guam.

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Dong Dang Huynh and other funny things

This morning, the fam and I were going to swim in the creek. I was listening to the news and a report regarding an FBI bulletin came over the radio. The story indicated that Dong Dang Huyng was wanted for money laundering. They pronounced the name funny (Huynh Dang Dong) and the kids started laughing (sorry Dong). They further said that Dong might be in Vietnam or Hong Kong. This was too much for the car and the following wordplay ensued:

Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong.


Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong...where he is playing ping pong.


Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong, where he is playing ping pong...with King Kong.


Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong, where he is playing ping pong with King Kong...while
acting like ding dongs.


Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong, where he is playing ping pong with King Kong, while acting like ding dongs...singing a song.


Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong, where he is playing ping pong with King Kong, while acting like ding dongs, singing a song...about Long's.


Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong, where he is playing ping pong with King Kong while acting like ding dongs, singing a song about Long's...where they are going to buy palm fronds.


Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong, where he is playing ping pong with King Kong while acting like ding dongs, singing a song about Long's where they are going to buy palm fronds...to
make magic wands.


Huynh Dang Dong might be in Hong Kong, where he is playing ping pong with King Kong while acting like ding dongs, singing a song about Long's where they are going to buy palm fronds to make magic wands...to turn every girl into blondes.


This is about where it ended, but as you can see, my children will have plenty to talk with Dr. Phil about when they are older.

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Everyone's named Steve...

There was once a land where everyone was named "Steve". Men, women and children were named Steve. Dogs and cats along with various other types of pets were named Steve also.

While this may seem like a novel idea, it actually stunk. Here is a sample of a common daily interaction between a Steve family at the breakfast table: "Hey Steve, could you pass me the milk for my cereal?" Steve asked. "No Steve, I drank the last of the milk last night when I was up late tending to an awful case of indigestion." replied Steve. "COME ON Steve!" yelled Steve. "That's the second time this month you've drank all the milk!"

About this time, the father (also named Steve) steps in. "Alright, the both of you. I've had enough of your bickering! Steve, you will apologize to your sister Steve for drinking all the milk. Steve, you will apologize to your brother Steve for being such a snag." "Oh, Steve" said the mother, "Why do you have to be so hard on the children?" "For the last time Steve" said the father to the mother, "when will you ever back my play? I'm supposed to be the head of this family!" "The head better head out, or he'll be late for work!" Steve looked at his watch and scurried for the door. "We'll talk more about this LATER!" Steve snorted as he left the room.

"Alright kids" Steve said to her son and daughter "You know how much it bothers your father Steve when you fight. Steve, you need to be nicer to your sister, and Steve, you need to be more patient with your brother."

"You're right mother" said Steve "I'm sorry Steve. I'll try to be nicer." "I agree, I'll see if I can put up with more of your immature nonsense than usual." said Steve to her brother.

Steve the mother and the two children named Steve all laughed together as they thought about how silly the argument had truely been. Steve the dog wagged his tail and barked in appreciation for all the love that was being shared in the room.

As you can see, this is a horrible place and we'll have no more of it.

The end.

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Captain Magnum...

In a major metropolis, there lived a hero. Not just any hero, but a pretty good hero. His name? Captain Magnum. Captain Magnum had magnificent mental mind powers the likes the world had never seen (except once in a movie about mind powers, but that was totally made up). Captain Magnum scoured the back alleys and boroughs for crime. Not just any crime, but really bad crime. Criminal crime. Really bad criminal crime.

Captain Magnum's secret identity was that of Bruce Mingo, lowly account temp from Nowheresville Kentucky. Yeah, you heard it. Kentucky. I didn't even know that place still existed.

Unfortunately for the fair citizens of this metropolis, Captain Magnum was really just Bruce Mingo. You see, Mr. Mingo contracted a rare brain inflamation disease while on vacation in the Bahamas. He'd won the trip on a radio contest. If he wasn't so crazy, he would have wished he would have changed the channel that fateful day.

