Mrs. & Mrs. Gronk-Uggg

Mrs. & Mrs. Gronk-Uggg

Mrs. and Mrs. Gronk-Uggg were married in a lush field on November 3rd, 2018 B.C. in front of a slightly disapproving crowd. Of course, being the first of anything was always going to face backlash, but being the first married lesbians in history really ruffled some raptor feathers.

Garna Gronk, a vivacious blonde who kept the girls away with a club, met Clunnk Uggg (she claims her upbringing was from a very traditional family) back in 2023 B.C. They adopted a baby triceratops, Corey, to practice for real babies.

“Ugggh,” teased Garna about Clunnk’s uni-brow.

“Gaahh!” Clunnk slapped her away.

The cave fell silent for a while.

“Geeh.” Garna was always asking about having real children, even back when they were dating.

Clunnk grunted nothing.

“GEEH.” Garna was insistent this time.

“Rarak. Ganna rarra rarak.” Clunnk brushed her off as usual.

“Geeh…” Her mate pouted.

Clunnk held up two furs to her chest. “Haa… og harrak?”

“…Harrak. Gonur.” Garna loved her mate, but she couldn’t pull off winter colors.

“Hagga.” The big party was tonight, and Clunnk didn’t want to look fat.

Corey growled at nothing in particular.

At the party over at Greg and Lalanda Smook’s cave, Garna was glaring at a woman wearing the same fur as her.

“Konak?” Clunnk didn’t see the big deal.

“Giva…” she said, lamenting the woman wore it better.

Greg tapped his wine urn. “Hello, fellow neanderthals. I’m Greg Smook, but you already know that. Welcome to our party! Oh, and I see two children who should be on the hay by now! Good night, Zanndak and Orla!”

Lalanda translated for her upright blabbermouth.

Zanndak gave Garna a big grin (while catching a peek at her cleavage) and rushed off to bed. Orla hugged her parents and followed suit.

Garna frowned. Clunnk slapped her forehead. This wasn’t at all what Garna needed.

Greg and Lalanda approached Mrs. and Mrs. Gronk-Uggg. Lalanda looked about ready to kick him.

“Hey, ladies! How’s the marriage going? Any trouble in paradise? Ha ha! Just kidding.”

Mrs. Gronk and Mrs. Uggg looked at him with tilted heads. Why did he have to evolve so… annoyingly? All those big words and none of them necessary.

Lalanda kicked him.

“Rura?” Lalanda asked Clunnk about her rock business.

“Enomi dotur.” Economic downturn, answered Mrs. Uggg.

“So Garna, thinking about having kids of your own? With your body, I’d advise against it! Ha ha! Just kidding.”

She didn’t follow any of that, but she understood “kids” in any language.

“Ug. Ugh. Uug.”

“Okay, don’t get your saber-tooth panties in a bunch. I was just asking. You know, there’s a great adoption clinic across from my work cave. Maybe you and,” he pointed at Clunnk “can check it out.”


“A sperm donor? I wasn’t really kidding about your body. It, it’s great. Don’t ruin it with kids. After what happened with Lalanda, I don’t want you to go flabby.”

She caught his drift and punched him in the nose.

The guest clamored around Greg to see if he died. He hadn’t, but some wish he had. Lalanda helped him up.

“Unga bunga!” Clunnk excused herself and Mrs. Gronk.

After an argument late into the night back at their cave, the couple came to a conclusion: Garna would have a baby on her own via sperm donor and Cluunk Uggg would be completely hands off.

However, after nine months, there were complications. Garna Gronk passed away during childbirth, giving birth to a healthy son. Ms. Uggg named the boy Dedek, meaning death in her tongue.

Cluunk, Corey and Dedek lived normally for cavepeople, despite Cluunk living in complete silence around her late wife’s son. Eventually, Corey grew up and moved out of the cave, leaving six-year-old Dedek to talk to himself.

Nothing Cluunk observed Dedek do impressed her. He had so many similarities to the deceased Garna Gronk, who Dedek couldn’t even miss, not having known her.

Ms. Uggg pulled out some old cave paintings she put away when her wife died. When she rediscovered her old wedding painting, she wept.

“Ongo?” asked Dedek about Garna in the painting.

Cluunk said nothing, as usual.

“Epp!” Dedek noted their eyes and hair looked the same.

Finally, Cluunk turned to Dedek and opened up.

“Shala wum ropik.” She explained that this person was his mother, her wife whom she loved very much. When Dedek was born, it felt like her whole world was ripped away from her, but part of Garna Gronk lived on in Dedek Gronk-Uggg. She couldn’t truly abandon the boy knowing where and who he came from, and chose to be silent around him out of anger and sadness.

“Slimuok.” But no longer, she decided. They would become a real mother and son, and live for the memory of Garna, not remain frigid due to her loss.

Dedek hugged his mother and wept. He felt home, which was odd, because he was always home. Even if he only had one mother, he wouldn’t give her up to the wolves of the world, the dinosaurs of demise, the homo sapiens of horror. Their embrace lasted until fifteen minutes, when Cluunk realized she had a raptor over the fire burning.


Last Costume Party

Last Costume Party

I only dressed as Don Quixote because I love Man of La Mancha. I could care less about the book. Yes, I could care less, because if the book didn’t exist, the musical wouldn’t either.

Sigh. I really wish I could have seen the musical before the world was destroyed. I miss theater. Oh, we have electricity left in some places, but it’s choppy. But enough about the present nightmare. This is my life as a boy, when my sister and her boyfriend had the idea for one last costume party.

Oh, and she’s not my sister, Amy. She’s my babysitter from childhood. But she’s like… dead. She was. “She’s” as in “she was.” Sorry if “she’s” doesn’t mean “she was.” I didn’t want to spoil the ending. I can’t keep up the charade any longer. This is her final costume party. She died, Michael. She’s dead.

Right, Amy, my “sister” who “was.” We were in the house we’d been bumming in and she suggested something to liven the mood. I’m sorry, I’m not much of a narrator these days. I think the loneliness has driven me mad. I never had someone to die with like Amy did, so I haven’t killed myself yet.

What’s with the madness in Don Quixote? He gets to go on an adventure while my madness leads me to ramble in a memoir. If anyone finds this, I was a very pleasant child. Right, back to my tale.

