Watermelon Dog

Watermelon Dog

It was the last day of summer, and Joni was getting ready to start hosting the big friends and family barbeque. She bought the plates, forks, knives, corn, meat, meat, napkins, meat, sauce, buns, condiments, and meat.

“It’s going to be a hella barbeque, huh boy?”

Her dog Ernie barked in agreement. He started to pant.

“What’s wrong, boy? You need water?”

A spark went off in her head.

“Water… MELON! Ernie, we forgot the watermelon, and they’re going to be here any minute!”

Ernie began to tip-paw away. She’d done this to him before.

“Ernie, here’s a twenty. Get a big fat watermelon, okay? And bring me the change!”

He knew it. Joni was always making him run errands for her. Nevertheless, if he didn’t go, he’d never get a scrap of meat all day from her. Maybe from a clumsy kid, but they were learning to be careful around him.

Joni tucked the bill into his collar and sent him on his way.

On the way to the store, he passed a homeless man.

“Spare some change? Oh wait, dogs don’t have money. But that crisp twenty on your collar must be itching you…”

Ernie barked loudly at the homeless man.

“Okay, can’t blame a bum for trying to bum from a dog!”

Ernie continued on his way when the man jumped on him.

“I’m not eating gravel pie again! I can’t live like this!”

Ernie bit him and left a mark on his skin. The man failed to steal the twenty, but chased him all the way to the store.

Ernie turned the corner to enter the store and made it past the manager who waved to him. The crumb bum was stopped by the manager.

“Sir, do you have any money?”

“Er… that dog stole my twenty!”

“Nice try, sir, but Mr. Ernie has been coming to Stop & Shop for two years on behalf of his mistress. Please come back with money.”

“Stupid Muslim whore,” he grumbled.

She called security.

In the store, Ernie scoured the aisles for a watermelon. Finally, he found a rather large one for the right price and took it down with his fore-paws. He urged it along with his snout and got it to a very long checkout line. Some people were confused by the dog with a watermelon, while others were used to it by now.

He listened to the many annoying sounds of the store. An older couple arguing about the lack of instant noodles, the screaming of the shabby homeless man from outside, the slicing of his watermelon… HEY!

“Just making it easier to bring home, Mr. Ernie,” explained the manager. “I’ll wrap these in plastic for you and you can carry one in your mouth and the rest of the pieces around your neck.”

He barked in gratitude.

Finally, it was his turn. He placed his watermelon slices on the belt and…

“We’re closed.”

Ernie played dead in frustration. He grabbed his things and ran to the self-checkout line, where he was the first one there.

A man with spiky black hair impatiently tapped his foot. “Why do I get stuck behind this dog every time?” he growled.

Ernie barked viciously at the man.

“Okay, okay! You have only the one thing, I have many. It’s only fair.”

Finally, he got the machine to scan his watermelon slices and ran out of the store, but not before licking the manager’s hand.

Then the homeless man showed up.

“Give me your change, doggie!”

Ernie bit him again and ran for his life, but the man was faster.

“If you don’t give me change, I’ll take your watermelon,” he said, sitting on top of the dog.

That’s when Ernie had a brainstorm.

He chewed the man’s pant leg and nudged him in his direction.

“What? Are you trying to take me to jail? At least they eat.”

The smell of grilled meats flared in his nostrils.

“Is that… a barbeque?”

Joni waved to her dog and everyone else at the party followed suit.

“Ernie, you brought the watermelon and… uh…”

“Ted’s the name, homelessness is my life. Your dog brought me and–”

“Hold on, I’ll give you some coins so you can leave.”

“Actually, I thought maybe your dog was inviting me to the festivities–”

“Yeah,” said Joni, “but he’s a dog and this is my party. Here, seventy-five cents. Bye, Ned.”

Ted took the coins (she dropped them into his hand) and he left, grumbling.

“Ernie, you have to be more careful. Did you bite him? What if he had AIDS? Anyway, have a burger.”

Ernie ate the whole burger, but as usual, his mistress’s lack of good will let him down. The burger tasted not of victory, but ashes.

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The Star-Nosed Mole and the Pegasus

The Star-Nosed Mole and the Pegasus

From the heavens flew down the mighty Pegasus. On his back rode no manner of creature, as the last rider jumped off in fright and died. For now, it was a lone steed.

“Whew,” neighed the creature. “I need to lighten the weight on my legs! I need to sit down. The creature landed in a forest with a nature trail and a park bench.

“Perfect place to lighten the weight on my legs!” Winged horses have a tendency to repeat themselves, so enjoy that throughout our tale. The Pegasus sat on the bench and

–CRACK!–

it broke.

