Thursday, September 30

My best friend in the whole world Mr. Happy Puppet Head found a magic violin that summons magic monster party genies. They do whatever he wants, and so they went on a cross-country road trip of mayhem and destruction. I've tracked them down to a giant cement complex in the middle of the Mojave desert where they have imprisoned all of North America's major celebrities, and are hoarding all the alchohol and recreational drugs. In trying to rescue him, I was tied with some magic monster rope. Three celebrities managed to escape with me and we are now sitting outside of the complex thinking of what to do now.


It's morning in the desert.

"So..." I say to the one really handsome celebrity. "I really liked you in that one movie. The cop one with the ambiguous ending."

"Yeah?" he asks. "Thanks."

"Yeah. You're real good." I look at the other two. "I mean, you're real good, too." I tell the other guy, and even though I do recognize him, I don't think I've ever actually seen his work. "And you, too," I tell the pop singer. "I mean, I don't have any of your albums, but I think I've heard your songs on the radio. Or in restaurants or bathrooms or something."

They all nod politely. The singer girl is crushing some sort of root they found for food. We all eat some and it's awful.

We wait until night, spending the day in awkward conversation and munching on that root. I try to ask them what we should probably be doing, or if they have a plan, but nobody does. I don't know if I'll ever get free of this rope binding. And saving the day seems doubtful.

What I need to do is figure out all of our strengths and use them in the most clever way possible. The singer can sing so loud... handsome actor has those piercing blue eyes and suave way of talking to women... and the other guy... i bet he could... we'll figure him out later.

And I'm tied up and half-deaf from jazz. Okay. We can do this.

Wednesday, September 29

I'm reminded of an old story where an enormous bunny rabbit, a tall bird, and a small boy go on a voyage accross the water in search of something in particular. Many times they think they see what they are looking for, and the boy points at it in excitement, but it's never the thing they are looking for. Sometimes, in his delirium from lack of potable water or food, he points at the sun or clouds. The rabbit and the bird never laugh at him.

Now I'm tired and hungry and I keep getting dirt in my mouth from lying on the ground with my arms and legs tightly bound with rope. It's late and the bonfire is almost completely out, but the music is still blaring full blast.

I think I see someone coming to help me. I see that famous actor I like. What a great guy. Like that one time in that movie. Wow.

He bends down and tries to untie me, but there aren't any knots. Magic monster ropes I guess.

He yells something to me, but I can't hear him. I can't really hear anything anymore except a loud hissing, and I wonder if that's actually hearing or the sound of my shredded eardrums flapping around. "I don't know what you're saying!" I yell. He calls over another actor and some famous singer and he motions for them to pick me up. They carry me accross the party plaza, into the dark corridor, out the front entrance, and into the dark desert outisde. They run away from the compound as fast as they can, still carrying me.

It's almost dawn. I'm so thirsty and hungry. The end of the story with the bird and the boy and the big rabbit doesn't end happily. They travel for a a long time and never do find what they were looking for. The boy dies first, and the rabbit and the bird eat him. Then the rabbit and the bird get in a fight and stab each other with shards of the boy's skeleton. And it turns out the thing they were looking for after all was right there in front of them, which was Love. It was right there in their chests.

Tuesday, September 28

I'm thinking about death as I lie tightly bound by rope in this giant party complex going deaf from the excruciatingly loud jazz music and my face burning from the bonfire and the left side of my body going numb from lying on it in the dirt against a concrete wall. All of the celebrities are too scared of the party monsters to come help me, and so I'm thinking it might be hopeless to think about living for too much longer.

I had always thought I would die in other ways. This way is so strange and... unexpected. Here are some of the entries in the long list of ways I thought I might die. I left the actual list at home, so I'm going on memory here.

1)feet first through a deli-slicer

2)falling off the roof of a speeding train while being chased naked, covered in honey, and holding the world's largest diamond

3)while trying on a sweater in a J.C Penny dressing room, said sweater gets stuck over my head and I suffocate

4)the plot of Hitchcock's North By Northwest happens to me, except that in the end when me and that hot girl are hanging off the edge of Mount Rushmore, we actually fall off instead of being saved by the FBI. (the whole time the badguys chase me, I'd be saying, "Man, this is so weird. It's just like that movie with Carey Grant.")