Amy found a half-dilapidated costume shop and dressed in a frog costume. She helped me find a Don Quixote costume and I adored it. Josh, the stupid boyfriend, dressed as purple grapes. They had green grapes for babies, but Josh wouldn’t put it on.

Our costume party was great. Let me break it down by the woods the woods he didn’t stop red red red

Sorry. I’m the only one left. It’s been 47 years since that day. I’m half-dilapidated in the brain, myself. Let me break it down by paragraph red.

Food: Cans and cans of food! We had peas, tuna, corn, something green, and a bird I killed! A pigeon, I think. Even Josh enjoyed it. Amy hugged me for finding such fresh meat.

Music: Man of La Mancha, and it wasn’t even my birthday! The power was out that day, so we used batteries and a boom box. Thank God for Duracell and this hellhole I live in every single day. I HATE YOU AND WILL FIGHT YOU TO THE END LORD.

Costume Contest: Amy won the costume contest. She seemed a little sad that day, so Josh and I separately voted for her, although she voted for me. I miss her more than I miss Duracell batteries.

When we were going to start telling scary stories, Amy ran out of the house and into the woods woods wooden areas. She took the Swiss army knife, Josh noticed. We ran after her and discovered her in the darkest part of the woods.

“Don’t come any closer!” Amy warbled. “I’m going to end myself!”

“Then it doesn’t matter if we come closer.” Josh always was too logical for his own good. Was.

Amy stabbed herself. I cried and screamed, running towards her.

“I couldn’t… another… day like this… sad.”

She was right. It was no way to live, even with a costume party.

“Josh… please, come with me. I love… you…” And she died.

Josh started to run. I asked where he was going, and noted she needed a proper burial.

“No way am I willing to die for a woman! This is goodbye, brat.”

He didn’t stop. I ran after him and tripped on a rock. I held the knife out and fell into Josh.



MMy hands were ccccovered in blood. I killed Josh. He died with Amy, like she wanted.

I buried them both, even though Josh didn’t deserve to die with her, the sour grapes. Amy looked so peaceful in death, my happy frog princess. Josh was wearing a grape costume. Serves him right.

I promised myself to die like Amy, but I haven’t seen another person in 47 years. If anyone finds this memoir, please bury it in the darkest part of the woods. That is where I wish to be buried with it as well.

An Unremarkable Anniversary

An Unremarkable Anniversary

45 years had gone by since Karen and Vimal tied the knot. 42 years had gone by since the birth of their only child, David. 30 years had gone by since the birth of their granddaughter, Lucy. To the average bystander, they seem to have cherished every moment.

Karen met Vimal while touring India and the two fell hard for each other. They quickly bonded over smooth jazz, the local fruit drinks, and their initial loneliness before meeting. When the tour ended, Vimal followed Karen to the states against his parents’ wishes. They called her slut, whore, white she-beast. Now they call her “Vimal’s white spouse.” It was progress enough.

Now that David moved out and raised his own family, the pair had empty nest syndrome. What would they do now that David left? It had been years and they were still asking that question. They bought a tropical bird, but all it did was soil its cage and keep them up at night.

“Happy anniversary, honey,” Vimal kissed his wife. She returned it on the cheek. He felt isolated, but kept it to himself.

“So what did you do for our anniversary?” Karen asked.

“Nothing, really. Do you want to go somewhere?”

“I need to go to the supermarket to pick up ramen noodles in a cup.”

“That reminds me, I need a new watch.”

So the two headed out on a cold summer’s day for noodles and a watch, trying to ignore the fact that they had no drive to have relations, no appetite for an evening out, no interest in seeing David and his family today.

First, they stopped off at the watch store. The man behind the counter asked them how he could help.

“Um… I was wondering if you could fix my watch?”

Karen looked at him with wide eyes. “But I thought…”

“I changed my mind,” he waved her off.

“What’s so special about this old thing?” The watch looked battered but not dead.

“Yes, Vimal. What’s so special about it?”

Vimal scraped his foot along the floor. “It’s the watch my arranged bride bought for me.”

“He’d like a new watch,” Karen forcefully said, throwing the watch on the floor and stomping on it.

“Yes,” the man said. “Right this way.”

By the time Vimal chose a watch, it was getting darker.

“You never talk about your arranged marriage,” Karen huffed.

“I’m a fool, not an idiot,” Vimal winked.

“Was she prettier than me?”

Vimal stopped in his tracks.

“Was she? Well?”

“I don’t remember what she looked like,” he hushed.

The pair walked silently to the bus for a few minutes. They just missed one, but another would be going in that direction in ten minutes.

“Can I be honest about that broach you got me last year, Vimal?”

“You didn’t like it.”

“I fished the receipt out of the trash and exchanged it for a vi[censored].”

“Why do you need one of those?” Vimal cringed.

“You mean a [censored]tor? It’s called a [censored]bra[censored]. Why are men so afraid of them?”

“I don’t even like to write out the full word,” he said. “It makes me feel inadequate.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know it does nothing for me. I’m still unsatisfied.”

“That doesn’t make me happy,” Vimal lied.

“So sure.”

They watched a bus drive in the opposite direction.

“If we’re being honest, that wasn’t my arranged bride’s watch. It was from David.”

Karen put her hand over her mouth. “Why…?”

“I hated that watch AND I had no receipt. I tried breaking it, but I couldn’t destroy it. Now if he sees me without it, I can blame you.”

Karen rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “Such a great husband and father.”

“Terrific wife.”

The bus pulled up. They sat in different seats.

At the grocery store, Karen found some exotic fruit she had been looking for. A muscular young man with spiky black hair talked out loud and she told him to keep it down. He grinded his teeth at her.

A few minutes later, she went to the ramen noodles in a cup. Nothing. The usual pyramid of Cup O’ Noodle was gone.

“Oh, the ramen? I saw a man with spiky black hair taking it all for himself.” Vimal regretted telling her.

Karen spat on the floor. “He’s doing this to me! That little brat!”

“I can ask if he wants to share some,” he wimpishly tried.

“No, don’t give him the satisfaction. It’s what he wants.”

They left without buying anything.