The Pegasus used nails from its hooves to shoddily repair the bench.

“Perfect, if I do say so. But where will I lighten the weight on my legs now?”

A star-nosed mole waddled by and spoke to the bench.

“Eh, what’s this? You’re all broken up! Who did this?”

The Pegasus confessed its crime against woodwork.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to sit somewhere and lighten the weight on my legs.”

“I smelled something was broken about it. And I smelled you.”

The Pegasus admired the star-nose.

“You have a dazzling snout,” said the winged horse.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!” And the Pegasus lowered its hoof. “I may not be able to see well, but I can smell you coming at me like that,” he snapped his claw-fingers.

The Pegasus thought the star-nosed mole was kind of a jerk. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m just curious.”

“Look, don’t touch is my motto. And anyway, why’d you break the bench?”

“I was looking for a seat to lighten the weight on my legs.”

“A likely story, I’m sure. Wait here, weight-boy.”

After about a half-hour, the mole returned with nails, hammers, and industrial-strength glue.

“We’ll fix it together, okay?”

The Pegasus smiled, although the mole couldn’t tell or care.

It took two hours and forty-five minutes, but they fully repaired the bench.

“We did it!” cheered the cheerily cheerful Pegasus.

“Well, I did it mostly,” said the star-nosed mole, “but you weren’t half-bad. As a reward for a job well done, you can sit in my house to lighten the weight on your legs.”

“Wonderful, wonderful!”

When they finished burrowing into the ground, the star-nosed mole offered the Pegasus a seat.

“Ah, finally, I can lighten the weight on my legs!”

“Far as I can tell,” mused the mole, “All your weight is high above your legs. You should be lower to the ground.”

The Pegasus froze. “What are you talking about?”

“See, I’d like to make a switch. You can have my legs and I’ll take on the burden of that weight on your legs.”

“Nope. No, I have to… go.”

“Look, how often do you get to meet a mole with a body-swap potion? I can make you–”

“NO!” The winged horse began to kick and flail wildly and accidentally hit the mole in the skull, killing him.

“I… took a life. I killed this overbearing mole. I don’t deserve to be a winged horse.”

He took a swig of the potion and poured the rest down the star-nosed mole’s throat. After a few minutes of blurriness, the horse passed out and woke up as…

A Pegasus. Was this even a body-swap potion?

He examined his body. Nothing had changed but… His rump. It had become furry and brown, like…

The mole had a glorious white rear and tail. The Pegasus slapped himself in the face.

“The dead fool! This is a booty-swap potion! Well, I did kill him. It’s my cross to bear now.”

With a smaller rear-end, the Pegasus could sit on the benches without trouble. And the star-nosed mole woke up ten thousand years later and was the envy of every new cross-breed in the future.

The moral is, of course, to always check the label and not to kill moles, although doing both of those things benefited both parties, so who knows? The moral is morals aren’t to be trusted at face value.

Tiny At The Dairy Barn

Tiny At Dairy Barn

How could this happen to Lauren Lockwood? She considered herself, as many do, to be a good person. She didn’t smoke, so it didn’t make sense that she shriveled up as she did.

She shrank to no bigger than a can of Coke. She knew this because she had been drinking a can of Coke when it happened, and it was laying on the ground next to her. Next time, Diet Coke for sure.

Thank goodness she was carrying doll clothes with her when it happened. Lauren put on the lensless plastic frames and the high heels, seriously doubting Barbie and her associates’ fashion sense. The doll laid next to her, undressed, as if to say “Good luck, kid. I’m going to wait here to be burned by a bored teen boy.”

She wobbled in the shoes, not used to such crap quality. They should make leather shoes for dolls, she thought. Clearly it’s time for an upgrade.

The Dairy Barn loomed overhead like a skyscraper. It hadn’t been doing the best business, but dammit, this was her childhood hangout. Now she was wondering if she should go back, or potentially sue. Who would listen to me like this? she wondered. I was short before and got ignored, but this…

As a child, she was on the petite side. The other girls would call her Little Lauren Lockwood and throw acorns. “Scoop them up, Little Lauren! Scoop them up!” She shuddered at the memory. That’s why she always wore pumps, to pump up her spirits. She would give anything to go back to being 5″4′.

Lauren heard rustling in the bushes. Was it a bird, or a squirrel? She started to run, but fell on her face. She crawled on the colossal asphalt surrounding the Dairy Barn. No Lockwood was pathetic enough to let themself get eaten by a creature.

