Thursday, April 26

"Let's go!" says Diego. "Let's go into the jungle right now and wrestle that Computer right out of that Dinosaur's filthy claws!"

Diego Junior blinks rapidly. "I don't know... that Dinosaur said the computer was his, and if we went after him that he'd use the computer to Math us into Infinity."

"Aw, that's just Dino-Talk." Diego grabs Diego Junior and drags him towards the Jungle.



The landscape is barren. The dirt and the sky are dull shades of grey, blending smoothly together at the horizon.

"This place is great!" Diego hops around in circles, stomping up little dust clouds.

"There's nothing to do here," mumbles Diego Junior. "I miss my computer games."



Infinity found new friends today in Diego and Diego Junior. As they resign their respectivelly excited and bored selves in the vast wasteland of nowhere, we are reminded of something. This something is more important than video games and computers. Even more important than board games, puzzle games, comic book games, and French Toast.

That thing is Electronic Video French Puzzle Toast Comic Games.

Love is pretty good, too, but just doesn't have the same entertaining sugary crunch.

Wednesday, April 25

"I'm not sleeping over anymore if you buy it," Marta his girlfriend had told him.

The salesman had been very good. "It's cheaper than a TV, and that smell prevents infestations of the home."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Only if it bites you. Or gets on top of you and suffocates you. Otherwise no."

That night, alone in his apartment, Leo had first been bitten, then suffocated by his new purchase. The money he saved from not buying a TV was inherited by his adolescent nephew who spent it on his school lunches over the course of several months.

Nephew also inherited the Stink Monster, but kept it in the basement and never even played with it.

Tuesday, April 24

He told her a story of avarice and vice,
Of things that should never
Be spoken to mice.

Monday, April 23

Illicit dealings.

Saturday, April 21

Monday, April 16

There is a door next to the front door of your house. Outside there is only one, but inside there are two. While one leads to the outside world, the other leads to a confusingly bizzare alternate dimension. It's a funny trick to play on guests.

"Oh, no, that's the closet," lie to the Preacher as he reaches for the real door. He'll apologize quietly and step through the other door. He won't immediately understand that he isn't in the Regular World anymore. He'll stop at the melting mailbox and wave to you, smiling. You'll wave and smile back. He'll make his way down the sidewalk not yet realizing that the trees are spinning slowly around and around.

That night you'll be awoken by his distant, echoing screams. "Stop! I understand the irony! I'll change! I can change! Leave me alone! No! No!" He trails off with hysterical sobbing.

You smile and roll over in your big comfy bed. "I love you, Alternate Dimension," you'll think before falling soundly asleep.

It isn't cheap having one of those doors installed, but it's always been a dream of yours. Ever since you became a big shot in the entertainment industry, you've really tricked out your house. There's a ball-pit room, a hamster-tube maze big enough to fit you and your obese friends, the dining room with lush grass growing where the carpet should be, instead of a refrigerator you have a hamburger vending machine, and of course, the trick front door. The place may have a funny dead-body smell during the summer and terrible plumbing problems, but it's your dream home and you love it.

When the cops come, tell them the preacher left last week. They ask to look around, and when they don't find anything, tell them, "No, that door goes to the basement. That one's the way out."