On the bus ride home, neither lovebird spoke. Karen glared out the window and Vimal looked at his new watch, setting it to Indian time.

When they came home, Vimal packed his bag.

“I’m going home for a while. I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“Happy anniversary,” she muttered.

“Yeah… say goodbye to David, Barb and Lucy for me.”

She suspected he wasn’t coming back to America. It hadn’t been that they had a bad fight or several small fights, but the spark was dead. It was the only thing keeping them together.

Four years later, Vimal returned with the woman he had been once arranged to marry. Karen was single but selling high-functioning vibr[censored]s for the elderly. They met once more.

“Ah, hello Karen.”

“Yes, Vimal. Happy anniversary.”

“Oh, is it that time again?”

“We’ve got no obligations. Want to grab a coffee before driving up to Lucy’s wedding?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he smiled.

His wife tapped her foot. “Ahem?”

“Oh, and Aishwarya comes with us. Is that okay?”

“Sure. Say, you’re an old woman now too. [censored]brator?”

I Do Not Want To Be Best Man At This Cat Wedding

I Do Not Want To Be Best Man At This Cat Wedding

Why did my mistress dress me up in a bow tie and take me outside? That is, I believe, animal abuse. Her and her nutty friends just HAD to marry off some cats today. Mews flash: Cats don’t get married! We prefer hiding in the dark and being nude. Oh well. At least it’s not a sweater. Mr. Meowpants didn’t get off so easily.

The worst part is that they chose me to be Best Man. Why not “Best Cat?” I’d wear that title with utter pride, mistress! But no, Julia gets to be “Cat of Honor.” Where’s the sense in that? She pooped outside the litter box last week! Where’s my honor, huh?

Best Man. Yeah, right. This Best Cat hates other cats, especially Julia. Like I’d lick her fur for that cat blog. That thing is a train wreck, mistress. I can’t believe you cried that you weren’t getting enough subscribers. Humans have weird problems.

I’ve met Tim and Missy. Their owner is my mistress’s best friend. Tim and Missy are okay. But here’s the thing: Like all cats, I hate all cats. Okay, that’s a generalization, but name a cat who immediately liked a new cat you’d brought into its domain. Is it zero? Cats can’t count, you know.

I really hated Julia when mistress introduced her. Still do. But at least Tim and Missy don’t bite or swat at me. I feel sorry for them. I wonder why anyone would marry off neutered and spayed cats when they can’t have kittens. I also wonder why anyone would marry off cats.

I spotted some of the humans crying. I mean, I guess it’s allergies, because I doubt most of the women met these cats at the risk of getting their faces scratched up. You have to be pretty lonely and vain to attend a cat wedding. I think it’s mostly women here, as I see more dresses than pants. I swatted at some skirts, and mistress picked me up. “Naughty Onyx,” she said, repeating the hated name. It sounded oddly pleasant coming from her, as usual.

They got a traditional priest, not a cat dressed as a Catholic priest, not a lady priest, not two stacked tables with a Bible on top. I think I heard Lili (the bride and groom’s mistress) that he’s her father. He looked very uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than me. I think I felt something called… pity? Cats don’t feel pity and cats don’t dance, I thought, looking at the dance floor they set up for an outside wedding.

I slinked over to Tim. I wanted to know what he thought of all this wedding stuff.

“Mew?” I phrased elegantly.

“Mrrrrrrr…” he growled like a barbarian.

Fine. Screw Tim. I guess he has cold paws.

That suit looked itchy, I thought. I guess there’s cats and humans who have it worse than me.

I curiously looked around at the guests, because I hadn’t been neutered yet. Tabby. Calico. Dog. Shorthair. DOG?!

Yes, some man brought his dog to a cat wedding. He was the big gossip discussion the whole time. “Why is he here? Did they get lost on the way to a dog birthday party?” No one knew, but I did hear Lili call the master “bro.” Was he her broker? What was that anyway? Mistress talked on the phone with hers a lot.

I listened to human gossip. It went something like this:

Pink Hair Woman: “Blah blah blah priest is Lili’s father.”

Blue Hair Woman: “Really? Blah blah blah problems with her lifestyle!”

Pink: “Blah blah blah with his cancer, he’s not blah blah blah weddings any more, but this was a special occasion!”

Blue: “Everything is beautiful. Hey, little kitten.”

I darted off.

Finally, the guests found their seats. The priest looked sadly at Lili and his son.

Priest: “Blah blah blah beloved, we are gathered here to… to… blah blah blah can’t do this. It’s a cat wedding! Lili, why won’t you ever get married blah blah blah?”

Lili: “Papa, not here, not now. Blah blah blah.”

Priest: “What is asexual anyway? Why don’t blah blah blah your mother happy?”

Lili: “I don’t believe in marriage?” I wasn’t sure if she was asking a question.

Priest: “But you make me do it, mocking the sanctity of God and love? Blah blah blah can make your own damn wedding.”

Commotion broke out. Lili fell into her broker’s arms and cried. The guest screamed, cursed God, cursed Christ, cursed Sundays. Mistress just looked down sadly.

I didn’t want her to cry. Then she would pet me with her long nails. (shudder)

I carefully walked over to the priest, who was hunched over.

“Oh, little kitten. You’re as unnatural here as blah blah blah.”

I meowed in agreement.

“I just… when my blah blah blah asked me to host a wedding for her, I was elated. But a cat wedding? Blah blah blah end my career on that.”


“It’s not right. But… it’s not Christian to break a promise either, blah blah blah. We’ll work out our problems another blah blah blah.”

I purred a little, then stopped just to tease him.

We walked back to Lili. “I’ll do it,” he told her. She clasped her arms around him.

The ceremony was awful. The nice priest was trying to remain dignified the whole time, but the couple started to tussle and Julia pooped on the altar. The cats in the seats meowed loudly for food, and I couldn’t get my bow tie off. Mistress ended up crying and rushed over to pet me (shudder). The broker spoke loudly on the phone to HIS broker, and the catering staff laughed the whole time. The dog, surprisingly, was very well behaved for his species.

When it came to kiss the bride, Tim licked Missy’s thigh. Close enough for these people.

The food was considerate. I assumed it would be (ew) vegan dishes, but there was fish! Chicken! Meat! Ten points to Lili!

