Mo’ Stories

¡This was a civilized garden!

They didn’t snip the only plant born with freckles–no. Quite the opposite: so many people demanded that such a scarce plant be kept ‘live that to snip it would be considered a crime.

‘Stead, they snipped 1 o’ the thousand plants unlucky ‘nough to not be born with such a rare blemish–a randomly chosen plant so similar to so many that nobody could e’er remember his name.

Don’t mourn the loss o’ that guy–there were thousands mo’ where he came from.

They drove through a the path ‘tween the cinders–which were an odd pale red for some reason.

“She’s going to find out ‘ventually,” said Lakisha as she stared out her window with a frown.

Jacinto only grunted.

“There it is.”

Lakisha pointed @ the last trunk. Jacinto stopped the car &, without a word, went out & down the hill ‘hind the trunk, ashes spraying his legs back & forth in the strong wind.

She’s s’posed to be here somewhere… he thought. ¡Ah!

He stopped by a turtle by the lake & said & cleared his throat.

The turtle looked @ him without emotion.

“You’re wanting the Goldenrod Teddy Bear o’ 1933…” she said.

The clown smiled as the chicken squawked, “¡No matter what you do, the profits will fall in the long run! ¡That’s cold, hard #s!” Mo’ & mo’ sweat slid down the chicken’s face. “¡With each work bird you fry, you only further clog the money stream with cholesterol till we all make it burst!”

Then the chicken disappeared ‘hind the tin wall. All that could be seen o’ it was its distorted shadow cast by the flames.

But the clown’s smile fell when he heard sharp grinding.

“¡’Course, smuggling a wrench helps, too!” exclaimed the chicken wildly. “¡Lebe die Revolution!”

The clown had no time to react before he was ripped apart by the ensuing explosion, freeing the flames to spread their #s.

& that was when the implications o’ the decision to save tax $s holding the chicken factory in Worcestershire Woods truly sparked.

“Go ‘head. You’ll do just fine…”

Brown didn’t want t cross the fires–the ‘lone devil lights in the otherwise empty blackness; but the sound o’ the lyre’s strings–like a flickering o’ flames, actually–made him thirst to touch it too much.

This is it, Brown thought. I’ll get to the other side this time.

He held his arms out & closed his eyes, & then dashed in.

The next gray morn, all they could find in the remains o’ Worcestershire Woods was ashes & 1 strangely unblemished lyre.

Chet watched the game with hands gripping the stands tightly. He knew if the blue shooter got that ball in the opposite washbin that his savings were shot.

There’s 1 chance…

He raised his hood o’er his head, glancing all ways to see if anyone was looking @ him. Then he snuck a gun out o’ his jacket pocket & aimed it @ the shooter while still under the shade o’ his jacket flabs.

¡The blue shooter was hit! He collapsed on the shiny floor, covering it with shiny blood.

But in the process, the ball flung from his hand & landed in the washbin.

In the aftermath confusion, Chet snuck out to use the gun on himself.

On this episode o’ “Mutual Discharge,” Pompadour & Duck Butt debate o’er the most significant issue o’ our time: what will be the flag o’ Thistown under its new leaders.

“I think it should stay its original oniony self, since people are used to that, & it’s only moccasin-wearing elites who have the time to learn a new flag,” said Duck Butt.

“I disagree. I think we need to change it to a tiny sun surrounded by 2 blue rectangles, since our models that that works well in ‘nother country,” said Pompadour. “& our models show that, given the equality o’ info, people shouldn’t have trouble @ all.”

“Pompadour is a septicitic & not a team player,” Duck Butt said with crossed arms.

“Duck Butt is a dangerous ‘lone wolf & will devour all our gingerbread,” said Pompadour.

¡Now it’s up to you to decide! Join us next time as we fiercely debate the hot issue o’ whether or not Minister Amanda Stairwell is too fat.

The worst thing ’bout needing to be careful was the need to be careful ’bout not looking too careful.

Son o’ Toucan stood @ the other end o’ the main stage in a sleek tuxedo…

¡& such a thorny rose!

She gulped. No backing out. We’re gonna act normal.

She stepped up to Son o’ Toucan, took the rose from his lapel, lifted it to her face, & sniffed. Then she set it back to the sound o’ cheers.

‘Twas only as she walked ‘way from the stage that she allowed her smile to fall & her chest to heave in boredom, only to stop when she saw swift movement. She looked down & saw a tiny red puddle.

Then she rushed to the bathroom & gasped when she saw her face.

Sweat dribbled down her face as she watched the truck come.

“¿Does anyone have any excess steps I could borrow? ¿Please?” Her pitch was rising.

A walking-by guy said, “I only have them in bulk blocks–& I don’t have ‘nough to give a whole block ‘way.”

“Please…”

The walking-by guy scratched his temple & looked round himself.

“I can make change.”

The roaming cashier walked into view & stopped before the walking-by guy. He opened his register & held out a wad o’ 200 steps. The walking-by guy traded a block for them, flipped through the steps, & handed 20 to the original.

“¿Is that ‘nough?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The truck came. But nobody was there to be hit by it.

‘Twas a thankless job, but she had to do it, anyway. ¿How else could she afford the spinach her bones required to keep their subsistence?

No matter how many times she rubbed, the side o’ the inside o’ the countryside coast wouldn’t shine. Her arms ached with scrubbing–as well as her back–but nothing changed. So much strong sour soap scents nauseated her stomach.

So she tossed the sponge, tossed the soap, & then the bucket–she tossed them all in the channel. She changed the channel & walked on. They ne’er found her ‘gain.

Komodo raised his phone to his ear. “¿Halo?”

“There’s a bomb.”

“Saya mengerti. Terima kasih.”

Komodo rose & walked down the aisle while the towns raced by outside. The other passengers were just as oblivious.

Komodo’s nose wiggled as he turned his head left & right, left & right. Then he stopped by a pair o’ seats 2 rows past the front. He saw 1 occupant: a woman in business apparel looking @ him warily.

“Permisi, Madam, ¿tapi bisa saya cek di bawah kursi Anda?”

The woman raised a brow, but rose & backed ‘way.

Komodo leaned down under the seat & dug round with his steel claws, feeling round the cold plastic on his scales.

Then he felt a bump & picked off the rectangle. He examined it for a moment, & then crushed it in his palm.

He rose & said, “Terima kasih,” before sidling out & walking back to his own seat. He could feel the woman’s twisted brows on the back o’ his neck, but didn’t look back.