The entity popped out. A beaver? In New York? That seemed unlikely. The creature sniffed at her shoes for a moment, then stepped back. Then the beaver lunged in the air at her. She crouched in fear, but the thing just fell on its chin. She watched as it struggled to rise, so she walked over and punched it in the snout six times.

The beaver cringed and shuddered. Lauren felt pity for the dam beast. She decided to exploit him. Slowly inching her way towards him, she climbed aboard the monster’s back, being careful not to pull out his fur. Then she kicked him to get him moving.

Across the asphalt she rode. She felt like Bastian from The Neverending Story riding the Luckdragon. She tried to ignore the smell. Coincidentally, the beaver tried to ignore her smell. She had been doused in some sugary drink and was sticky. He picked the tiny thing up and licked it clean, much to her chagrin yet slight amusement.

The tiny woman made it to the Dairy Barn window. The beaver followed her in what seemed to be an absurd attraction. He lifted her back onto his head and she climbed onto the window sill.

“Next.”

“Yes,” she squeaked. “I drank a Coca-Cola from your drive-thru…”

“Speak up please.”

“I said, I had a Coke from your store and…”

“What?”

“Yo, da lady wants to go back ta normal size already, yeah? And I drank a Sprite and it made me a beaver!”

Lauren looked at him in shock. “You can talk? But then, why…”

The beaver smiled. “Would ya have let me lick ya if ya knew?” No, she would not have.

“This happens all the time. Just pee it out and you’ll be fine again. Please move ahead. Next!” With that, they left.

The following week, Lauren bought a Hostess Ring-Ding instead. She had gone back to normal size and felt confident going to Dairy Barn once more.

She wondered about Steven, the beaver who drank Sprite, but didn’t worry about him. After all, he came on way strong.

She saw a man sipping on a Sprite and he spotted her. Was it Steven? She didn’t wait to find out. Like Coca-Cola, she was done with him.

This story was sponsored in part by Pepsi. Pepsi: How do you know Coca-Cola products won’t alter your metabolism? Drink Pepsi.

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.”

“Mew.”

“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.

Uma Thurman of the Owls

Uma Thurman of the Owls

“Have you ever seen Motherhood? No one has. It’s $1.99 online. $1.99 to see me act.”

The owls were trying to sleep, but she kept chattering on.

“My Super-Ex Girlfriend is $2.99. I don’t know. To me, they’re of a similar quality.”

She tried picking off feathers from the snowy owl with her toes, succeeding all too well. She held them in place.

“Ta-da! Quentin would have loved this. But forget him. Forever.”

She watched the largest owl fly away in what she perceived as something other than annoyance.

“Off to get us some worms, right bros?” She laughed nervously. The barn owl turned away from her.

Uma Thurman flopped onto her back. Why didn’t the other owls like her? Was it because she was so tall? Her size 11 (she claimed) talons? Her tired eyes? She identified as an owl now. She recalled what had happened.

As of today, she said in a public speech, I no longer feel like a human. I’m being watched and photographed all the time. I feel overly sexualized and criticized. Therefore, I will now live my life as an owl. I will move to an undisclosed tree with other owls and if you think I’m mad, you’re just a bigot.

Many people supported her in fear of being ousted as bigots. Uma bought five male owls and moved to the top of a dragon blood tree.

But now they hate me, even though I’m one of them. What did I do wrong?

The thought struck her. “I’m not a predator like my brothers! I need to use my talons to attack, and I’ve just been lazing about!”

She ran and ran and ran and jumped off of the tree, toes outstretched to grab an animal with. She fell and fell and fell and landed on Quentin Tarantino. He lay unconscious on the dirty ground. She stood up and realized he must have been looking for her.

A cruel idea struck her brain. What was the name of her big movie he directed? Kill Quentin? That sounded right to her.

That night, Uma fed an ambiguous meat to her brothers. “Eat up,” she said. She turned to the snowy owl. “Uh, those are for me. I eat the feet.”

The largest owl hooted. The roundest owl hooed. The snowy owl whoed. The barn owl whomed. The bland owl said nothing. The Uma owl said, “What are we going to do now, brothers?”

The owls picked her up with their talons and flew off. Over the forests flew the six owls, high in the sky, over the trees and beyond the clouds. Past rivers. Past valleys. Past the boundaries of the forest.

Finally, Uma felt like one of her brethren. Uma laughed in excitement, hoping this flight would never end.

They went into the human territories and stopped at a police station. Uma ran, barefoot, but the five owls’ strength was no match for one owl.

“I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go!” She panicked. “You can’t take me to jail over Quentin! Directors are creepos!”

“What seems to be the problem?” asked the sergeant. “Ain’t you Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction?”

“N-n-no! I’m an owl! An owl!” She stomped frantically.