As it turned out, the dance floor was only for the humans. Thank goodness. I assumed mistress was going to hold my paws and lift me on my hind legs! I really lucked out!

All in all, I’d say it was a normal wedding, but with cats.

I’d like to end off by saying, mistress, you better not marry me off to Julia any time soon.

My Husband Is An Asian Woman, A Pelican, And The Sleepy’s Man

My Husband Is An Asian Woman, A Pelican, And The Sleepy's Man

I really didn’t want to come home tonight. Not after what I’d seen happen to Eric. As I unloosened my tie, I heard squawking and Asian dialect in the other room.

He really shouldn’t have pissed off that wizard. It was bad enough that Eric mocked magic in general, but the comment about the wizard’s mother was too much and too far.

I slowly trudged into our bedroom where the two of us– rather, the four of us, sat down on the bed. I shuddered at the sight of him.

God. He was a wreck. First, the Asian woman. She was spouting off in Korean or Japanese, I don’t know what. She was mad at me for something and tossed a stiletto at my face. I felt like crying.

I tossed an anchovy into the pelican’s mouth. He could be hit or miss, like when he pooped in my hair. But tonight he was like my old hungry Eric.

Finally, the Sleepy’s man. Despite talking like Eric, I could never kiss him. This was Hitler-mustache Sleepy’s man, so it felt weird looking at him. I had to talk to this one to regain my sanity.

“Hey honey. How was your day?” I asked gently.

“Oh, you know. That Law & Order: SVU with Paget Brewster was on. I know you like her.”

How could he joke about that? I like men. I like Eric, not some big-nosed actress. Did I still really love Eric, though? He became three different entities because of that wizard’s curse, and the only way to break it was true love.

What was I going to do? I was losing my mind, my love. I hated myself for doubting him and her and it. Should I seek couple’s counseling? We didn’t really have the money for such things, but maybe… True love. That’s all it takes.

I went back to the wizard’s tent and begged him for more help. He asked for money. I handed him a twenty. He asked for more. I said that’s plenty. He said to go away. I handed him ten more. He then told me about the types of love, such as lost love, self-love, and false love. But true love is the most powerful.

“How does one express true love? You made it hard for me to love him.”

“Look, boy… girl? You sure are androgynous. The true love here isn’t between a man and a… person? It’s between the man and the woman and the bird. True love of the self.”

“So I have to make Eric love himself?”

“Truly love himself. Ten more and I tell you one more thing.”

I counted my change. Just enough.

“You must make all three love each other. Or else it won’t work. Begone.”

At home, I asked Sleepy’s Eric what would it take to love himself. “Probably something,” he mumbled. No help there.

I sat the three of them down at the table and pulled out my phone. I used an app that detected Asian woman Eric’s language. Vietnamese? Whatever. I made her speak into it.

“Finally,” the translator spoke. “I can tell you. I feel totally confused right now, and the fact that you’re so calm makes me angry.”

“Calm?” I wheezed. “I’m not calm! I’m torn up inside! I’m scared and confused too! Please, this isn’t about me. What’s up?”

“I just… hate what I’ve become. I’m so much and I’m nothing!” she yelled. “How can I love myself like this?”

“Yeah,” said Sleepy’s Eric.

“SQUAWK!” agreed Pelican Eric.

I thought. I realized. “You’re scared. You’re all scared. And that’s driving you deeper to depression. Eric, who saved that child from being run over in a marathon?”

“I did,” called Sleepy’s.

“Who massages my feet when I’m stressed and give me back rubs when I’m down?”

“That’s me,” said the Asian woman Eric.

“SQUAWK!” squawked the pelican.

“Right, a third example. You’re always there when someone needs you. And right now, you need you. So hug it out, okay?”

Awkwardly, the three Erics reached for each other. A light glowed and…


“You’re not Eric,” I fretted, although with his straight teeth and thick hair, I wasn’t complaining.

“Yes I am, Robin. I guess that true love did this to me.”

Well readers, after that I sure lived happily ever after. Eric never spoke Asian or squawked or sold mattresses ever again.

Vampire The Deejay

vampire the deejay

So tired. Always so tired. Aco hadn’t fed on a female in a week and a half. His blood levels were low, too low to be deejaying. And he spent his mornings trying to hire a prostitute, since he couldn’t leave until sunset. Problem was, prostitutes didn’t make house calls to vampires. They had a history of bleeding dry.

What was he going to play tonight? Perhaps some Skrillex? No, too mainstream now. He thought about the elf. Maybe she liked College. He played “Teenage Color” and swayed a little, partly due to enjoying the beat, partly due to the fact he was going to collapse any minute. He really had trouble standing. Aco hoped she’d be coming tonight.

Night came and the monsters rushed in. Gorgons, yetis, werewolves, even Frankenstein’s monster’s great-great-great grandson. He desperately glanced around the room. Was she here? Was she alone?

Aco played an awful lot of College songs, but no one was complaining. For a moment he forgot her, but she never escaped his mind.

Then she, the Asian elf with chestnut hair, spun into the room. Not just her dancing, but her very footsteps, spun. She also brought her rock-monster coworker, but he didn’t register her in his mind.

An hour passed as he watched her. He felt drowsier than usual. He shot up awake when she walked up to him.

“Hey man,” she had a bratty voice that he liked in a woman, “Can you play ‘A Real Hero?’ That one’s like, my fav.”

“Sure, I like that one too.” He smiled, exposing his fangs. She pretended not to recoil a bit, but he caught her. He closed his mouth, crestfallen. The elf pouted.

“I didn’t mean to get scared. Thanks, DJ Blooddrive.” She looked at him closely. “Like, are you okay man? You’ve been swaying a lot.”

Aco crouched. “Just fine, miss. One Real Hero, coming up!” He fell over.

“The name’s Karis.” She realized he was unconscious on the ground. “Hey, mister! What about my song?” She set her priorities straight. “Hello? The deejay fainted! Someone help!”

An hour later, Aco woke up. He had a sweet bloody taste in his mouth. Did someone puncture themselves on his teeth?

The paramedic tapped him on the shoulder. “You were very lucky. It’s not often an elf donates her blood for a vampire.”

