Strictly Business.

Your cat sent me a memo.

Yeah, he said something about tuna. What? Oh, yes, he wants the low-fat kind. Scruffles? Okay, well, yes. Apparently Scruffles is on a diet. Well, of course sir, it must be all the robins. They can be rather fattening you know.

Wait, what? Sir, I know I'm your personal assistant and all, but isn't an errand for your cat a little out of my job description? Oh sorry, sir. Of course I want to keep my job. It won't happen again sir.

Oh yes sir, I already have a pen and paper. 4789 Fairway? But, sir, that's the other side of town! Augh, yes sir. I'll go. Tell your cat he's welcome to send me memos at any time.

CLICK.

100% All American

I like unhealthy food and I like my music loud.

I'm a wee bit Irish and Scottish.

I like food that's labeled "healthy" or "light" but's been tainted with a pillar of salt.

I have a bit of English in my blood,

I like to correct grammar and then butcher it myself.

Je suis un peu français.

I like to have pastries for breakfast, and maybe some bread.

I'm a little American Indian.

I know how to dance in the rain and lay in the sun,

But I hate getting sun burns, and I sometimes hate not having a tan.

I'm a skotch Jewish

I like my music and I hate yours, so deal with it.

I'm a 100% pure American

I'm a bit hard-headed,

A little wild, and

A little proud.

I'm definitely crazy.

I'm 100% pure American,

and I have an identiy crisis.

To Ali

Munch, munch. The goat glanced up at the gathering storm. Munch, munch, munch. He glanced straight ahead, closing his eyes. Grass tasted really good here, like the grass he had as a kid. Except....it didn't taste as good. Not really able to put his hoof on it, the goat shook his horns, as if to shake the thought from his mind.

Munch, munch, munch, munch. He should probably head back for cover, that storm looked pretty bad, especially when he opened his eyes. But...the grass tasted good enough to stay just a tad longer. Most of the other goats had left, but he couldn't really remember how long they had been gone. Maybe it had been a while. Lately the goat kept seeing more of these loud, fast things, he called them Brrrr, partly because of what the sounded like, partly because of his goat-like accent.

Munch, munch, munch...PLOP...munch. Mmm...yep, he should head back. Grass never tasted good when mixed with mud.

Forms of Communication

I told you so.

You didn't listen then either,

So I thought you'd hear the postal tape better,

Or at least the howling.

I never liked the dog anyway:

Too messy

Too yippy

Too loud, even when taped to the fridge

In fact, he kind of reminds me of you.

At least the dog listens better.

The Meadow's Ball

Oh, how she danced! Her skirts glided through the air as her legs blurred into the horizon. No one cared about the difference between her vibrant steps and soaring through the air; they all looked the same to them. The sun swept down to meet her, leading her through a wild dance filled with youthful innocence. He even left tiny little kisses of light all over the curls in her hair. Even the wind blew by, curious to see what the fuss was about. No one knew exactly what the sun and the girl danced to, perhaps the song in her heart.

And so the daisies gossipped about her, and the dandelions chimed in here and there, but she didn't seem to care. The clouds looked down on the dance disapprovingly from above , and a few threatened to ruin the whole thing with a few drops of rain. Something told them the sun would be more disappointed than his dancing partner.

She seemed eager to dance with just about anyone who could keep up with her. Perhaps the rain wouldn't be so clumsy after all. Wild danced didn't need specific partners, or a particular beat; they just needed willing feet.

Light vs. Shadow, a Landmark Case

Everyone knows a shadow

Makes the light stand out more.

And so, one day, the shadow sued the light

For taking all the credit.

And so they went to court,

The shadow represented by a real shark,

And the light a real saint.

In the judgement seat sat the Great Judge Dr. Prism,

Who sent a lot of wayward rays to prison.

They presented their case, and Dr. Prism listened,

And meanwhile the sweat on the Light's face glistend.

And the hours passed, and finally,

Dr. Prism decided the case,

The excitement showed on every one's face.

He read his findings out loud to the court

The shades gathered round, and made a great sport.

And finally, the world knew, that the light had won,

And the shadow was shown to be a crank.

Light cried so hard, and his brightness caught his tears,

For fear of staining the wooden benches.

But you see, the brightness missed a bit,

And the light fell through the cracks of the tears,

And a thousand pieces of color fell all over the air,

And that my child, is how the rainbow was born.

News Bulletin

ATTENTION!

MUTANT MICE SPOTTED IN STREET CORNERS!

Doctors are advising everyone avoid these dreaded beasts as the mice bite and kill and shoot lasers from their eyes. No word yet on whether or not said doctors, their friends the geneticists, or the geneticist's cousin: the psychoanalyst, from down the street, have taken responsibility for the recent outbreak. No word either on whether or not the doctor's also shoot lasers from their eyes. Non-medical experts have suspected this for quite some time.

Psychoanalysts recommend seeing a shrink after supposedly seeing a mouse. Meanwhile doctors recommend running for one's life and screaming, followed by a good night's rest and plenty of water. The geneticist was quoted saying what sounded like: "squeak, squeak!"

Near Take Off

Ever wonder about the exact moment someone dies? I know when it happens. It's like flying in a plane, right when the wheels leave the runway. I can see the world outside the small window passing faster than a train...and I feel like I'm about to pass through my seat because my back's pressed against it so hard. And then comes the lurch.

It's probably the most scary, and yet the lurch is the most exciting. I feel my stomach turn in one and a half circles, and for a split second, I break free from gravity. But with dying, I just keep rising. Well, I guess if I was going to hell, I'd probably sink at the same rate, but thankfully I don't know what that's like. When I get high enough, I see more people and in more detail than less. And since the rising takes so long, (or at least it seems like it, maybe it's just that heaven's so far away from earth) I have a lot of time to talk with all these people. And they have so much to say!

They'll tell anyone who'll listen all about their lives. Amazingly, it's as if they've been freed from telling all the boring details, and every story and every detail leaves me breathless and craving more. Even better, it's as if everyone wants to listen, the story will never go unheard.

There's different types of risers. Some shoot straight to heaven like missiles launched from an angry country. Then there's others that zig zag as if they want to savor every moment of the journey in case they miss something important. I see a few that drag, but rarely, since most others willingly pull them up. Floaters seem to move nowhere, but just stay in one place, but I've heard that it's just the effect of them moving so slow and the observer moving so fast. Most important out of all these groups are the bouncers.

They've shot to heaven so fast they've bounced back. Though everyone has an amazing story to tell, the bouncers have the most important information of all. They know about Heaven, and then can tell anyone anything about heaven , as long as it doesn't take too much detail. Most importantly, they know something most people don't:

 Dying's easy, it's coming back that's a rocky landing.