Bruce Mingo only thought that he was Captain Magnum. Bruce Mingo was after all crazy. I mean, really crazy. Like the kind of crazy that should be locked away in some scary looking castle, slash, mental instution where freaky brain experiments are conducted on his...um...brain.

In the wee hours of the morning, between midnight and like around four thirty, Bruce (a.k.a. Captain Magnum) would wander through the alleyways fighting what he perceived as criminal activity. Really bad criminal activity. The thing is, is that the activity was just like regular everyday activity. Things like picking up the paper, and walking the dog and stuff like that.

Bruce Mingo would lurk in the shadows and when he saw such activity, he would jump out and use his mind powers to defeat the "criminals." This usually consisted of placing his index and middle fingers on his temples and squinting profusely at his intended victims. In Bruce's mind, he was forming and shooting a mind ray into his opponent's mind, causing an immediate explosion of millions of synapses (synapsis? sinapseese? I'm not really sure). In reality, he was just kind of annoying people. Once he did manage to cause a severe, but not lethal case of irritatation in a mail delivery person.

There is no end to this story. Bruce Mingo (a.k.a. Captain Magnum) still wanders the streets of the metropolis. Perhaps he's keeping the streets of your town safe from all the as-of-yet-unannoyed paper picker uppers, and dog walkers, and mail delivery persons. Perhaps you'll see him some early morning and know to not only fear, but respect...Captain Magnum.

The end...or is it?

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Wayne the excessively hygenic toilet plunger...

Once there was a little toilet plunger named Wayne. Wayne liked everything neat and tidy. Wayne was known in school for his exquisitely clean desk and he always had neat handwriting. Wayne did not like messes or clutter in any shape or form. Wayne washed his hands seventeen times a day. This was somewhat extreme but he was after all, excessively hygenic.

On the day of graduation, Wayne was excited to find out what his new career was going to be. "Perhaps I'll be a NASA rocket engineer" he thought. "Or maybe, just maybe...I'll even work for...Mr. Clean." Mr. Clean is after all the most famous of all cleaning personnel and the idol of every excessively hygenic person, or in this case a small toilet plunger.

Wayne reported to his first day of work. "Plu...m...ber" He read. "I wonder what sort of exciting job that is?" he thought. He entered the big room and looked around wide eyed. There in front of him were several other tools, about whose exciting jobs he could only speculate.

Wayne read over his job description, which came as quite a shock. "You...want me to...what?" He asked in disbelief. "There's no way...aaaaaugh!" With a sweeping motion, the large plumber picked Wayne up and began to plunge a nearby toilet. "Bubble, bubble, bubble...AAAAAHHH, STOP...bubble, bubble, bubble...THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!" Wayne screamed as he gasped for breath. "Bubble, bubble, bubble...GERMS EVERYWHERE! ...bubble, bubble...FOR THE LOVE OF! ...bubble, bubble, bubble...WHY IN THE NAME OF! ...bubble, gasp...I THINK I'M GOING TO! ..."

And so it went. The plunging, the unclogging...THE HORROR! Little Wayne never had a chance. He eventually passed out and never regained consciousness. Seeing Wayne's expiration, the plunger smiled a wicked smile and placed him on the rack marked, "FOR SALE".

So next time you walk down the plunger aisle at your local hardware store, pour a little Drain-o out on the curb in remembrance of little Wayne.

The end.

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Bacon...

There are several forces in the universe which move both man and mountain. The first and foremost is love. Love can make a grown man cry. The second of course, is bacon. Bacon. Just say the word and powerful emotions surge forth. Love and bacon. The two are almost too powerful to use in the same sentence. Bacon and love. Only slightly less powerful than saying it the other way around. Love with bacon. What are you talking about. What's wrong with you people. Bacon with love. A nice gift to someone who is really lucky. Luckier than me, as I currently have no bacon. So therefore, I am left with love. Love for bacon. Love of bacon. Man, I'd really love some bacon right now.

Bacon.

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Gene the overconfident fork...