Aco’s jaw dropped. “You mean the Asian elf with chestnut hair?”

“Karis, she said her name was.” He handed Aco a ripped shred of paper. “And she wanted you to have this.”

It had a phone number with a small heart on it and a note that read “Call me if you ever need blood!”

Aco grinned at the slip of paper. He didn’t feel too embarrassed about his fangs anymore. He did, however, wonder if he should call her up for a date.

Two years later, they were married. Aco and Karis had a mess of cute skeleton dogs. Aco never went hungry and, carnally, neither did Karis.

Pokemon Pikachu Comes To Life But Only Eats Eggs

pokemon pikachu comes to life but only eats eggs

He was curled up at her feet for the tenth week in a row. He was, in his purest essence, the only companion she seemed to have. Cara Mia Weiss wanted to date someone, but her sole male friend was scaring them off. It was always, “AHHHHH! What is that thing?!” or “Hey, an old Pokemon Pikachu! But, AHHHHH! That is holy unnatural, ma’am!”

It was out of its yellow plastic prison after 19 years trapped in there. She named it Stevie, not that it would have noticed. No, nothing fazed the Pikachu.

The thing was, Stevie liked eggs. The first food Stevie ate after being shocked by lightning and coming to life was an egg. He liked it so much that it was the only thing he ate, from the time he woke to the time he passed out after another egg bender.

Nothing fazed the Pikachu. Cara Mia wasn’t sure if he knew her name.

His blocky blueish-black body made a beeline for the fridge. Half of it was filled with eggs. Stevie cracked open an egg. Then another. Then another. Then he ate the shells. Then he swallowed the eggs raw.

Where did it all go? He was thin as a sheet of paper and never gained any weight. “Pikachub.” She smirked at her little nickname. She needed a date.

Cara Mia went to work, ignoring the befuddled glances and general sexual harassment. Stevie followed her to work yet again, chomping on a hard-boiled egg. His bag was filled with egg varieties, including soft-boiled, scrambled, and over-easy. He even had an omelette.

She tried at one point to introduce him to other foods, but the rat decided that the first thing it ate was the only one worth eating. She didn’t argue at the time. Cara Mia was so happy to have her beloved Stevie alive, she didn’t consider that it could end up driving her mad.

She missed the days she wore Stevie around her neck, taking him everywhere instead of him following her. Why was he following her everywhere? She played with her dark locks for a while, eventually giving up trying to figure out the answer.

“Pika Pika Pika Chuuuuuu?”

The Pokespeak was enough to make her tear her dark locks out. Like Ash Ketchum, she got the gist of what he was saying, but hearing those three syllables was aggravating.

She spotted a pixelated puddle on the floor near her desk. Not on the freaking carpet, she lamented. Stevie, when you gotta go…

This was a feature she was glad didn’t exist in the game. And besides, his urine was just two-dimensional squares. They were sticky, but at least they were tidy. She stepped in it.

“Stevie, that’s the final straw. No, I’m out of straws. I can’t, I just can’t…”

The little monstrosity pulled out an omelette. He swallowed the whole thing in one gulp.


“Yes, I know, you peed. Please, be more careful.”


“I don’t have any eggs for you.”

The Pikachu swiped a pen from her desk. It jotted something down. A phone number.

“Whose number is this?”

“Pika.” It pointed to a handsome young accountant, George Hankley.

“Nice.” She bobbed her head in arousal. “You did this for me? Stevie, I don’t know know what to say.” She wiped away a little tear.




“Oh, ik is egg! What’s ‘I need the restroom, Cara Mia?'”

Stevie went back to eating eggs.

At dinner that night, Stevie followed the couple to dinner with a handful of eggs.  They all had a wonderful evening, but there was no second date. Cara Mia fell into a washing machine and ended up in a magical fantasy world with no bird eggs whatsoever.

Stevie ended up starring in his own movie, The Pikachu That Eats A Boatload Of Eggs Movie. It featured Ryan Reynolds.

Gillian Jacobs And The Noodle Kingdom

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Everyone on Earth knows and loves Gillian Jacobs. She is the star of Dan Harmon’s Community and once appeared on Adventure Time. But what no human knows, until now, is that Ms. Jacobs–excuse me, Queen Ms. Jacobs lives a double life! For you see, Gillian Jacobs is queen over all in the Noodle Kingdom.

It all began during the filming of the Community Season 3 episode “Competitive Ecology.” While Gillian Jacobs was reading her lines, WHOOPS!, a tractor beam made her disappear, possibly forever! Chevy Chase screamed and screamed and screamed in fright. Joel McHale pretended to wipe his nose to distract himself from what he just saw. Yvette Nicole Brown missed it because she was eating a third of a bagel.

Green light dissipated on another planet as Gillian Jacobs came into view. While Gillian was busy looking for her script (currently back on her home planet), a chalk white figure saddled up to her. His walk had an immature stoutness to it as if someone had eaten too much with no concern to health.

“Who are you?” asked the timid actress. She noticed a dog behind the man and wanted to punch it. It looked at her wrong.

“I am Momofuku Ando, King of the Noodle Kingdom, with a 52.6% ownership in red shrimp shares.” He paused as if pretending to think about sad things. “I love red shrimp.”

The person who played Britta Perry gulped. “The inventor of the Cup Of Noodle?” She knew exactly where this was going.

“The very same. And it’s “o'” not “of”. Miss Jacobs,” he slobbered in that Hugh Grant way of his, “will you be my Noodle Queen?” She called it.

Poetically, with an air of adjectives, Jacobs declined. “Why not choose Alison Brie? She’s lovely, she doesn’t have a G or J in her name.” She didn’t dare marry such an important man. “I have both a G and a J in my name.”

The king wiggled an ear. “Alas, you are the human with the greatest potential to love noodles. Have you even eaten a cup o’ my noodles before?”

She tilted her face away. “Nay. I’ve never eaten a noodle before.”

Momofuku Ando temporarily turned her legs into a pearl-white table. Then, he plopped a bowl filled with his special noodle mix–It’s a secret.

She opened her mouth, and–

“NOODLES NOODLES NOODLES!” she yelped happily.

“Now I know you are fit to be my queen, Gillian Jacobs! Will you marry me?”

“I will!” she squealed happily. “I will!”

