Troubling Statistics

The mayor met with the coroner

On the morn, after the night.

"Dear Coroner! I've heard the most distressing news!

It seems one out of one people die!"

The coroner frowned, glancing almost guiltily at the casket next to him.

"It's true, Mr. Mayor, but I'm afraid I can't do much about it.

I bury people. I don't raise them from the dead."

The mayor's eyes on the mayor's head stretched like the ripples from a raindrop.

"But coroner! Can't you prevent them from dying?"

The corner frowned, sadly, regretfully, like he had just killed a kitten.

"I'm afraid not.

Even if I could, wouldn't that put me out of a job?"

The mayor quirked his head like a dial on a clock.

"I suppose you're right, Coroner.

We'll just have to let them die as usual."

Obstacles

Only one thing stands in the way of achieving my dream, the blue ninja bunnies. Don't laugh. I mean it. Do. Not. Laugh. Nothing, and I mean nothing, tops the stealth of bright blue fuzzy bunnies that I can never see coming. And they're pretty vicious too. The bunny in Monty Python and the Holy Grail had nothing on them. (And I mean had, they probably killed him too, with cotton balls.)

I can hear them though, chewing their carrots. Don't call me crazy either. The very word 'crazy' makes them blood-thirsty.

I have found one method of keeping them at bay though. Simply put two stereos (or two computers, or two tvs) next to each other, and put a country cd (the most patriotic and honky-tonk one available) in one, and the most dirty gangsta rap cd in the other. Play them simultaneously. It'll stop the rabbits in their tracks, but it won't kill them directly.

It'll simply tick off any country lover or rap fan within hearing distance. There's a lot of them around here, and they all have something in common. They either love country and hate rap, or they love rap and hate country. Hearing both at the same time will make them murderous like a blue ninja bunny who hears 'crazy.' Those poor blue ninja bunnies don't stand a chance.

Okay...maybe this is more like Weird Prose

Oops!

This was your

Jacket I just stained,

That you

Were going to

Wear

Out Tonight,

Forgive me,

It was very pretty,

So soft,

And now multi-colored.

The Day I Arrived at the Thirteenth Floor Part II

For a moment I couldn't see anything; the light had left so many purple and green spots in my eyes. I glanced back toward the elevator, trying to ride my head of the dull ache. Who knew that elevators could leave me with a hangover? A few moments passed and the dull ache waned, and I shakily stood up. How could I ever guess an elevator would irk my fear of heights?

I guess I found it most odd that the elevator doors never closed, even after all that time, until after I stepped out of the elevator. Thirteen steps out of the elevator, and the doors snapped shut, and the elevator, shaft, ropes, and all dropped through the floor. Curious, I turned around and walked back the way I came, and peered into the hole. Heat blasted my face so intensely that I couldn't open my eyes. Glancing upwards, and I saw clouds and heard birds singing.

Rubbing my eyes, I explored the thirteenth floor. So far, besides the creepy elevator, everything seemed pretty normal. The elevator opened  onto a hall wall, with office doors, windows, and brass name plates lining it on each side. I turned to my right and read the nameplates as I went by. They started out pretty normal as well. A doctor, a lawyer, a shrink had the offices closest to the elevator. The further I walked though, the stranger the occupations of the owners of these offices became. Frame thrower inspector, balloon blower, professional lip-syncher, the name plates read. Finally, I reached a door with a profession I couldn't ignore: straight-jacket tester.

I leaned my ear against the door and listened. Inside I could hear singing, off-key, but clearly someone at least tried to sing beyond that door. Knocking on the door, I listened more. The singing stopped.

"Wash your elbows before you enter, please." The voice requested.

As I blinked in confusion, a slot opened up next to the doorknob. Like a drive-up window at a bank a canister popped out of the slot. Inside the canister I found a washcloth and some hand sanitizer. Shrugging, I squeezed a dab of the anti-bacterial gel onto the cloth and rubbed my elbows. A camera over head buzzed curiously as it watched my progress.

"Thank you!" The voice chimed.

And then the door opened.

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.