Once there was a fork.  This fork's name was Gene.  Gene was an overconfident little fork.  Gene had a Machavllian complex and therefore had no concept of his limitations.  Gene did not know that forks are generally only useful for picking up bits of food and the occasional accidental poking of an eye or two.  Additionally, Gene had delusions of taking over the world.  

Gene said to himself one day, "I am going to take over the world."  Gene schemed of how successful his world taking-over campaign would be.  "My campaign will be extremely successful!" he thought.  

Gene had never actually left the small plastic silverware drawer organizer, but this did not phase him, as he suffered from an overly exagerated sense of self.  

The day arrived and Gene set off to conquer the world.  It was then that Gene realized that he had no legs or any other form of self propulsion.  "Dang" thought Gene.

The end.  

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Officer five-head and the tractor of terror...

The Officer sat waiting…Waiting for a nemesis so abominable that it is difficult to describe. He sucked the crème out of a glazed doughnut, French roast gripped tightly in his hand. Name plaque pinned firmly to his somewhat wrinkled uniform. “Darrin” was written in cold black letters, letters reflecting the blackness of his heart. “This might just be the day”, he thought, ”The day my vengeance will be exacted…with extreme prejudice. “ He’d heard that once on a movie.

Flash back 30 years. Little Darrin sits quietly on the floorboards of his father’s ‘63 Nash Rambler, toy tractors and other pretend implements of husbandry clutched in his tiny little hands. Dreams of one day being a farmer swarmed through his head as the sedan swept down the highway. Suddenly, the vehicle screeched to an extremely slow pace. “Dag-nabbit”, yelled Darrin Junior’s father. “I strongly despise these blasted Almond shakers! They are always slowing traffic to a completely unreasonable speed! I’d even imagine that they would not be able to hear or yield to emergency vehicles, such as Police cruisers!” Little Darrin climbed on the seat and peered over the dash of the old Nash. That rhymes.

There in front of his father’s vehicle was a dilapidated almond shaker driving at approximately 10 miles per hour. It lumbered on, mile after mile. Little Darrin’s father’s rage reached a fevered pitch as they were delayed by the shaker for at least fifteen minutes. “That’s it! I hate all farmers and friends of people who are farmers. I even hate people who have one type of job and just wish that they were farmers!!! No son of mine will be associated with such ilk! Little Darrin, you will never be a farmer!!!...never be a farmer…never be a farmer…”

Flash forward to the modern day. Little Darrin grew to a man. Not any ordinary man, but a driven man, a man with a vengeance hidden deep within his dark heart. A vengeance shaped in the form of a dilapidated almond shaker. A vengeance hidden behind the badge pinned over his tractor-vengeance shaped heart. The badge meant something. It meant he could get revenge. Revenge on that old almond shaker that crushed his dreams of one day becoming a person who raises and provides nuts, such as almonds and walnuts, and pistachios, etc. Officer Darrin really likes nuts.

The day he had his badge pinned on his crisp new uniform was one of the darkest of his life. All of his friends were graduating farm school and receiving their barn door keys. His friends were enjoying their chickens and windmills. Officer Darrin would never know such joy. So still he waits, ever waiting. 20 years had passed, still waiting.

Officer Darrin watched the street. Could this be the street? Could this be the day? Suddenly, without warning, a tattered baseball cap crested the hill. The vehicle continued cresting the hill, revealing that the hat was being worn by a farmer. A dirty farmer. “Dirty farmers”, he thought. Then, Officer Darrin’s heart leapt as the vehicle emerged…it was…it was…an almond shaker! Not just any almond shaker, but the almond shaker. Approximately 100 cars crawled along behind the almond shaker, paralyzed and completely unable to pass. The farmer sneered as he wickedly laughed toward the heavens.