The dog fell into a pit filled with triangular traffic signs.

Thirty or forty years later, the King and Queen had two children. The older son, Goosey, was a rebel. You could tell because he wore sunglasses, even when watching Moana. He only ate blue lobsters, but since he hated them, he never ate. The younger son, Smartie, was smart. He was so smart, a cup o’ noodle grew from his noodle! He ate all noodles and fish. Both sons inherited their mother’s arms and the father grew a mustache.

“Oh no!” Gillian Jacobs sprang to her feet. “I’m thirty or forty years too late to film Community!”

The king laughed. “Time moves slower here. You’re only twenty-nine or thirty-nine years late.” The king pressed a button and WHOOPS! It was Season 3 of Community again, like she had never left.

To this day, Gillian Jacobs travels between worlds, here an actress, there a glamorous queen of noodles. See if you can spot any interviews where she lets this fact slip–there are three!

Mountain Trail


“Are we almost there yet?”

The rough shadows took a moment to converse, silent in their furious mimic, perfectly following the wild gestures of their physical companions. It was a near-perfect autumnal Thursday on the side of the mountain. The only deterrent to go outside would be the volatile grousing of the woman.

“We’ve been walking all day. I’m exhausted. We should’ve gone to the public rest stop like I wanted.”

Her figure said Embrace me; her face said Try it and die. Her mouth said more than enough to believe her. She was a striking auburn-haired lady, hips that moved to a symphony, and a henpecked manservant who once agreed to live together, even getting her a gemstone to commemorate a once-considered happy occasion.

“My back hurts. Did you bring enough bullets? Wipe that look of nostalgia off your face.”

He needed her to shut up. Cowering worked well, but it was his wife’s birthday. He wanted to bring her out of it, like every year. Yet for the past five years, he failed again and more. Once, he had been a young man of sixteen, but her nagging lips (which had brought him to fall for her) aged him prematurely. His once flowing brown hair turned ashen, his eyes no longer sparkled with buoyancy, the smoothest skin in high school looked even worse than Jeremy Finklemeyer on picture day.

“There’s only six bullets in here. What more could I expect of you?”

Worst above his other grievances, no one would believe him when he said he was only twenty-five. If he were to be reborn (and he prayed he wouldn’t), he hoped he’d remember to never marry his high school sweetheart.

“You need to do it. My eyes hurt too much.”


She pulled out a soothing lotion and rubbed it on her feisty yet milk-kissed arms.

“Augh. I’m beat.”

She brushed aside her hair and pressed more lotion into her skin. She opened her mouth; rather, she finally closed her mouth and immediately opened it, only for nothing to escape.


“What what?”

“You wanted to say something?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

It had to be something. She was loud (though never a screamer) and honest and never one to shut up. This was a breakthrough. A kind emotion might be hiding. He couldn’t press her, lest she bottle it up entirely.

“If you say so. At any rate, we should reach its campground in an hour or so. Then I can shoot it for you.”

“It what?”

She was seriously asking? Was she being coy? No, flirtatiousness and facetiousness were far behind her. They’ve been doing this for five years. Did she somehow forget mid-trek?

“You know… it?”

“Just say werewolf. Seriously, there’s no need to use pronouns. It’s just us.”

He felt dumb but relieved. Yet also enthusiastic. Her harsh and hoarse voice wavered a little when she said “werewolf.” He would wait for further developments.

“Yes, the werewolf. I’ll shoot it, cook it, and, well…”


Her voice reached too high a decibel and rebelled on itself. He stuck a green bottle in her mouth. She calmed down, allowing him to press it against her lips for three minutes. When the bottle was emptied, she shoved him off. She shook and wobbled and cleared her throat. Cold tears streamed down her face.

“Don’t you say it. Every time we try this, you say it and I get my hopes up. Let’s just go and never say it.”

“It what?”

He was oddly defiant towards her tonight. Perhaps the annual journey gave him resolve.

“That… I can be cured of it.”

That was enough for him. He couldn’t consider hurting himself by asking her “It what?” again.

“Okay. We’ll find out sooner if we head out now.”

He was almost positive that she’d never return to how he remembered her. It hurt to remember her, but it was worse to forget.

“Don’t forget to turn the safety off this time.”

She was his Biology teacher when he was a sophomore.

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it.”

His friends said that she wasn’t calling him out in class because she wanted him; he was just stupid.

“You did manage to forget two years already, so let’s not make it three.”

When she held him after school one night, he never trusted his friends’ judgement again.

“You know, it’s a nice night out. Full moon. Your birthday.”

Everyone disapproved.


His family shut him out.

“Just checking.”

The school fired her.

“You knew it was no.”

The legal system imprisoned her, but she was eventually on the street again with a ring on her finger and a husband in her pants.

“Sue me for asking.”

She tried giving him a nasty glare, but she started wobbling again. He forgot the woman he loved again. He bent over his wife and picked her up.

“Do we have anything left to drink?”

“It’s all gone. I’m sorry.”

She coughed bitterly. He wept like a boy.

“This curse ruined your life. I’m, I’m sorry.”

Her voice rumbled within.

“It’s my fault. I should have let you live a normal high school life, not force you from your ways because I wanted you.”

At that, her body went limp. Her pale fingers twitched slightly, the rust-colored liquid working its way back up and falling from her mouth.

Everything went silent. Then everything in the trees made a cacophonous turmoil. The skirmish of the animals left two people and one creature the only remaining members of the mountain trail.

Still in an uncontrollable fit of loss, he laid her across their gear. He reached his gun and aimed at the werewolf. The darkness didn’t bother his eyesight. He could make out a hairy figure, hunched over and about to die for the woman he still loved.

He pulled the trigger.

The safety was on.

Collapsing onto his knees, he prostrated himself in defeat, nothing new but the sense of regret lingering in his heart.

“Tommy? Tommy Cleavers? What are you doing up here, man?”

Tommy stood up to face the werewolf, oddly taking the form of a man. It hit him.

“Jeremy Finklemeyer? What… why…”

“I live here, man! Also, I go by ‘Jerry’ now. Like, I’ve been hiding here ever since I got turned into a werewolf.”