“That’s Uma Thurman, the self-proclaimed owl,” said a female cop. “I recognize her from Motherhood.”

“Oh, would you like an autograph?”

“I hated that movie. Worst waste of $1.99 I spent.”

The owls began to hoot wildly. To Uma, they seemed to be pecking a path of truth into her skull. She couldn’t withstand it any longer.

“I KILLED QUENTIN TARANTINO AND ATE HIM! But it’s fine, right? I’m an owl. You can’t arrest me.”

“Actually,” said the second cop, “an animal that attacks a human usually gets put down, and you killed one. Let’s send her to animal control.”

Uma froze. This wasn’t right at all. “I was only kidding. I’m not really an owl.”

“No, no. You made it clear. You’re an owl and we’re putting you down. Hello, animal control?”

“But I’m human! I have human children! My ex-husbands are human!”

“That so? Then we’ll send them to jail for bestiality.”

The animal control came in. “Which owl is she?”

“The big yellow one with the goofy claws.”

“But I am a human! I am human!” She kept on screaming it until the words couldn’t be heard.

At the animal control center, Uma was strapped down with leather ropes.

“You can’t do this! Kill Bill! Pulp Fiction! The Producers! I’m too famous for this! Too rich! Too… COME ON, I’m human for Christ’s sake! Quentin totally deserved being eaten! You can’t do this to another human being!”

“Stop hooting, little one. It’ll all be over soon.”

Uma shouted and wailed and cried, but to no avail. The needle pierced Uma Thurman the owl’s skin and…

The Animal Kingdom Scares The Wind

the animal kingdom scares the wind

In the Galloping Forest lived a happy community of animals. From the majestic deer to the diligent beaver, the playful rabbit to the wily fox, the creatures lived in harmony with one another. They never knew from hunger, from hardship, from…

“Hey… what’s that over there?” asked Mrs. Turtle, the elected leader of the Galloping Forest.

“It’s sort of cold and sharp,” said Dr. Badger.

A moose and a mouse that cohabited looked up at the sky. “It’s very cloudy,” they said. “Cloudier than a winter’s day.”

For this conundrum, they decided to call on the help of the mallards.

“We’ve seen this before,” they said. “It’s the wind, or at least a baby wind. It blows around and around, freezing you to the bone and scattering your harvest.”

Everyone got nervous. “I don’t like the wind,” said a baby bear.

“I’ll eat it up for you, honey,” said the papa bear.

“You can’t eat wind,” said the mallards.

“But maybe we can scare it off.” Mrs. Turtle was slowly pacing the lake. “It’s just a baby, correct? Well, maybe it can be frightened into never coming back.” Mrs. Turtle whispered her plan to the other denizens of the forest.

The baby wind wandered around the forest, blowing and breezing along. Then she saw it: Hundreds of animals with pots and pans, banging wooden ladles on them. There were also a number of signs that read “Down with Trump wind!” and “Stop killing each other sunny days!” and “Black lives Animal temperatures matter!” and “I Like Ike Wind To Go Away!” The forest had been littered with signs from various protests over the years and the animals crossed out certain words.

The little wind became scared of the signs (she was used to loud noises from her uncle Thunder, but was not used to being hated). Rain flew from her eyes and she flew off.

The animals cheered with pride. That ought to keep her out of their fur! The adults celebrated with a pint of ale.

One summer day, the animals noticed something odd. It was far hotter than usual. Kites stayed on the ground. Pinwheels just looked pretty. The animals went to complain to the leader, Mrs. Turtle.

“So it’s a little hotter and your toys don’t work! Big deal!” She sighed from the heat. “And anyway, it’s sunny and clear now! Don’t complain to me!”

Without warning, the sky grew dark. It became windy and the kites and pinwheels blew away. A loud booming voice and a small high-pitched one were arguing.

“Auntie Tornado, please leave them alone!”

“No one messes with my precious Windie!”

“They didn’t know no better! They’re just scared!”

“Good! I’ll make them really fear us!”

And with that, Tornado began stomping on trees, hutches, and caves.

“I have to stop her,” worried the wind. “But how?”

The little wind opened her mouth and aimed at Tornado. She blew… and blew… and blew! And do you know what happened?

It didn’t work, of course. How could wind, regardless of size, stop a tornado?

The next day, Tornado left but disarray remained. Wind helped to try and repair the destroyed homes, but it was no use. The animals split up and moved to different parts of the world. And that is why wind exists, but more importantly, why you don’t tamper with nature, but also, why animals don’t live in harmony anymore, but furthermore, why protesting something technically works.

The moral is, it’s okay to protest some things, but not the wind.