Officer Darrin’s hands sweat as they clutched the steering wheel. The powerful engine roared from within as he prepared for his attack. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.
The almond shaker passed and Officer Darrin quickly pulled in behind. He activated the overhead rollers and sounded his siren. No response. “It’s almost as if his enormous diesel engine is drowning out my siren.” Officer Darrin pulled up next to the battered implement of husbandry. “I’ll show you what’s shakin’…shaker.” He rammed the side of the shaker, but with little effect. The farmer laughed derisively and shook his fist. “You’ll never catch me Amigo! “ Officer Darrin winced, “Oh, no you didn’t.” Officer Darrin wedged the accelerator with his baton and slid to the passenger’s side seat.

Officer Darrin jumped onto the throbbing machine. The farmer yelled, “Aye Chihuahua! Es la Policia con una cinco cabeza!” The farmer recovered quickly and threw a round house kick at Officer Darrin’s head. Officer Darrin dodged the kick easily. “I took Tae kwon do for three summers at the YMCA. You’ll have to do better than that!” The farmer did better than that, throwing a handful of almonds in Officer Darrin’s eyes. “Aughhhhh!” The Omega three fatty acids burned his eyes as he reached for his plastic bottle of water, tucked safely in his bellow’s pocket. “Thank goodness we defeated the city council regarding their attempted ban on these babies” he thought as he poured the life saving environmentally unfriendly water into his chapped eyes.

“That’s it, hombre. You’ve slowed traffic for the last time!” The farmer held up a Mexican consulate identification card. He smiled and hissed, ”Diplomatic immunity.” Officer Darrin’s eyes widened, then closed to narrow angry black slits. “It’s just been revoked.”
Officer Darrin kicked the emergency break, sending the farmer careening over the steering wheel. The farmer clutched the front grill, slowly sliding into the clamps of the almond shaker. Officer Darrin rested his hand on the lever and pressed down. “Adios muchacho”. The shakers activated and shook the farmer roughly. “N-n-n-n-n-o-o-o-o-o-o- meg-g-g-g-g-gusta!”, was all the farmer could say before he slipped into oblivion.

Officer Darrin jumped down off of the cursed machine. He brushed off his uniform and unpinned his badge. He dropped the badge on the tattered form of the evil farmer. “Delay that…chump.”
Officer Darrin walked off into the sunset, leaving his old life behind. Thousands of women lined the street and wept as their dreams of marrying a real man evaporated with every step.
No one ever heard of Officer Darrin again. Some say he went to the mountains and became a sage. Others say that he went to Paradise, California and taught Pilates to the elderly. No one knows for sure. What we do know, is that the streets of our fair town are a safer place. Safer because of the man called “Officer Darrin”.

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A short fairytale

Once in a small fairy glade, there lived a beautiful white unicorn named Jasper. Jasper was a happy unicorn who loved to watch the fairies paint the trees, flowers and grasses all the colors of the seasons. Jasper's best friend was Lentil. Lentil was a gnome. Not only was Lentil a gnome, but he was a very special gnome who had a very special job. Lentil was a nose gnome. Lentil loved to climb into Jasper's nose and find special golden berries. Jasper always had lots of special golden nose berries and they lived happily ever after.

The end.

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Alternative Kung Fu...

Once in the early Chinese 14th Dynasty, there lived a small boy called Quang Quang. Quang Quang was master of every style of Kung Fu ever created. Crane? Simple. Crouching Tiger? A joke. Somewhat inebriated monkey fist? Childs play.

One day, Quang Quang faced his most deadliest foe ever to date...Shi Ho. Shi Ho was a dangerous and venerble opponent. All who knew of Shi Ho's prowess on the field of battle, shuddered at the thought of ever having to face him. Shi Ho swept down entire legions of battle hardened Kung Fu masters. With his weeping eye technique, Shi Ho had no equal.

Legend spread across the land until one day it landed on the ears of Quang Quang. Quang Quang scoffed at the thought that anyone could beat his unbeatable style. Rumor of Quang Quang's scoff crossed back across the land until it seeped into Shi Ho's awareness. Shi Ho rolled his eyes at Quang Quang's scoff. Stories of Shi Ho's eye rolling migrated back across the land until it came to Quang Quang's awareness that Shi Ho had in fact rolled his eyes to Quang Quang's scoffing. This sort of thing went back and forth for some time, and due to the lack of space we will skip to the good stuff.

