Rene and Georgette Magritte, without their dog before the war


Rene slapped off the radio, shot out of bed, and ran to the studio.
His greatest idea yet! So much better than the men in bowlers, the green apples, and the hanging boulders!
He slashed at the canvas with his brush. No sky! No clouds! No background!
Tan. Just tan. Endless tan.
Rene then dabbed his brush into the various colors, shaping and shading the object of his desire.
“Fini!” he shouted. “Ceci n’est pas une foret!”
The lifelike electric drill shone proudly from the canvas.
“Rene, non foret,” said Georgette.
“Non foret?” said Rene. “Beluge? Chat?”
“Pipe,” Georgette said.

The Tortoise and The Patsy


“Is everyone ready?” said the Owl.
“Ready!” said the Hare.
“Ready!” said the Tortoise.
The Rat poked its nose from the undergrowth and winked at the Tortoise. “Ready,” it said.
The Owl shrieked “GO!” and the Hare was gone like a bolt of lightning.
The Tortoise watched and chuckled.

The Hare sped along the racecourse he’d let the Tortoise pick out, through meadows and fields and finally down towards the farmhouse…
The Hare shrieked in agony as four traps grabbed his body and ripped open his skin to the bone.

The Rat calculated their winnings.
The Tortoise munched lettuce.

Get down off the cross, we can see your wood


My loincloth’s slipping, I’ve got a splitting headache from the heat and the crown of thorns, and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.
I look down. Mom’s there, crying her eyes out.
“Quit crying, Mom,” I shout down to her. “Get me a towel or something.”
She just kneels and weeps.
“Shut up, freak!” shouts a soldier. He jabs me with a spear.
“Damn!” I yell. “Asshole!”
That’s when it starts to rain.
“Thanks, Dad,” I mumble Heavenward. “What a fucking shitty day this turned out to be.”
I should have checked my horoscope.