But I do know that my funeral will be the most bad ass funeral ever. It'll be held in a staduim where all of your favorite heavy metal bands will tear it up hardcore with songs inspired by my life and untimely death (as well as their hits that you know and love.) Cirqu de Soliel will also be performing. it'll be so sad and bautiful. My body will be suspended above the center of the stage, ensconced in a block of ice, my arms and legs spread eagle like in that Da Vinci drawing. Collumns of flame will periodically shoot forth from the corners of the stage. The stadium will fill to capacity, they'll have to schedule a second night to accomodate all the whordes screaming for admittance, and the event will get record-setting ratings on all the top networks. The world will cry.

At the end of the funeral, everyone will get a free tattoo on the way out. They will have their choice of either a portrait of me riding a bicycle and waving, or lounging on a couch, attractively nude, waving.

Then the funeral will go on tour for a year or two before they take a hiatus to work on new material for "THE MIDNIGHT MAILMAN, FUNERAL DE LOS DIOS, DOS" which will make more money than anyone has ever made ever.

I walk into the party compound holding an unconsious Mr. Happy Puppet. The jazz is so loud that all I can hear is a high-pitched ringing in my ears. The low notes of what I assume is a saxophone vibrate my teeth uncomfortably.

The main entrance of the compound leads down a long dark cement corridor. I can see the bonfire at the end and a lot of people kind of standing around.

The corridor opens into a large area with a big fire and all of the most famous celebrities shifting around uncomfortably. Most of them don’t seem to be having a good time, despite the thousands of gallons of alchohol stacked against one wall and the tons of recreational drugs stacked against another.

I see an actor I liked. I don’t remember his name, but he was this really great cop movie that was all artistic and had an ambigous ending. I’d like to talk to him, but first there’s things that need settling.

I locate the stereo behind some empty barrels of beer, shift Mr. Happy Puppet Head in my arms so I have one hand free, and hit the large STOP button. The jazz stops abruptly. Everyone looks around. I climb up onto the crates where they can all see me and I address the crowd. “Celebrities!” I yell. “I’ve come to set you free. Just follow me in an orderly fashion and everything will be okay. Don’t worry about anything.”

This is when the three monsters push through the crowd. I had hoped they weren’t around anymore for some reason. They’re all holding drinks and swaying drunkenly.

“Hey,” says the tentacled one. “Why’d you turn off the tunes?”

“The party is over,” I tell them. “Sorry.”

“What?” asks the tentacled one. I think I knew his name once… was it Marty?

”But we’ve still got lots of booze,” says the bird one with four legs. “Party’s not over till the booze is gone.”

“Yeah,” they all three agreee.

The celebrities have clearly learned their place among these monsters, as they don’t say anything and try to keep as far back from them as possible. I look at them sadly, cast down from so high, kidnapped into one of the most awkward and irritating parties ever. “It’s over,” I repeat. “Come on, everyone. Let’s go home.” I hop off the crates and make my way through the crowd towards the entrance.

Suddenly there is no more entrance, just more concrete wall.

“Yeah, right, cape-wad,” says Marty. I think his name is Marty. The one with the tentacles and the big forehead. “We keep the party rockin’ till the booze and drugs are gone.” They all three aggree.

Then they jump into the air and perform some really complicated maneuver in which there is a lot of spinning and in the end I’m all tied up with rope and they have Mr. Happy Puppet Head. My arms and legs are all pinned together and I can’t really move so I fall down onto my side in the dirt. It hurts, but not bad. It’s just really uncomfortable being all tied up like a coccoon. And the jazz is turned back on, and maybe even louder than it was before. I think my ears are about to explode.

I look over to the monsters and see that Mr. Happy Puppet Head is awake again, and drinking, and hitting on another overweight daytime talk show host. Her show’s not as good as the one who already escaped, but Mr. Happy Puppet Head doesn’t hesitate to vommit on her shirt, too.

Wednesday, September 22

I just got off the bus and I'm in the desert. Mojave. California. Looking for my best friend in the whole world, Mr. Happy Puppet Head, who's seemingly gone crazy with Magic Violin-Power.

There's nothing in every direction except joshua trees and dirt and maybe some lizards. My cape billows in the wind. I love it when it does that.

I'm listening. I hear nothing but the wind.

I see a lot of smoke in the distance. Westward. I begin walking that way.

After several hours, the small bit of smoke I saw becomes an enormous plume. And I begin to hear what i was listening for:

Jazz. Smoothe. Played really, reallly loud.

More hours of walking. My feet hurt. These rubber boots I wear simply aren't designed for long desert treks. I should look into getting some that are.