Eventually, Shi Ho and Quang Quang issued each other challenges. Unfortunately they were lost in the disorganized postal service of the day. Tiring of waiting, they issued another mutual challenge which this time got to their intended targets.

Time droned onward as the day of battle approached. Finally it stopped droning. It stopped because the day had arrived, which is a pretty good reason for stopping.

Shi Ho stood silhouetted against the dimming Chinese sun. Quang Quang stood akimbo in defiance. Quang Quang was secretly jealous that Shi Ho got the better backdrop for his Kung Fu stance. The local villagers gathered in awe of the resplendent warriors.

Shi Ho called out loudly, "I hear you scoff at my LEGEND!" Quang Quang scoffed, "I hear you rolled your eyes at my SCOFFING!" This too went on for entirely too long. The villagers began to tire.

In time, Shi Ho challenged, "My legend is like a magnatude 6.5 on the Richter scale of Kung Fu!" Quang Quang said, "Not even!" This was not a particularly witty come back, but he was nervous and it was all that would come to his mind. Shi Ho countered, "Well, with that, we must FIGHT!"
Shi Ho launched his weeping eye technique. Shi Ho was little prepared for Quang Quang's new and improved Steel Armpit of Fury technique. Quang Quang locked his arm against his side like a steel trap. Shi Ho bounced off in a dribbling retreat. Shi Ho again attacked, only to be locked in a steely headlock the likes he'd never before encountered. Quang Quang squeezed and squeezed until Shi Ho's eye's bulged. "I...I...I surrender!" Shi Ho gasped.

The villagers cheered as they rushed forth to lift Quang Quang onto their shoulders. A bright new day had dawned for the villagers (despite the fact that it was by now well into the night), as they rested assured that they would be safe under the protection of Quang Quang and his Steel Armpits of Fury.

The end.

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Terrence and the exotic fruit...

Once there was an average boy. This boy's name was Terrence. This is not the sort of name that gets you to the top of the social heap in schools of any grade. This is not the sort of name that rockets you to the top of the business world. Terrence was familiar with the former and soon would become quite aware of the latter. That is not what this story is about. Stop thinking about it.

Terrence, as stated previously was an average boy, with the average amount of friends, and as you might have guessed, the average amount of enemies. Do you remember the name of yours? I do.

Terrence also remembered the name of his enemy. Donald Rider. This may not sound like the name of a greatly feared enemy, but if you are an average boy named Terrence, it holds a significant amount of dread.

Terrence particularly dreaded lunch time. This was the time where most average children examined the contents of their lunches and planned for mergers and trade agreements with other average children. Children such as Charlie Dwyer had trade embargos placed on them due to his mother's tendency to place beet salads and other organic items in his lunch. No respectable youth would be caught dead trading a perfectly good Ho-Ho for some sprouts. Yuck.

Terrence appreciated the usual trade, but the other average children had begun to shy away from him. The reason for this was that Donald Rider took a liking to taking Terrence's lunch during lunchtime. There was always the possibility that one would become one of Donald Rider's victims by the inadvertent association with Terrence. This was simply unacceptable.

Terrence had exactly twenty seven lunches taken from him by Donald Rider this year alone. Terrence did not mind so much, but his mother and father were very poor and worked very hard to provide him a lunch. Terrence's father always told him, "Son, always stand up for what is right and true. The sun and rain shines and falls on every man. You are just as good as any other. Terrence thought about this one day as he was thinking about the rumblings of his empty stomach.

It was then that an idea began to form. The idea began to take shape. It was the shape of his empty stomach which is sort of a kidney bean shape. It was also kind of pink in color. The idea was devious and wonderful. It was subtle and perfect. It was also guaranteed to work because Donald Rider was the sort of stupid bully that infects every school. Terrence finally had enough. His hunger had hatched a brilliance previously unknown.