Jerry had clearer skin than Tommy recalled, but it was buried under mounds of body hair. He was rounder and taller and smelled better than ever, despite living in the wild and technically smelling horrible.

“Who’s she?”

Tommy turned around.

“My wife. She… look, we’ve been trying to get a cure for her curse, and we read on the internet…”

Jerry smirked.

“Let me guess. Werewolf blood, huh? Like, I get it. Some couple’s been trying to kill me for four years to save the woman.”

“Six years, Jeremy.”

The half-conscious croak made Tommy clutch his chest, then look at Jerry, then curl into a fetal position.

“Nah, get up. I said I get it. Like, hold on. Is she… Miss Eden? That’s our bio teach, Gertrude Eden? WOW. Like, no, congrats, but wow.”

“Hello Jeremy. I expected more in this report than cheesy fingerprints.”

“Well, maybe I can get an extension? You know, like the one Tommy got from you in his pants?”

“This was the final…”

“Excuse me, can we not do this now?”

Jerry looked up at the moon.

“Yeah, no problem. Good thing you got the wrong day. The moon is still Waxing Gibbous. Pick up Gertie and follow me.”

After a few minutes, they reached a cabin with a sign blaring “WEREWOLF BLOOD” in red letters.

“Not keen on the name, man, but it brings them here. See, when I got hunted by people like you, looking for a cure, I realized I could help them. I researched various cures and this year I finally feel ready to open shop. So what’s the curse?”

Jerry looked her up and down.

“Pale skin. A muddy-looking drink you need. Youthful features. Haggard partner. You have something on your skin. Lotion? Also, you’re crankier than I recall. I’m guessing you were bitten by something beginning with a V…”

“It’s not vampires.”

“What? Of course not, man. They don’t exist. I was going to say, like, vegan.”

Tommy nodded. Gertrude remained nonfunctional.

“People mistake the two a lot, so it’s cool you get it. When a vegan gets too hungry, they’ll bite a human because they won’t hurt animals. That drink has to be a protein drink, right? And the lotion is just her pale, meat-deprived skin acting up. But what’s with you?”


“Well, like, werewolf meat works, but so does gorilla meat, whale meat, I do have shark meat. Anything with strong meat.”

“I’ll take the shark brain for 400, Jeremy.”

“I’m doing this for free, Miss Eden.”

“I think she’s doing a bit.”

“Ah. Eat up.”

“Thanks, Jeremy. And that’s Mrs. Cleavers to you.”


Tommy was overjoyed. His wife has bright tanned skin again, her voice cleared up, and her heart found him once more.

“Tommy, thank you for sticking with me. I think I would’ve shriveled up if you weren’t with me.”

Looking at the mirror, Tommy saw his features brightening up. In a few days, he figured he’s be hot again.

“Well, you know, I love you, so I stayed. And Jerry, how can we repay you?”

Jerry leered at a visibly annoyed Gertrude.

“I want you to fix my grade. When you got fired, the perma-sub teach hated me and I flunked. It still bugs me, y’know?”

Gertrude smacked the wall.

“Not only do I not have the authority to do that or the permission to be within thirty feet of the school, but I can’t believe you didn’t even ask to do things to me!”

“Ask your husband to do that, man! I have a lover already!”

Jerry pet a raccoon.

Gertrude looked down at her hiking boots.

“We have a lot of lost time to make up, Thomas.”

Tommy smiled.

“Yeah… a lot. Since you’ve been distant, I’ve been looking up videos of–”

Jerry and the raccoon howled, but for different reasons.

“Okay, nice catching up, guys! See about that grade, Gert!”

As the couple walked off the trail, they heard the shrieking sounds of questionable love.

“I didn’t mean just our love-making, you know. I think I’m ready for you to meet my parents. I want to see yours too.”

Tommy imitated the raccoon.

“Gertrude, it’s been almost a decade. We can’t go see them now!”

“That’s exactly why. I don’t want any regrets if something were to happen to you.”

Tommy giggled to himself, then burst out laughing, followed by Gertrude laughing heartily, the two of them going to the roads of the future.

“By the way, what did you want to ask me earlier right before we were talking about the werewolf?”

“Oh, that? I wanted to know if you had any tampons. Then I realized it was a dumb question.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

The Beautiful Monster




Most stories happen once upon a time. This story takes place twice upon a time, since the first time ended badly, so time travel was used to fix it.

Twice upon a time, there was a sad monster who was very beautiful. His name was Thomo Wellby, and nobody wanted to rescue him from the fluorescent pink and green tower he was kept in. The totally wicked wizard surfer, Longrus, had kept him there for at least seventeen years.

Thomo longed for the day his savior would come, but he had no idea when that could be. A duck once came into his room, but it only quacked loudly and gave him a feather.

Meanwhile, in the center of the Reunion Kingdom, a knight found a Monster In Distress ad on the town billboard. The ad was for one Thomo Wellby. Fortunately, the knight often found herself turned on by beautiful monsters. So she set forth to save Mr. Thomo Wellby from his captivity and maybe get a little something-something for her trouble.

While carelessly examining her provisions, she came upon a bridge guarded by a bearded demon. However, the demon was either apathetic or distracted, and let the knight cross unharmed. The knight shrugged and went on her way.

The outskirts of the Reunion Kingdom was known hither and yonder for its bizarre perils that usually increased in intensity. Typical as it was, the knight knew that the next obstacle was not quite as easy.

A giant cauldron prevented further access to the road, so the knight attempted going around it. The cauldron, stubborn as most kitchenware, cobbled just enough to confound her. Hopelessness loomed overhead. She tried reasoning with it.

“O lovely cauldron!” Flattery usually won them over to her side. “Why do you cease progress? Hath some wretched Wiccan enchanted you to passive-aggressively get over a poor date?”

The cauldron screamed. “YOU’RE BLACK!”

This was half true. She herself was born in the East, a light-skinned people as they go. But her armor, naturally dark, had suffered many scrapes and bruises that made the metal appear black.

“Cauldron, why must we argue? I wish you no harm.”


“Pot, you test my patience. Is the color of my armor the cause of this? If I remove my armor, will you let me pass?”


“You tested my patience and hacked it from my core! Pot, you yourself are, in the plainest of terms, black!”

The pot examined its own flesh.