Soon I see my destination--an enormous concrete compound with smoke billowing out of the top. The jazz gets louder and louder as I approach. It is nearing dusk, and the enormous fire burning within the compound flickers through the barred windows.

Finally, I'm standing in front of the enormous structure, maybe five stories high, flat grey walls, barred windows, large wooden double doors. If I were an invading army, I'd have an impossible time getting in.

I knock on said wooden door. No one answers. I notice a big metal door-knocker, about twice the size of me. I brace my feet and lift up with all my strength, let it go, and it booms against the wood, shaking the air around me. I wait. No one answers. As loud as that was, I can't imagine they can hear anything in there over the impossibly loud saxophones and synthesizers blaring from within.

I lift the knocker again, sending it crashing against the door, but still no one answers.

I sit and wait. He's got to come out eventually. And I'm very patient.

The sun sets and soon it's completely dark. All I can see are the vast number of stars above me and the flickering shaddows of the party from inside.

After what seems like forever, the door opens. I stand up real quick from where I was leaning against the compound. It's Mr. Happy Puppet Head. He's with a woman and he's yelling and laughing over the music. She looks like she's in her forties, a little heavy, and clearly not having a good time. I recognize her, too. She hosts one of those daytime talk shows for women. She's really famous.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head throws up on her red sweater. She seems so tired and upset already that she doesn't make a big deal of it. He swoons around and collapses on the desert floor. He vommits again, missing her this time, but just barely. He moans loudly and passes out. The woman looks quickly around before running off into the desert night. She is soon out of sight.

Standing above my best friend as he lies unconsious in a pool of his own vommit, I nudge him with my foot. He doesn't wake up. I lift him up in my arms and carry him inside the compound.

Tuesday, September 21

On the long-distance going west bus and it's late at night. The young guy with the ugly beard sitting next to me is listening to headphones. It's an album I used to listen to a lot years ago and I know all the songs even though I can only hear a little bit of it.

I start tapping along on my knees.

The lights of small towns spin past the window as we slowly churn our way through the darkness. I keep drumming, really getting into it. There's not much else to do. I didn't bring a book or anything.

Halfway through the album and the guy listening is asleep, but I'm rocking it hard. I'm slapping my knees and tapping my feet and really feeling it when I look up and notice three women, maybe in their late thirties, pointing and laughing at me. I sit up straight and pretend I wasn't doing anything.

I wish I could be the sort of guy to smile and point back while still playing drums on my knees like I want to be doing. I don't know why I care that they're laughing, but I do. I try not to look in their direction anymore, but it's hard since they keep looking over at me and smiling all funny.

Only lots and lots of hours more to go.

Monday, September 20

The show is just getting worse and worse. I have a hard time bringing myself to even show up, and when I do, I just kind of stand in front of the camera and talk about the things I saw that day. Like some birds, some trucks, maybe a girl skipping rope.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head still isn't home. These are headlines I found from the past few days newspaper:

"Enormous Statues Depicting Explicit Orgies Appear, Take up Miles of Kansas Farmland"

"National Park Eaten by Rude Monsters, Red Puppet Laughs at Antics"

"Hundreds of Celebrities Go Missing"

"No Suspects in Disapperance of West Coast Supply of Alchohol"

"West Coast Officials Herald the Disapperance of all the Drugs, Police Awarded Drug War Medals"

"Sheep Terrified"

I need to catch a bus to the West Coast. No time to pack. Mr. Happy Puppet Head is in danger and I hope it isn't too late.

I see what's happening now. He has the magic violin.

Wednesday, September 15

"Mr. Happy Puppet Head didn't come home the other night or yesterday or today. No call or anything. This isn't the first time he's done this sort of thing, but I worry. Especially with him hanging out with those monsters. They're the worst influences ever."

"My kitty pees on my bed at night," says the little girl standing next to me on stage.

I nod my head and tell her that's too bad. The other kids in the audience nod their heads. One boy yells out "My kitty pees on things, too." We all nod and commiserate with each other.

"What if he doesn't come back?" I ask them. "Do I even want him to come back? He's not been the best friend lately."

"I love Mr. Happy Puppet Head!" scrieches the little girl. "He's funny!" Several kids in the audience yell out that they aggree. "Remember when he spun in cirlces when you tried to give him a bath and called you mean names?"

"Yeah, good times." I look up at the giant ladder we are standing next to. "So you still want to win the Fun Prize for jumping into the Pool of Mud and Hazard?"


