Second hand loneliness will touch one of every three lives. The only way to avoid it is to say, “Not it!” and mean it.
Mrs. Estelle Bigbottom was distraught. It was clearly empty nest syndrome, yet that did not stop her from thinking she was dying from super leukemia. Her time of solitude turned her into a raving hypochondriac, as well as a junkie for the Home Shopping Network®.
“When is a key not a key?” asked The Lame Riddler. “When it’s an aircraft path marker.” answered The Lame Riddler. He hated answering his own riddles.
It was 1997. The city of Metropolis was under great duress. Brainiac had unleashed a deadly virus turning everything in its path to seaweed. To make things worse, Superman was missing.
The Eastern Gray Squirrel is best known for its thick eccentric accent and its extreme penny-pinching.
This was an unusual squirrel for many reasons. Foremost, he was 68 years old. His extended longevity allowed him the luxury to identify himself as male, and thusly name himself, Sammy. To put things in perspective, it is rare, probably impossible, for a squirrel to live more than 25 years, especially on the rugged gang-infested streets of South side Chicago.
The rarely seen Marlboro Man® when he was a girl.
It was 1974. The Marlboro Man® knew only two things. He had lung cancer and he was going to die alone. He only cared about the latter. He coughed up a gob of black mucous, presumably with pieces of his lungs, into his hand. He looked at it curiously before casually wiping it on the back pocket of his jeans.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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