On the way home, Terrence stopped by Mr. Granger's produce store. "Do you have any rotten oranges?" Terrence asked. Mr. Granger looked quizzically at the lad and simply nodded his head in the direction of the back. Terrence quickly found what he was looking for. It was fuzzy. it was smelly. It was the most perfect rotten orange he had ever seen. This was not true of course, as he had once seen a more perfect rotten orance when he was seven and a half at his aunt's house. Terrence did not recall this at the time, so to be fair, we'll let him believe it was in fact the most perfect rotten orange he had ever seen in his life. Terrence picked the rotten orange gingerly in a brown sack and carried it home.

The following day, Terrence looked on as the clock clicked slowly by. The time finally came and he bolted to the door. Finding his usual seat in the cafeteria, Terrence laid out his lunch in a neat fashion. Terrence sensed Donald Rider enter the room. He could feel his bully evil emenating as he came closer and closer. "Alright, dink." Donald Rider said, "What'chya got for me today?"

Terrence did his best to avoid eye contact with Donald Rider. It's always best to avoid eye contact. Donald Rider picked up the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth. Donald Rider took a long drink of Terrence's chocolate milk (this was strategically selected by Terrence for reasons you will soon understand).

Donald Rider's eye's shifted over the remainder of the lunch and his eyes caught on the rotten orange. "What's this" Donald Rider said, "A rotten orange?" "Haven't you ever seen a jaus-teece fruit before?" Terrence replied. "A what" "A jaus-teece fruit. It's from Madagaspar in Tarzan-nista." Terrence said quite calmly. "EVERYONE knows that" he continued with a snide look.

Donald Rider looked confusedly at Terrence, then back at the fruit. Donald Rider was quite unable to grasp what was happening. His prey was not responding as usual. He could sense something was wrong but did not have the capacity to figure out what. "It just looks like a rotten orange." "Whatever." Said Terrence, "If you don't know what a Jaus-teece fruit is, then that is your problem." "I know what it is, stink-plug" Donald Rider replied defiantly, "I've eaten like a thousand of these things. I eat them all the time." "No you haven't. You never have and you're too scared to eat one now." Terrence responded with narrowing eyes.

Now to those unversed in the world of "Bully / Victim" interaction, such resistance from the prey is completely unacceptable and will frequently be dealt with by wedgies, twirlies, or some other act to regain dominance. As previously noted, Donald Rider would have no such thing and needed to place this imp back in his place of subserviance.

"I'll show you." Donald Rider said and proceeded to choke down the entire rotten orange. Terrence calmly looked at Donald Rider. Donald Rider's look of satisfaction lasted for exactly 7.5 seconds. The look slowly shifted from satisfaction, to a distant far off look, to confusion, to worry, to uneasy surprise, and was quickly followed by vomit ("Huwaaaaaaugh!).

Vomit in and of itself is quite an unpleasant topic, but can in fact be made more unpleasant. The specific way in which this particular case of vomit was made worse was held in the fact that at this moment, Mrs. Lando the P.E. teacher was walking by with a full platter of beef stroganoff. That was not the bad part. The bad part was that Donald Rider vomited on Mrs. Lando's shoes and lower legs ("Huwaaaaaaaugh!). Mrs. Lando responded in kind and barfed on Donald Rider's head ("Huwaaaaaaaugh!). Children seeing the comotion througout the cafeteria began to exercise their rights to foodular expulsion in a flurry of foodular expulsing.

Mr. Dwyer (No relation to Charlie Dwyer the kid with the trade embargo, but in fact the Mr. Dwyer who was the school's janitor) looked on at the growing mess and wondered quite silently to himself why he had not followed his dream of being an ice dancer. Ice dancers never had to deal with this sort of thing.

Terrence on the other hand, though speckled with bits of jaus-teese (Justice) fruit and chocolate milk, looked on with a glow of personal satisfaction, knowing that a new day had dawned and a significant page had turned in his life.

The End.

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The world's greatest super hero...

Phil. That's what they call me. That is of course those who live in the real world...those who don't know the real me...or the life I lead. I am a super hero. I save lives.