Eventually everyone, including myself, is completely covered in mud. We have a good time. "But it just isn't the same, is it?" I ask the children grouped around me, almost completely indistinguishable from each other. They all shake their heads no.

We share a silent moment.

Tuesday, September 14

Monday, September 13

We are standing in a suburban strip mall parking lot shooting and Educati-FUN video. This one is about Gang Warfare. The idea is that one child joins a gang, and he's all happy to be accepted at first, but then the other gang decides they want him on their side, so they fight for him. We've shot everything except the final climactic and tradgic fight sequence in the suburban strip mall parking lot.

So we've got several kids hooked up with squibs (small explosives hidden under the clothing to simulate gun shot wounds and spurting blood) and a group of mean-looking boys with automatic weapons and machine guns. The scene starts out with the two gangs, the Blue Gang and the Red Gang facing off in the parking lot with the one kid they both want in the center. They are supposed to yell at each other for a little while then start shooting.

And everything is set up and ready to go. I yell action and the camera starts rolling.

The mean kids yell at each other for a little while. "He's on our side!" one yells. "Yeah, right, dick-stain! He's with us now," another yells. "No!" "Yeah huh." etc.

From behind the camera I make a signal and they start firing their weapons. I push a trigger detonating the squibs and all the little kid bystanders explode in fountains of blood. It's beautiful and poetic. A ballet of agony and death.

And just at the most critical point of everything, when the kids are falling and screaming with all their Acting, those three monster friends of Mr. Happy Puppet Head's walk into the shot and start kicking and poking at the kids and standing right in front of the camera and blocking everything. The one with the tentacles picks one of the kids up and starts tossing her back and forth with the big claw-headed monster. They ruin everything. It took hours to set that up and we don't have anymore squibs or fake bullets and the kid's parents are here and waiting to take their bloody sons and daughters home.

"Mr. Happy Puppet Head?" I call. He's over by the craft service table eating some cookies.

"Yeah?" he doesn't turn to look at me, his mouth full of cookie.

"Could you come here a second?"

He bobbles over, crumbs all over his furry red floating face. "What's up?"

"Your friends. What's up with you inviting them?"

"Oh, we were just hanging out while you were busy. Before we go on and do that final speach about the kids not being in gangs. But I'm ready now, you wanna do it now? Let me grab some juice first."

"They ruined everything. We're done today. No more final speach."

"Really? I got my part memorized." We stare at each other for a moment.

"I want you to stop hanging out with those monsters." I hate saying stuff like this. I'm not his grandpa.

"You're not my grandpa. I can do what I want," he says. "Anyways, they're cool. They just mess stuff up sometimes. Not their fault."

I turn around and watch as the three monsters stomp and spit on the camera that they've knocked over onto the pavement into a pool of fake blood.

"They are destroying everything important in my life, Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "

"Well sorry." And he bobbles off to laugh with his friends.

There are only a few kids left, their clothes tattered and dripping red. They keep their distance from the monsters, scared they'll get tossed around, too. "Come here, kids." I wave them over to me and we go sit under a skinny tree sitting near the entrance to the lot. We wait for their parents. One by one they are picked up and I thank the mother's for letting us borrow their children. And then I take the bus home, by myself, to an empty and dark house.

I miss my bed, the bed those stupid monsters ate last week. I curl up in the corner on the hardwood floor of my room, wrapping my cape around me tight.

Sunday, September 12

I am saving up my money for the most life-like dummies out there.

pictures of the dummies

I need at least five of these suckers, one to sit shotgun with me in my minivan, one to act like it's mowing my lawn, one to stand next to the mailbox to greet the Daytime Mailman, one to hide in the closet with a machete and creep me out at night, and another to sit in the bathtub holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey, mascara dripping down her face and a box of Kleenex by her side.

You might ask, why so many? You've probably heard this before, but the logic is that if you have only one dummy, chances are it'll probably come alive and try to kill you. But if you have several, you have a chance that one or more of them will come alive and try to save you.

One day...

There are two cups of fluids sitting in your friend's backyard.

Your friend says, "Hey, drink one of those cups of fluid."

"Why?" you ask. "What's in them?"

"Well," your friend explains. "One of them is full of magic lotion that will turn your skin so silky smoothe you will lose all your friction. No more friction."

"And the other?"

"The other is fruit juice that expired three years ago. Tastes like shit."

