Kitten Sneezes The kitten licked his cheek; it's little tongue a tiny piece of moist sand paper. He giggled and rolled over. The kitten climbed onto his shoulder. "You're one strong kitty cat." He said. The kitten walked up the back of his neck and licked his hair. "Kitty cat! That can't taste good!" He cried. The kitten didn't seem to mind, he kept licking. The kitten was orange with dark red stripes and big green eyes. He looked like a mix between a baby owl and and tiger. "Kitty cat! That hurts!" he laughed. The kitten was really chowing down on his hair. "Try as you might kitty, my hair is staying on my head." He hadn't been this happy in a long, long while and couldn't remember that last time he felt so warm and fuzzy. It was hard being forty-three and single. The kitten let out a little meow, "Meow". And then sneezed. "Sneeze." "A kitten sneeze!" He cried, "Is there anything cuter than a kitten sneeze?" Maybe a dog with its head cut off nailed to the wall. That pesky voice from the couch! he didn't even look over. The kitten nibbled his ear. "Owe kitty cat! You really are hungry aren't you!" He giggled again. "Heeheetee" He had forgotten how good a good giggle could feel. He rolled back on to his back, the kitten slid off and jumped up onto his chest and curled up into a ball. "Ohhhh, kitty cat, now you're sleepy? I was about to feed you but okay." He stroked the kittens ears lightly. Now's your chance, pull it's head off. That darn couch. Still on his back he looked over his shoulder at the couch, gave it the stank eye, and looked back at kitten. "So sweepy, aren't you wittle kitty? Maybe I'll name you Drowsy like the dwarf." The kitten sneezed. "Or Sneezy!" He laughed. "Oh my! As long as it's not Grumpy!" Why don't you name it pussy licker slit its throat and be done with it. That couch! He was really being a sad sally. And today of all days! The kitten opened it's eyes slowly like cats do and stared into his. "What is it wittle kitty? Are you hungie again?" He went to pet it when a high hissing moan rattled from it's mouth. He pulled his hand back, startled. "What is it kitty?" The cry grew higher and louder, the hairs on it's back rose, it's pointy claws dug into his chest. Like a sobbing baby ghost from it's mouth. "WEEAAAAAOOO" it cried, "WEEEEAAAAOOO". It was a terribly loud noise from such a small thing. That cat hissed and batted his face, claws extened. Shut it up. It cried louder, now hunched on all fours. He felt a dark shadow rising behind him. It's eyes widened with fear and it tail bushed out. "WEEEAAAAOO" Shut it the hell up! "WEEEEAAAOO" It hissed and clawed his face again. "Owe kitty, that hurt!" He cried. "WEEEAAAOOO" Shut the god damn thing up! He raised his hand. There was a knock on his door. "Zack? Is everything okay?" His dad poked his head in. He looked a him lying on the floor, the kitten on his chest; it sat back down, its tail defluffed. "Yeah, everything is fine." He stroked the kittens back. "I asked you to give me some privacy, did I not?" His dad looked at the kitten and then back at him. "Okay, dinner will be ready soon. Come down in ten." "Fine." he said coldly. His dad started to close the door. "Wait, Dad!" He poked his head back in. "Are we having mac and cheese with hot dogs again?" He asked hopefully. "No, we're having chicken quesadillas." "I hate chicken quesadillas!" he cried. "That's to bad!" he said and closed the door. Cut his cock off and throw him down the stairs. That darn couch again! The kitten sneezed.

