I Have a Graceful Leap and Impeccable Grooming Habits

They made me a lieutenant. I wanted to be a captain, but they told me I was all wrong for the job. I calmly explained that my long jump record is better than almost anyone in my troop, and reminded them that I had arranged a very respectable pouch for myself. It can hold up to three wine bottles and a miniature Chihuahua, a regular-sized Chihuahua if the wine is in juice boxes. They just said, “Blah Blah Blah you’re not a kangaroo, captains must be kangaroos Blah Blah Blah.” So I pulled out a machete and got my revenge. Actually, we drank the juice box wine and listened as the regular-sized Chihuahua gave a very eloquent speech on Affirmative Action in Spanish.

Three Stories

Orange Ashtray


Or would it be orange tray? That sounds like a tray of oranges, but these aren’t oranges, they’re ashes. I burned the oranges with the orange tip of my cigarette. Orange plus orange equals fire, more orange, but then fire turns to ash, gray. Gray is not as nice as orange, but things don’t always have to be nice I suppose.




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A Lesson on the Values of Not Being Picky


The trees are eating the buildings. Or maybe the buildings are eating the trees, I can’t tell from here. Either way I don’t like it. Didn’t their mothers ever tell them it’s rude to eat your neighbors? Unless, of course, your neighbors are green vegetables, in which case you really have no choice. Green vegetables are evil and must be destroyed. Everyone knows that.



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Emily Post



The trees are stabbing the sky. Not the trees with leaves, they are just cuddling. The trees without leaves are the ones being so violent towards such a lovely blue sky. At first, this seemed quite impolite, for those trees to be poking the sky with their nakedness. Now, it seems obvious how very impolite the sky has been to those trees. He snatched away their pretty green sweaters and they just want them back. The sky thinks he can be a bully because he’s so much bigger, and the trees don’t understand that the only way to respond to a bully is not to respond. Maybe I should tell them, but I won’t, because that would only make them fell stupid, which would be very impolite of me.

The Song Momboo Taught Me When I Was a Child

When I was five, I had three little fishies and a mama fishy too. The mama fishy told the three little fishies to swim, swim if they could, and they swam and they swam all over the dam. But it wasn’t a dam; it was the side of their fishbowl. I found them on the floor looking rather melancholic and dead. Poor little fishies. Maybe they shouldn’t have listened to mama fishy after all; maybe mama fishy wasn’t as smart as they thought. I could have been their Mama, but they wouldn’t let me, as I couldn’t speak their blub blub fishy talk. They never would learn English and now they’re floating in the sewer, not as nice as their bowl castle.