"I don't want to drink either of them," you say. But your friend just looks at you for a long time real serious-like. You realize that you will have to drink one of the cups of liquid. Your love of friction versus your hate of foul tasting beverages. "What does the magic lotion taste like?" you ask.

"Like the sweetest laughter of a baby that will one day grow up to be the Catholic patron saint of love."


So make up your mind, fattie. Your favorite cartoons come on in a few minutes and we don't have all day.

So we think we found a new house, but it seems too good to be true. It's affordable, in a great neighborhood, and plenty of space for both me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head. It even has sunflowers in the front yard and butterflies. It must be haunted or have corpses in the basement or something.

But we've already got in trouble with the neighbors. We told the owner that we wanted the house and she said we could have it, so after that we started stomping around our new house yelling and singing and stuff. Then the nieghbor man ran in and told us to stop. We told him we were just celebrating becase we were moving in. He looked real hard at us, and then left without appologizing or really settling anything.

But I think he'll find that we are good people to live next to, we just get a little rowdy sometimes.

Wednesday, September 8

1950, suburban mid-western america.

An old, old man in plaid pants ran screaming from a restuarant where he had been sitting quietly over a plate of pancakes. "My violin!" he screamed. "My wonderful violin! Why?" He was then run over by some gangsters being chased by the FBI.

In searching his house, everything seemed normal, except for one room was mysteriously locked. It had a series of deadbolts and combination locks, which isn't ordinary for a bedroom door. Inside was found a pile of jewels and tiaras. The windows in the room were all painted black. Scribbled drawings of strange creatures and trains covered every inch of the walls.

The man's only surviving family member, a niece, was unable to be located.

Tuesday, September 7

I wake up this morning and these three monsters are in my kitchen eating our food. Big bowls full of all sorts of our food, egg shells and banana peels and assorted packaging strewn all over the place. They are eating all my food.

"Hey," I say. "What are you guys doing?"

The one with the tentacles kind of looks up at me, but it's a sideways sort of look and he looks away real quick.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head bobbles in. "Morning," he says. "Hey guys." They kind of grunt at him. He goes and rumages around in the fridge and takes out a half-empty 40oz. of malt liqour.

"Are these your friends?" I ask.

"Yeah." He chugs down the 40.

"Nice cape, asshole!" yells the tentacle one. His mouth is full of my wheat-square cereal.

"That's Marty," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "He's funny."

The monsters finish all the food. They look around and start eating other things, like the kitchen table, then peeling up the tiles of the floor, then the plates and cabinets and dishes and silverware and the sink and the refridgerator and the stove and then they move onto the living room and I say "Hey," but they don't pay any attention as they chew up and swallow the tv the couch the rugs my soft chair and the books on the bookshelf. Very soon they eat everything that is inside the house.

"Mr. Happy Puppet Head," I whisper. "Can we step outside for a second?"


"I just want to talk to you privately for a second."


Outside I ask him why he's letting his friends eat everything. He says I should have said something if I didn't like it.

Big crash as the house caves in on itself, then the monsters eat their way out of the rubble, then eat the rubble. "Look," I point.

"My smooth jazz collection!" Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells. "Guys! Did you eat my jazz, too?"

The big snappy thing without a face yells out in a woman's voice, "Sorry."

Now Mr. Happy Puppet Head is real mad and he yells at his friends and makes them go away. He doesn't even laugh when Marty tells me to take a shower and get a job.

Now we have to find a new house.

Monday, September 6


Arpit and Bloodbath the pirate captain are standing outside of their apartment complex.

They stand there quietly, saying and doing nothing of any interest to anyone. No one interesting walks by. Jenny, the green cute that lives in Bloodbath's hat has nothing funny to joke about. Nothing strange or funny happens in front of them. The only thing happening is the sun and the wind and the birds chirping in the trees, and you really have to be there to enjoy all that.


Arpit yawns. He has a really big mouth so it's a really big yawn. Bloodbath blinks with his one eye. It might start an interesting conversation if Arpit were to ask Bloodbath if his empty eye socket under the pirate patch blinks, too, but he doesn't think to ask.

More birds chirp and some warm wind blows accross their faces.

