wish

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

i wish i was a kitten sitting in a tree wearing a green tuxedo for all the world to see i wish i was a goldfish swimming in a bowl everyone could look at me but i would have my soul i wish i was a turtle wandering in the road snakes and dogs would pass me by but i’d be true to my code i wish i was an apple pie on a windowsill baked by old mrs johnson and stolen by old bill i wish i was a wise man in a purple bubble of soap the world would burst around me but i would not lose hope i wish i was a bullfrog on the emperor’s lawn he would send his dragon to get me but i would be long gone

the animals

by nick nelson

they made it safely through the night and over the mountain. they were the first people named eddie and doreen to make it over the mountains with a truck full of animals. they were so proud of themselves. eddie had the paperwork all ready and he took it over to the dispatch office while doreen went into the cafe and got a booth and ordered coffee for both of them. the sun was coming up. the inspector looked at eddie’s paperwork. everything is here, sir, eddie said. the elephant is going to the ygr corporation, the ostrich to mr magee, the leopard to the church of good faith, and the koala bear to the fair tax party headquarters. <> yes, it all looks in good order, the inspector agreed. he finished off his cup of coffee he got up from behind his desk. let’s go take a look at the animals, the inspector said. they went outside and eddie led the way to the truck. eddie opened the back of the truck. it was empty! what is this nonsense? the inspector thundered. what kind of flim-flam are you con artists trying to put over? i am sorry, sir, eddie managed to say. i am as surprised as you are. i do not know how such a thing could have happened. but i know what is going to happen, the inspector replied. you are going to be made an example of, make no mistake about it. there has been entirely too much of this chicanery and it has got to stop. after a speedy trial in the old barn behind the dispatch office, eddie and doreen were sentenced to hard labor in the andromeda galaxy, and never heard from again.

bulldog

by nick nelson

i was standing on the corner when i heard my bulldog bark this guy came at me with a knife i gave him the old china sea shake from my days in the navy seals in iwo jima we won't be hearing from him any more billy (he's my bulldog) kept barking i knew he was out there somewhere i went back to waiting it's not easy for me i'm not a patient person a car pulled up "where's eddie?" i figured eddie was the guy who came at me with a knife hey pal, you seen a guy? you mean tonight? yeah, just now. like in the last half hour? no, i ain't seen nobody hey eddie! eddie! say you wouldn't be the russian, would you? do i look like a fucking russian? i don't know, i heard there was a russian around - no need to get sore i ain't no russian okay, point taken i don't know if i like your tone of voice, asshole i don't know if i like anything about you, dickbrain what are you doing? looking for my dog i bet your dog is a real candyass, like you. you teach him to dance in the chorus, just like you? i don’t think i like the tone of your voice. hey, hey, what’s going on here? what’s all this noise? good evening, officer o’malley. good evening to you. allow me to repeat myself. what’s going on here? we were looking for eddie, and this character, this stranger who isn’t even from the neighborhood, was giving us grief. really? not from the neighborhood, is he? let me remind you that this is a free country, ever since washington beat the redcoats and lincoln freed the slaves, and the gentleman can go where he likes as long he does not disturb the peace - my peace. we were just looking for eddie. i can tell you exactly where eddie is. he is in the cooler, where i put him, for being drunk and disorderly. which i where will put you, if you do not behave yourself, as the good sisters taught you to do in school. all right, no need to get sore. and you, young fellow-me-lad, wandering around in the dark like a moonbeam, not even in your own neighborhood, what do you have to say for yourself? i was looking for my bulldog. i didn’t hear any bulldog. i thought i heard him bark. he ain’t got any bulldog, he’s lying. and he doesn’t belong around here. here, what is going on here? good evening , commissioner. nothing to get excited about, sir. just a little disagreement, everything is under control. a disagreement? let them settle it like men. you mean with their fists? no, with swords. i have some some swords in the trunk of my limousine. and the parking lot behind flaherty’s market - they can fight there. all right, you mugs, you heard the commissioner, let’s go. i was just looking for my dog. i said, let’s go. the things i put up with in the line of duty. i don’t like this sword, it’s too short. i am more of a long sword guy. no whining. play the hand you were dealt. a cat meowed from under flaherty’s back window. the swords flashed in the moonlight. a light rain began to fall. the stars looked down and laughed.

the producer

by jeremy witherington

dear friend, how are you? i had a sudden urge to write to you. i am trapped in an old dark house by a madman. other than that things are not too bad. here is how it came about. i was down on my luck, as usual. i was hanging around the bus station, hoping my fortunes would change. a rather seedy looking individual, but with a few shreds of dignity and gentlemanliness about him, approached me. are you not t x—— -, the famous producer of productions? he asked me politely. i could not resist either his flattery or the prospect of a square meal, so i immediately acquiesced in his identification. thus it was that i found myself in the old dark house. the production, and the date it was to be produced, were somewhat up in the air. i never did see my benefactor in the flesh again. (assuming that he was was indeed made of flesh) i was given a gaggle of “assistants” to help me. i first took them to be some sort of feral children, then evil sprites, and finally concluded they were demons from the lowest pit of hell. their principal occupation seemed to be stealing my hat. you know, of course, how much my hat means to me. the production went badly. i had decided on a combination of lucia di lammermoor and the wild duck, performed mostly by puppets, but could not get my evil sprites/demons to grasp the concept, which they mocked relentlessly, when they were not stealing my hat and hiding it in the dark corners of the endlessly rambling and cobwebbed mansion. finally i decided i had had enough. i resolved to make my escape. but first i had to find my hat. they had really done it this time. i looked and looked but could not find it. but as i was desperately searching, i noticed something else. silence. the laughter of the demons had ceased. they had abandoned me, and left the house. but where is my hat? i can not leave without my hat! you know the one i mean - the one with the red band and the green feather. i have looked and looked, and keep finding myself back in the same rooms. i am beginning to despair. help me!

a taxi for tony

by bofa xesjum

ralph and tony had been roommates for three hundred years. a taxi was waiting downstairs to take tony away. tony had waited until the last the last minute to pack his suitcase. that was the way he was, it was just his way. he couldn’t find his navy blue socks, the ones with the little yellow buddhas on them. they have to be here somewhere! he shouted. ralph helped him as best he could. they looked in the corners, under the mattresses and the sagging sofa, behind the television set, they emptied all the drawers in the dresser, the closet, the cupboards, the wastebaskets, the refrigerator, the umbrella stand, they just could not find tony’s navy blue socks with the little yellow buddhas on them. the taxi’s meter was running and finally ralph paid it off and it left without tony. ralph and tony lived together for another four hundred years.