“It’s a giant frog!” shouted Cyrus.
“I love frogs!” shouted Mara.
The giant frog gave them both a happy lick, because it loved making new friends.
They took it home and fed it flies and, unlike the ones in my Dungeons and Dragons game, it didn’t try to eat them.
“The sky is falling!” cried Chicken Little. “We must go tell the king!”
The king called for the tallest crane in the kingdom and sent three women up in it with sewing needles and strong thread. They mended the sky and sewed the rips up nice and tight.
The end.
It was time to take off the training wheels…
Literally.
Dad tossed the screwdriver up and down. “You’re sure you’re ready for this?” he grunted.
Terrence crossed his arms, frowned, and nodded emphatically.
Later, in the hospital, Terrence held his dad’s hand.
“Be tough,” said Terrence. “They can fix you.”
The rearview mirror held a terrifying apparition:
An entire herd of rampaging bovine destroyers trailed behind us, rage and hunger dancing in their eyes.
“Don’t stop! Stomp on the gas!” I shouted, but Georgia wordlessly pointed at the fuel gauge.
The cows advanced, and we were all out of grapefruit…
He could lift a truck off the ground with nothing but two fingers and a crane.
He could fly short distances by kicking his legs and holding his breath.
He could breathe through his nose and his mouth at the same time.
He was my best friend, and I hated him.
It was so oppressively hot outside that I could’ve fried an egg on my forehead (so long as I was wearing a camping stove as a hat and had a tank of propane and some matches handy).
So I went inside, turned on the air conditioning, and took a nap.
“You should try to write more neatly,” Miss Gillian said to Little Joey. “I can’t read what you wrote!”
“It’s a secret language!” said Little Joey. “I call it Scribblinglish! I just scribble something, and it turns real!”
“Very imaginative,” said Miss Gillian.
Teacher-eating flying killer whale, wrote Little Joey.
After the incident, they told him riding the merry-go-round would give him some needed perspective, but so far the only discovery he’d made was that yes, you can throw up when your stomach is empty. (He’d also discovered he kind of liked the taste of bile, but that’s another story.)
“Ow! Oooooow!! Ouch! Ooh… Aah… Huuuaaaah… OH!! Woooow… Whoa! Aaaah! It burns! Eeeeek! Aaaaargh! Nyyyuuuurrgh… WWWAAAAAAAAUUGHH!! Hoooly mother of painburgersssss… GRROOOOAARGH IT HURTS SO BAAAAD!! No, why, why!?!? Ooow!! Never again! I swear on your grandmother’s grave if you ever even BHAAAAAUGH!!! OW OW OW!!”
“…I said I was sorry.”
“Oh, come on, you’re pulling my leg…”
“I am not. It’s true!”
“If gasoline is really flammable, then why doesn’t my stomach explode? I’ve been drinking that stuff for years.”
“Well you’d need a spark to set it off.”
“Here, I’ll swallow a lit match to prove it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
This story was inspired by a title supplied by @gameking128 on Twitter.