Hours earlier someone tripped over a rock in the sidewalk, spilling the stack of papers they were holding all over someone's yard. This someone happened to be mowing the lawn, ran over the stack of papers, blew up the lawnmower, causing both people to become horribly mutilated and seek a life of dark solitude in the sewer system of their suburban town. Together, as they searched for a new life, they encountered an ancient secret so horrible and potentially catastrophic that they both vommited all over their mutilated selves. The secret started to glow and englufed both onlookers in glowing green light that mutated them both into monsters that screamed and mauled things. The monsters clawed their way through a mile of dirt and concrete to burst up in the middle of the busy shopping mall. The monsters were so excited by all the consumers toddling about that they started screaming and mauling up the place. If this had happened yesterday, the old security guard Leonard would have said, "Eh, it's my last day. Let the monsters monster." And the monsters would have eventually found their way to Arpit and Bloodbath's apartment complex, and some funny stories for you to enjoy would have surely happened. But today is Chad's first day as the new mall security guard, and he's super trigger happy for doing a good job. So he whips out the gun and blasts the two monsters in their faces and they die.

Hours later, Arpit yawns real big and Bloodbath blinks with the one eye. Jenny snores in Bloodbath's hat.

Later they go watch some tv or something.

1849, England.

Several steam engines go missing. As do the elephants at the London Zoo. As well as several famous diamonds, tiaras, and many years supply of tapioca pudding from a pudding factory.

No one makes the connection, but a small boy from a chimny-sweep family goes missing at about the same time.

1874, Scotland.

The trains, elephants, diamonds, tiaras, and spoons smelling of tapioca are found in a large cave in the Scottish Highlands. The trains are mostly broken and the elephants are old and cantankerous by this time. Everything is returned to their rightfull owners. There are no suspects.

Found underneath a pile of beheaded toy dolls and assorted junk in the back of the cave is a pristine and beautiful violin.

Friday, September 3

The year was 1734. Colonists returning to their village in Virginia found it completely destroyed, their buildings burnt, their crops leveled. Everyone who decided to stay home rather than particpate in the Pagan orgy in the woods was dead.

The surviving colonists searched for some clue as to what happened, why their village and so many lives had been destroyed.

All they found was a violin, untouched, lying on top of a pile of dead children.

Thursday, September 2

He awoke with a start. It was the year 1573 in Italy. The start woke his wife up, who was sleeping next to him. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said. He stared out the window thoughtfully. "I had a dream..."

"A good dream?"

"At first no, something about a play about a clown who killed people with a machete, then came out of the play and chased me around and killed some of my friends, and we found parts of corpses all in my front yard. But then I found this really great watch I could read even with my glasses off... then the important part... the part where I invent a magic violin."

"But you only make regular violins," she said, putting a concerned hand on his shoulder. "You always say those who make magic violins are selling out."

He grabbed her hand and threw it violently off his shoulder. "Dammit, wife! This is like no magic violin ever made! It does more than help you lose weight or enlarge your genitalia or make money with crazy investments, no, it does so much more..." He started coughing and didn't stop for at least a minute.

"What will it do?" she asked.

"You'll see," he whispered ominously. "We'll all see, and it'll be so great."

Wednesday, September 1


She was one of the cutest little blue things in the world.

She found a bird next to a box of arms. She didn't have any arms, so
asked the bird if she could have a few of his.

"No," said the bird. "These are magic wishing arms. You can't have them."

"Why not? What's a magic wishing arm?"

"I'll show you," and he picked up the box with one of his wings and
said, "I wish the little blue girl thing had some arms." There was a
bright flash of light and a small human man wearing a tweed jacket and
smoking a corncob pipe appeared.

"I killed a man, once." The man said with his squeaky voice and bushy
white beard. "I killed him because he looked all googly at my mother."

"That's not what you wished for," the little blue thing said to the
bird. "Those magic wish arms are broken."

"Not broken," said the bird. "They just don't give you what you wish
for, they give you what the arms think you should have wished for."

"That's silly," said the cute little.

"I am wearing five pairs of tweed jacket," yelled bearded man as he
ran away over the hill.

"Not silly at all," said the bird. He picked up the box of arms and
turned his back on the blue cute.

The little blue cute thought hard for a long time, staring at the box
and the back of the bird. An idea came, and already tired from
thinking, didn't bother to think about the thought.

So acting upon this thought, the cute little jumped into the box of
arms headfirst, snuggled up against the magic severedness of limbs,
and squeaked "I wish for fluffy puffs and sparkly shinies!"

With a bright flash of light the cute little blue thing turned into a
can of peas. The bird shook his head at the can of peas, but saved
them in the box for later. He loved peas.