Getting Rid of Fairies

Terrance's bathroom had a serious fairy infestation. He couldn't turn on the lights without seeing them flock to the mirror to primp and preen and admire their wings. They would take the caps off of his toothpaste to use as cups. They would destroy his cotton swabs to make dapper walking canes, even though they rarely walked. They would hack his wash clothes and hand towels to ribbons to make dresses and they would use his lotions to, well, to moisturize their skin, which wasn't weird so much as annoying, because that lotion was his, darn it. He considered hiring the Ghostbusters to deal with his infestation, but the cost of supernatural pest removal, even pint sized sprites like these pixies was cost prohibitive on his retail cashier salary. Thinking himself a clever man, he fashioned a “Protected by Ghostbusters” sign and ensured their commercials ran continually throughout the day to discourage the tiny menaces. His plan failed miserably, however, because it hinged upon one tiny logical flaw, one reasonable assumption that as it turned out was completely false. He assumed if he put up the warning sign and played the commercials, they would be fearful and leave, but he assumed wrong. What he should have assumed when dealing with fairies is that they do not care in the least about anything he does.

- Originally mailed to A. Perkins in Metarie, Louisiana

Gourmet T-Rex

“Falafel” Tim shouted as he lunged through the dense foliage of the park. “Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

Alas, Esmerelda Marcos, who at that time was enjoying the very falafel Tim smelled, did not speak dinosaur, so all she heard was a terrifying roar and the thunderous sound of dinosaur footfalls slamming against the jungle floor. Naturally, she ran, taking her food with her.

Dejected, Tim trudged back into the forest, once again deprived of a good meal. Being an epicurean T-Rex was harder than one might imagine. He had no money with which to purchase funnel cakes and curries and fine wines and his tiny hands could neither pull discarded plates of kung pao chicken from trash bins nor lift them to his mouth if he wanted to. For the unfortunate circumstances of his birth, being a fifteen foot tall seven ton giant lizard with a reputation for brutal carnage, he would never know the joy of fois gras, beef wellington, or chicken cordon bleu.

It was disheartening, he was so hungry. Alas. At least he could always count on the staff of the island park to provide him with veal tartare, even if it was lacking in spices and he had to mince the meat with his own teeth.

- Originally mailed to S. Gill of Ocean Springs, Mississippi

Unfortunate Appearances

On Regulus IV there exists a strain of hypersentient fungus who learned to live in peace with all their world. No longer did they have any predators and they bred only when resources were sufficient. They were experts in all sciences and mathematics and philosophy and had long ago diagnosed the nature of evil and purged it from their world. Their language, however, was a subtle one, full of shades of meaning, shades of color, pheromones, and timing. Few civilizations ever reach such states of enlightenment and sophistication. Unfortunately, the first men to land on Regulus IV never learned the language because they never considered a fungus could be sentient. As a result, on official records from then on, this amazing race was listed fungus phallus, the penis mushroom.

- Originally mailed to H. Longino from Gulfport, Mississippi