The Mad Monk He was training to be a monk but he really wanted to be an assassin. Each night when he did his walk about he would find a dark part of the woods and practice his karate-do. Punching holes in dead logs and kicking stumps, his deep orange robes whooshing around him. One night he slipped and skinned his knuckles on a rock, when they asked what happened back at the temple he said he slipped and skinned his knuckles on a rock. He was also addicted to porn and cigarettes, both forbidden in the temple. Some nights instead of practicing his karate-do he would find a dark part of the woods and smoke a butt while he whacked off. It was not easy for him to be a monk. When he was eight years old his mother passed away after a motorbike accident and his dad left for the city, leaving him with his aunt who already had four kids of her own and no husband. She said he would have to be a monk or starve to death. Now at twelve he was as hard as a twelve year old can be. He gave himself a tattoo of flaming tiger on his right forearm when he was eleven out of a bamboo shaft and a sowing needle. Although the flaming tiger looked like a bear splashing in a puddle, people got the idea. He was removed from the city temple and placed in the forest temple when the elders found out he was seducing young tourist women. It was even rumored he had fathered a child but no one knew for sure. So for now he practiced. HeeYaaa! Yaaa! Ya! Ya! One time he so stayed so still a rabbit hopped right next to him and he kicked it's head off. When the elders asked how he got blood on his robes, he said he kicked a rabbits head off. They frowned deeply. He wanted to be an assassin for hire. Travel the world killing people with out them ever knowing he existed. Yaaa! Rip a guys a head off. Heee! Ya! Pull a guys heart out. Ya!Ya!Ya! Pop his eyes like grapes. He was currently working on a momento he could leave behind at each of his kills. Maybe a miniature Budha key chain. Or a small bowl of white rice. His name would be The Mad Monk. One day after returning from practice, sweat on his brow, an elder asked him to sit down in the temple with him. This had happened before, an elder would sit him down and lecture him on the importance of pursuing enlightenment through meditation. He always thought, 'I couldn't lighten you a bit by pulling your arm off'. But this time was different. The monk stared at him silently for a long while, then after taking a deep breath said, "Young one, your father will be here next week to see you." A wide smile spread across the boys face. Well this was it; a chance to finally kill the bastard who had so easily abandoned him seven year ago. The father who had decided a #life of whores and easy money was more fulfilling then raising his one and only son. Oh this would be sweet, he thought, so sweet. The monk frowned. "I had not thought you would react this way." He smiled wider, he realized no one had probably ever see him smile before. "Shouldn't I be happy that my father has come to see me?" "Yes," the monk contemplated, "I suppose you should." "Next week?" the boy asked. "When exactly?" He needed to know how much time he had left to train. He could give up cigarettes and whacking it for a night if meant one more night of training.

Pathetic Frog The frog had no friends. He lived alone in a hole in the mud. He had a wife once but she was eaten. He used dream of eating flies and worms, delicious and savory but now in his dreams the worms ate him. He cried a lot for no reason at various times. He would wake with a start in the dead of night and croak out, "Alice! Alice!" A young toad had moved under a rock next to his hole and continually tried to invite Frog over. So Frog could have had a friend. But Toad was so chipper, young and positive. And he asked so many questions. Frog felt bad when he was around Toad. He felt as if he was a black hole and was afraid of sucking Toad in. One day while trying to pull a pale worm out of the mud, Frog froze and began to cry. He couldn't say why. Toad appeared unannounced behind him. "Frog, what is wrong?" Frog looked up startled. "What? Oh," He was ashamed at being seen like this. "I think I may be allergic to this worm." Toad stared at him, not believing but said, "I have allergies too. I can't eat moths anymore." "That's a shame." sniffled Frog. "Moths are delicious." Toad hopped closer. "Frog, would you like to join me tonight for the firefly show? They're going on at dusk over the vernal pool. It's the first show of the season. Just you and me?" Frog used to marvel at the fireflies. One summer as a tad pole he had risen every night at twilight to watch the show. His parents warned him of staying so close to the surface of the water, for fear of Crane. "No, thank you, though. Tonight I have to clean the back of my hole." He turned back to the worm and continued pulling it out. "I thought you were allergic." small Toad said over his shoulder as he hopped away. Frog made a choice and didn't cry that night. The next evening Frog hopped into the forest and ate a yellow spotted mushroom. He croaked "Alice!" for the last time and croaked and for just a moment fireflies swirled around his limp slimy body, their flashing globes reflecting off his glazed eyes like stars in a deep fog and then dispersed into the darkening night.