There's another group of people. People who take things from others, hit them and stuff, and do other crime things. Criminals. They know me by a name too. Phil. My super hero name is also Phil, so as to not confuse things. I've got alot on my plate.

Super hero's such as myself have quite alot of things to deal with as you might imagine. Crime. Other super hero's trying to slip in on your turf. Accessorizing. Yeah, you heard right. Accessorizing. You might have totally kung-fu skills, but if you show up with your cape not matching your unitard...super headache. Whiffle girl still hasn't stopped teasing me about that one. She's one to talk. Making whiffling sounds isn't much of a super power.

Not like mine that is. My power? I knew you'd ask. My super power is dodging. I can totally dodge like, six or seven things. Perhaps you want to throw some scissors, or candy, or tennis balls at me? Childs play.

Captain Evilbad once threw like five bowling balls at me. Totally dodged them.

I was fairly impressed that he was able to even pick up five bowling balls. I tried it later and it wasn't as easy as it looked.

Anyway, here I watch. Waiting for the opportunity to dodge some criminals straight into jail. That's not very easy, but it's kind of like a three rights making a left thing. They run at me and I dodge a whole bunch of times, so that the last time they run at me, I dodge and they run right into the jail cell. Sweet.

You'd think that the criminals would just stop running at me after a while. Two things help me in this regard. One, the criminal mind is dumb. The second, is that I am pretty good at taunting them into chasing me. One of my favorites is, "Hey, you're a really bad criminal and I am currently dating your sister and making her hold the door for me." It drives them insane. It's like catnip, but for criminals...and without the cats.

The cops didn't like it all that much before I earned super hero status. I didn't have a key to the department and the next day there'd be like a stack of twenty or so criminals stacked up in front of the front door. They were like little birds that didn't see the glass.

So next time you think of committing crime, remember, Phil's watching you. Phil's always watching.

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Two pies for Donald...

There once was a little bunny named Donald. Donald lived on the outskirts of a small village on the outside of London. There was nothing Donald loved better than to hop into the village and smell the wonderful aroma of pies as they cooled on the baker's racks. "There's nothing I love better than to hop into the village and smell the wonderful aroma of pies as they cool on the baker's racks" Donald said thoughtfully to himself.

This became a daily ritual for Donald, but unfortunately there came another tradition not so wonderful. For whilst Donald stood gazing longingly at the pies, the other naughty little rabbits would gather around and tease him. "You are poor and have to eat government cheese, and other bits of state funded edibles!" they would jeer. This as you might well imagine made Donald very sad. Sad not only because he was indeed very poor, but also because he never got to even taste the delicious smelling pies.

Time carried on, each day much the same as the one before. Donald would hop into the village and enjoy the smells. The other little rabbits would hop over to Donald and enjoy the heckling.

One day, the town crier called out from his high perch, "The butcher is coming, the butcher is coming!" This was the cry that everyone dreaded. This was the proudest moment of the crier's life. "I actually got to yell something other than the time and various bits of gossip!" he thought.

The butcher loomed from above the small rabbit village and with one sweep, swept up the rabbit closest to him. This ironically was the town crier in his high tower, thus making it the best and worst day of his life (in that order).

"Run!" everyone yelled as they tried to hop away. A dark realization came over the crowd as they realized that they had become very fat from eating pies every day and were quite unable to conduct any physical exertion on their own. It's not that they were particularly fond of eating pies every day, but it just seemed so much fun to chomp one down in front of the poor Donald chap. "We can't run because we're very fat due to the overconsumption of sugary pies!" they were heard to yell.

Now the following will say quite alot about you and your opinion of such things. You will be allowed to select the ending you think most appropriate. They are as follows:

Ending number 1: Donald laughed as he saw the butcher sweeping up little fat bunnies to put in his award winning bunny stew. "Ha, ha you evil nare-do-wells. I'd help, but you would never offer me so much as a single piece of delicious pie. Add to that your incessant need to badger me regarding my financial woes!" And with that, Donald hopped off to happier climbes where he started a bakery of his own and had just as much pie as he wanted.