I was black the whole time… Is my bias borne from shame? The pot got too existential to be semi-motionless and walked away on its stubby little penguin feet. The knight ventured forth.

For about seventeen weeks, the knight traveled unhindered, despite the occasional jester throwing pies at her. She didn’t care for this practice at all, even though the pies were her favorite flavor: Spam. When she was about to assault the jesters, the King of Jesters approached her.

“HARK!” he bellowed, “Thou mayst only pass if thou canst solve the riddle!”

“Proceed,” the knight neutrally responded.

“What,” asked the King of Jesters, “is the reason my people have been throwing pies at you?”

The knight sincerely considered the riddle for a moment, then flicked the King of Jesters on the forehead, which lead to a pratfall into a pile of mud.

“I know not, but I believe you likely instructed them to.” With that, she went on her way.

The King of Jesters was subsequently mauled to death by a napping muddy jaguar. He was reincarnated as a chipmunk.

Another month passed by, and the knight was beginning to get hungry. She found a nest with eggs in it, opting to cook up a delicious scrambled egg souffle.

An angry bard approached her. “FORSOOTH! FORSOOTH! THOSE WERE MY EGGS, THOU HARLOT!” The bard’s blind rage intensified until his face turned blood red.

“Hold your wrath, sir,” asked the knight. “Were these your offspring or nourishment?”

The angry bard took a moment to respond with the greatest use of language possible. After fifteen moments, he exclaimed the following: “YES.”

“Were they both?”

The angry bard took a magic wand from his pocket and gave it to her. “That will show thee, thou hopefully promiscuous wench!”

He glared at the knight and waited for her to become uncomfortable. She chewed on a mint leaf. Late for his shift at Grill Jester, the angry bard walked away.

Curiously examining the gift, the knight lazily shook the wand. Nothing happened. She threw it away in the nearest recycling bin. The wand, combined with nineteen other wands in the bin, began to glow. After a few moments of the recycling bin stretching, wobbling, crumpling, and praying, it ceased. The recycling bin turned into an enormous lamb.

The knight decided to keep the lamb and name it Bisley. For two days, she and Bisley were inseparable, taking turns riding on each other’s backs. On the third day, tragedy struck. Despite the knight yelling loudly at her lamb to stay still while she took a pee break, Bisley ate some poison mushrooms and died. The knight mourned over Bisley’s corpse, while the angry bard appeared before the distraught adventurer.

“FORSOOTH! Now you know my suffering!” That’s what the angry bard would have said, if the knight hadn’t pushed him to the ground and stomped his head in. The angry bard was lucky to survive, but not quite as lucky to have been rescued by a bear that forced him to marry her.

Bisley’s death deeply affected the knight’s heart, and she felt as though she couldn’t move forward without her companion. She transmuted the sorrow she felt into purpose, and hoisted Bisley onto her shoulders, taking his rotting corpse with her.

An old crone jumped out at the knight, nearly startling her. The crone wiggly-waggled her finger and made a disapproving clicking noise. “FOOL! Do you not know that you can revive your grotesquely-large lamb for a piece of gold?”

The knight begged the crone to tell her more.

“I have an enchanted map that can lead you to a reviving well. Throw in your gold piece, and your wish will be granted. And you can have the map for seven and three shillings!”

The knight knew a scam when she heard one, and threw hay at the crone. The knight pressed onward.

Nearby in a fluorescent pink and green tower, Thomo Wellby was finding himself growing somewhat depressed. All he had in the world was a duck feather, which couldn’t even grant wishes, which he realized that it would have been odd if it could.

Thomo heard a grunting noise out his window. A woman carrying an enormous lamb was approaching the tower. Thomo was to be saved!

The knight knocked gently on the door. Longrus mellowly questioned the intruder. “Chuh! Who is is, bruh?”

“It is I, the beautiful monster’s savior!”

“Nuh-uh, bruh! That monster is, like, all mine, bruh!” Longrus accidentally opened up the drawbridge. “Whuh-uh, bruh!”

The knight stormed the tower, killing about thirty lingerie models. Finally, the knight found Thomo’s room.

“I’m here to save you, you beautiful monster!” With fiery loins and almost satisfactory passion, the knight picked up the beautiful monster and ran out of the poorly-painted tower. Longrus wasn’t willing to lose Thomo, specifically because having a monster around allowed him certain tax breaks. Longrus flapped his unusually long ears and…

POOF! The knight turned into a potato peel.

“Now, come back, Monster-Man. Like, we can’t end it like this, bruh.”

Thomo clutched his duck feather tightly, and a single tear orange fell from his eye. The tear burned up the feather, exploding into thirty thousand ghosts.

The thirty thousand ghosts spoke as one. “What is your wish?”

The furious vision of the ghosts horrified Thomo into making the wrong wish. “What… what choo…” He meant to say “What are you, exactly?” A small copper watch manifested before him anyway.

Longrus caught Thomo and locked him up in the tower again. Thomo banged his head against the wall for forty-seven years, wishing he had a chance to do it over again. Alas, for forty-seven years, that wish did not come true.

One snowy Wednesday, the battery on his watch died. So Longrus, losing his grasp on evil in his old age, gave him a new battery. The battery had magical properties, and would turn the machine it was placed inside into a terrible pun. So the watch became a time machine.

Thomo reset his watch, which flung him back to the moment when the duck feather started granting his wish. This time, Thomo would enunciate.

Thomo said, “I wish I had a way to save the knight and myself!”

The ghosts melted like fine butter, and covered themselves all over Bisley. The dead lamb rose.

“MAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” said the enormous zombie lamb. With one swift movement and forty-seven non-swift movements, Bisley ate Longrus and used the power of love and casual indifference to restore the knight back to normal.

The knight seemed to be a tad peeved. “Mister Wellby, it seems you never needed my help at all! If only you knew of my mistrials!” The monster looked so forlorn and sexy to the knight that she was no longer in control of her desires. The knight longingly embraced Thomo.

Afterward a wonderful time for two lonely individuals, the knight with Thomo in her arms and Bisley as her steed rode off back to the Reunion Kingdom.

A group of monks turned Longrus’s tower into a discotheque, but the idea was centuries ahead of its time and only worthwhile for ten years in all of history.