My Eyes Are PeelingJan sat down upon the frog and pondered the lint in the palm of her hand. It was a gift from Jones, the lint that is, not her hand. She got her hand from the ParaTechnical Institute of Prosthetic Limbs and Intuitive Burping.The lint was feathery, a bit grey, but not terribly unpleasant. The frog disagreed with Jan's thoughts, but then, the frog had always been contrary and contentious. World War III would never have broken out if the frog hadn't gone and squirted tadpoles into the Prime Ministers tea. It was the Boston Tea Party all over again, but this time we lost, hence the United States of Britain.Jones had been walking down the stree
It Is Ugly And Must GoTaren glanced down at the tips of his Oxfords as they were the only thing safe to stare at for the moment. Unfortunately for Taren, staring at ones feet while running away is not conducive to one's safety. This, Taren was discovering very quickly as he ran skull on into a street lamp.The damage to the street lamp was minimal, but there was a faint impression of Taren's knotty head upon the smooth, metallic form of the street lamp. Had said lamp been sentient, it would not have hesitated in squashing Taren into a well-deserved lump. It wasn't sentient, so the street lamp had to settle with flickering its pool of yellow light in distressed an
The Horse WasA badly written piece of faux-inked nonsense masquerading as great literature by Jayne d'Arcy. Blame her brother, Jim, for being the sweet, precocious child he was who mangled his best friend's name into Ronny Gumfarm. Enjoy!~*~*~*~*~Argle.Hack.Hairball?Ronny Gumfarm tweaked his nose, sneezed and coughed for a second time. The horse over in the next stall stomped its hooves and neighed in annoyance.With a shrug of his thin shoulders, Ronny Gumfarm plopped his overly articulated skeleton down onto the nearby bale of hay, and picked nervously at his teeth with his pinky fingernail.It was Jolene Bombashoot's fault.Ronny Gumfarm s
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