The end.

Ending number 2: Donald heard the din rising from the village and lept to his window. You see, he had not been eating pies all these years and was very capable of leaping to the window or anything else he chose to leap to.

Donald ran into the village and with a mighty leap, jumped up and spun a 180 degree turn. Donald kicked at the butcher's mouth and broke out one of his bicuspids. The tooth lodged soundly in the butcher's airway, causing him to cough and gag as he stumbled away from the rabbit village.

Cheers rose from the villagers as they tried to lift Donald upon their shoulders with little success. "Oh, sod it, we'll just give him a reward for his heroic efforts!" they said. And with that, they led Donald to the one place he frequented every day his entire life. The bakery. Donald selected one boysenberry and one cherry pie which he savored and relished for the rest of his life.

The end

P.S. I know you chose the first ending. Sick-o's.

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The absolutely biggest pumpkin pie ever in the world...

There once was a very fat baker named Smith. Smith was renown for his work in the cupcake arena and for his invention of "cremed" fillings. While it took several years to perfect this whipped delight, Smith endured failure after failure to achieve this, his ultimate success.

Despite his culinary victory, Smith was not satisfied. "There must be something out there that can satisfy my need for greatness." he thought. Smith thought and thought. What was it that would bring him even greater happiness and success than cremed fillings? There must be something.

Day and night, Smith pored over recipes and sweat over his drawing board. This as you might imagine, was a great deal of sweat and made it difficult for his pencil to properly mark the paper. Smith could not sleep at night. He could not eat during the day (this may or may not be somewhat of an exageration).

One day, Smith was enjoying a small and delicious personal sized pie. "This is a small, but delicious personal sized pie. It brings me such happiness and enjoyment." Smith's gaze fixed on the pie as his mind tried to seize upon an elusive thought that wandered about the ether of his mind. "What is it...what is it...what is it?" he whispered to himself.

In a flash of foodular genius, Smith grasped the vague thought. "YES! I shall make the world's largest pie ever concocted in the history of the entire world!" Smith blurted out. Patrons stared, but he did not care. He knew that he was on to the previously unknown meaning of his life. This was going to be the pinnacle of his career.

"It shall be a large pie, in fact the world's largest...but what KIND of pie should I make?" Smith wondered. "Why what better pie than that of a pumpkin pie!"

Smith rented a truck and a medium sized hand cart. He set to work in the basement of his bakery. Night and day, day and night. Trucks came incessently day and night to deliver products necessary to make the pie. An entire field of pumpkins was cleared to suffice Smith's needs. Smith was a wildcat of motion as he sunk deeper and deeper into his work. Hours turned into days...days turned into weeks...weeks turned into three and a half months, which is like some months and some days put together, but there is no real description for that measurement of time.

At last the day came. School children and homeless had gathered in a massive hungry vigil, each hoping for a slice of the world's largest pie. All waited with bated breath, some even had baited breath. This is often a hotly debated topic, but those in the know realize that the later means that they were probably eating sardines, or salmon eggs.

With a whoosh, the large barn sized doors swung wide. With a squish, the onlooker's eyes opened wide with awe. The largest smell of pumpkin pie ever to grace the earth flooded out onto the crowd, practically knocking them over. Children in the first three rows developed several cavities on site, and three diabetics had to be rushed to the hospital.

There behind the cloud of flour, a rotund silhouetted form emerged. Here, standing before them was the master chef. The one who brought forth this behemoth of flavor. The one who would go down in history as the one who did the unthinkably wonderful.

The crowd tensed as Smith called for a hush. They leaned inward as a palpable hush settled all around. "It is..." Smith began, as the onlookers stared at his lips as if to will the next words into existence. "It is...not finished!" Looks of complete confusion crossed the faces of everyone. "What the...?" They muttered simultaneously in disbelief.

"Yeah, I totally forgot to put salt in the mix and it tastes really bad. So go home." And with that, they went home.

The end.

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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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