Julia was always scared of ending up alone. She'd picture herself old and decrepit, sitting in a lonely apparement wondering where it all went wrong.

Out of sheer desperation and panic she ended up marrying a somewhat dim fellow, who went by the name of Don. Don was a simple man to say the least. He was lovable and easy to please.

"Is that a new brand of bread?" he'd gush in the supermarket.

Julia was abnormally intelligent. She had a PhD in biochemistry, she'd written several books on the process of some "cells and stuff" as Don would try...

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Leaving was the easiest decision to make, and the hardest action to take. Which was strangely ironic, because he was notoriously indecisive about everything. But this time, it was a clear case that he needed to get out, run away, and with haste.

However, haste was yet another thing he did relatively badly, too.

But maybe it was because it had become too entertaining to leave. Yes, he was in constant peril, but verily, the actions of the mortals around him were entertaining to the last. Nowhere else could he find people willing to do such stupid inane activities like...

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The year was 1986 and we were going to see Under the Cherry Moon, Prince's new movie. "We" was me, old man McCracken, and Penelope, my talking handgun.

We got to the theatre and it had been turned into a chicken coop. "Gol," says Old Man. "this durn wrecks my day."

Then out comes a chicken. he's 8 feet tall. "Dont worry. we're still showin the movie. C'mon in."

In we go. There's only 4 seats and they're all covered in bird dung, but s'okay. Down we sit and the movie starts. There's Prince shaking his tiny ass, singing Girls...

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Peasants. That's what I thought when I looked out the window. Nothing but peasants on the street below. Uneducated people. I watched as one of them gave birth. Immediately, she put her baby in a tree. There was a bees' nest there and the bees stung the baby. Even from up here I could hear the baby scream. The baby fell out of the tree. I think it broke a leg because it didn't move after that. The baby just cried and screamed and ate fig newtons. It bled too. A lot.

Slowly, I ate my Almond Joy bar.


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Bob went driving. His car was a 1986 Pontiac T-1000. It was grey. There were rust marks on the fender. There was nothing in the car. Nothing. Bob didn't like things in his car when he drove. They distracted him. This is why he drove naked. Clothes are things. He didn't even like taking the key into the car with him. A key is a thing too. When Bob left, he had no place to put the key, so he stuck it up his bum. The police always found the key when they arrested him for being naked in public...

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It never worked on Sundays. Not sure why. It was plugged in and the Hydro folks never disconnected us on Sundays. We could use the can opener Sundays. The microwave too. But the TV. Well, it would just sit there in the corner, gathering dust. We'd twist the knob but dang it all, screen stayed dark.

"Gol!" says Paw, who's about the biggest football fan in these parts. "I bought that TV just to watch my games and now it won't work."

"You can go down to Duncan's Bar," I suggested. "He's got all the games on the big TV."...

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Sunday was when we went. Dad wanted to leave on Sunday so we could avoid the McDonald family, who spent every Sunday molting on the front lawn. Last year, Mr. McDonald's head fell off. He grew another one the next day. Only now his hair was green and he could shoot laser beams out of his eyes. Also, he shat turnips. But enough of that.

We climbed into the station wagon and turned right onto Fallinott Street. The street was named after Lucas Fallinott, who lived in Detroit. He invented the toothbrush in 1762.

As we drove, we saw Mr....

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We come from beyond the stars. We are the Yorkie chocolate bars.

I was in Grade 4 and this giant living chocolate bar was walking around the schoolyard. We tried shooting it and pelting it with rocks. But nothing worked. The chocolate bar was too thick.

"YORKIE!" it screamed and then it tickled me. Or gave me a wedgie.

Man, I hated that thing. But I have to confess that in a weird way, I liked it too. Don't ask me why but for some reason, I sensed that it wasn't completely malevolent. No. Deep down, I knew there was...

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They were listening to Bach while they sculpted windmills out of Play-doh. The Play-doh was blue. Aunt Gertrude would only allow blue Play-doh in the chalet. It had been that way since the accident.

Aunt Gertrude was 78 years old and she had no arms or legs. She had cut them off in 1983 as a display of devotion to Reggie, her pet octopus. Reggie could have cared less. I remember my Aunt as she wielded the chainsaw, slicing off her limbs, bathing everything in warm red gore. Reggie could care less. He just emitted some ink. Even when Aunt...

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