Beware the return — The time has come,” Supreme Leader Haynes spoke to his troops. He was the firstborn. As such, he glowed in his persona of complete whiteness; plus, a stain here and there. Some in his army were covered in bright, multi-colors of their own, while others sported only muted colors denoting…

Conraua Cadavers — Well, you’re still ugly.” Dr. Caterino pulled the magnifying glass in front of his eye, then injected the Conraua goliath frog with its twentieth dose of human DNA. When small, the frog had always squirmed in pain during the procedure. …

An ode to color — Oh, Mood Ring, does my psyche truly comply with your glow? Am I pretty in pink and yappy in yellow? Do I panic on purple, in white dream of snow? Will blue make me blurry, or with orange turn mellow? How easy would life be if you’d undergo a CAT Scan.

A Romeo Ratchet and Juliette Jaugernaut RomTra — Ter-Ro placed the oil can back on the shelf precisely where it always remained. He didn’t care about the precision of the placement as it correlated to the other items on the shelf, but more about getting it settled into the same dust ring. Temporary Air Defense Entity, or TADE…

I was instantly transported back to the first Independence Day movie and expected a horrible disaster. Love it when the ending is so unexpected, and FUNNY!

But beware the wrong genre — “The waning sunset spoke fire to the surrounding clouds, dribbling varying shades of magenta, gold, and purple along the mountain peaks as the sun continued its nocturnal descent.” “Okay. That’s truly terrible.” Jenna commented from across the room. “Aren’t authors supposed to write what they know?” “Yeah.” Audrey agreed. “But when petting your cat is the most exciting event in your day, it’s hard to find a stimulating parable. The life I’ve experienced, nobody wants to read about.”

I just subscribed to MMM. The teaching people to read book might be the funniest thing you have written to date. But today is Wednesday, so what do I know.

You know it!

A disappointing pursuit — For $1,000 the vending machine would grant me the perfect words to begin my novel. For $5,000, the center of the story. For another $10,000, I could buy enough words so that a great ending would flow into my head. Without hesitation, I inserted the cash. It took every cent I had. I wouldn’t eat for days, but it would be worth it. Once the money had disappeared from view, the machine spoke to me for the first time.