The Alien

There were gray aliens with tentacles raining down from the sky and killing everything around, but it was just another Sunday for me. Everyone was pissed. Angry mobs with guns and ammo gathered in public places shot volleys of bullets at the aliens's forcefield protected spaceships. The bullets, of course, all fell down without doing a single thing except occasionally coming straight down onto very people who shot them.

Some people tried to worship the aliens and appease them. They brought them sacrifices - corn, candy, McDonald's, and when that wasn't enough, minorities, homosexuals, and virgins. But the aliens didn't seem to care. They continued blasting away, each creature fully armed with eight ray guns. Kittens, grandmothers, potted plants - none of them were spared.

Then one day on the brink of humanity's destruction one particular alien came down from his spaceship. Armed to his teeth, he was excited to continue what he'd had so much fun doing the previous few weeks. But he stopped for a second and looked around. He saw people cowering in fear, he saw his fellow aliens laughing as they shot up everything in sight. The alien stopped. And that's how I realized I could change the world.

Persian Ponycat

I had a dream... where I found a Persian Ponycat right outside a church. He could talk. I asked him if I could take him home with me, and he said it was OK. I asked him if what he ate and he responded: "For breakfast and dinner, I eat one egg. For lunch, I eat ribs."

Dad

All dads have at least one pair of unfortunate shorts.

Little Shley

Squonk

If Only I'd Lived On Cidermill Court

If only I'd lived on Cidermill Court I wouldn't be such a fuck up! Kiwi Loop, maybe. Those guys know how to party. North Appletree? We'd see. South Appletree? Smells like pee. Starlight Road, fuck no. But Cidermill? Oh heavens yes. Oh Cidermill.

All I think about nowadays is bouncing balls off of a garage and melting on a blacktop driveway. If I'd lived on Cidermill I'd think about different things. I'd probably own a muscle car and drive it around and around. I'd only disturb six or seven houses. Round and round and round. Vroom. If only I lived on Cidermill Court I'd be driving stick, not civic.

"Grow the fuck up motherfucker!" The chorus shouts. Praise chorus? No pay, no raise. Peachstone ain't to place to call home. Tami Trail's got no houses for sale. "Grow the fuck up!" They repeat. If only I lived on Sesame Street.

It's too easy being me, everyone can see. I can write and write and write and never put up a fight. Except that's a lie. I fight myself all the time. On everyone else's time. It's my worst crime. I don't know where to go. Peachstone has no path of its own. Hedgewood and Starlight bookend the night.

"Grow the fuck up!" The chorus still says. I sigh. Okay.

The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

Puddle sat alone by the side of the road. There was no wind. There was no air. Space flowed all around without a single spot of home. Time spiraled in loops and loops. The sun had no power. Everything, in equilibrium. Thermodynamic and dead. Disorder dissolved. Chaos consumed. The Sea of Tranquility and Utopia Planitia. Spherical homes of rock. Still. Stop motion.

Then.... plop!

Shit.