Everything is Honey

And now, the story of an endearing bear who really, really likes honey. (Note: This bear is not Winnie the Pooh and should not be thought of as such. Please forget all about Winnie the Pooh for the next few minutes, as you do not want him intruding in on your brain and casting himself as the lead role in this tale. However, as I write this I now realize that saying all of that may actually cause you to do as I tell you not to do, because now that I mentioned him, Winnie the Pooh is prancing around in your brain and you may think of him no matter what, so to that I say, well, do whatever you want.)

***

The bear was generally a very happy one. He had no friends, no wealth, and no home, yet his mood was always high, floating amongst the clouds and prancing around on the highest mountains with unparalleled joy because he did have friendship, he did have wealth, a home, and happiness; he had all of these and more packed into one thing, one magnificent thing that encompassed all any being could ever need or desire.

And that thing was honey.

But now, the bear was very grumpy indeed. He was very sad because everything was NOT honey. There was no honey to be found anywhere in the forest, and the bear suspected he was to blame because he ate it all. He was overcome with grief and remorse, because without honey, life was meaningless. To the bear, a life without honey was no life at all. He sat on the forest floor picking at the grass and thought about what had to be done.

First, his thoughts turned to laziness, thinking he won't do anything because he doesn't want to do anything because there's no honey anywhere and what's the point of looking for something if it's gone because he ate it all because it was so great and wow he wanted honey right now. Then he began to get inspired. He considered where honey came from in the first place, thinking, wow, bees are great. I want to make bees so they can make honey for me. Or perhaps I can make the honey for me! No, then that's not real honey. I need bees. Bees. Bzzzzzzzzzz. Bees. What do bees like? Well, I like honey. Do bees like honey? Surely everyone must like honey, because I know I like honey. Honey is such a pleasant word. Honey. Honey. HONEY. I could say it for hours. Hold on, what was I thinking about? Oh yes, bees. I think bees like flowers. They're always crawling around on those. I think I'll go pick a few and then lure them and then they'll gather and say, "Here, take all the honey you want! I love honey!" Oh wait, I'd say that. I'd say that part about loving honey. I love honey.

On that note, the bear stood up with some difficulty due to his girth, and he began to wander around the forest picking up all kinds of flowers while at the same time keeping an eye out for any honey, of course. He walked and searched for hours and hours. He saw many buzzing insects, smelled several sweet smells, but did not find any bees or any honey. Finally, after collecting a good amount of flowers, he realized he didn't know what to do with them. After an hour or so of fruitless critical thinking, he decided to lay them down on the ground and make bee noises until they arrived.

But they never did. Instead, the bear found two men hiking around the forest, carrying all sorts of investigative tools and maps and big backpacks.

"No, I'm telling you, it's that way!" the taller one said, thrusting his finger in an easterly direction. "If we're to go there," he said, pointing to a spot on the map, "we have to go that way. It's obvious. How do you expect to get out of here if you don't listen to me?"

"Nah, Ned, I told you. The map's wrong. If that's east," the shorter one said earnestly, pointing in the direction Ned pointed in, "then that huge rock should be over there. See?" he asked, indicating the map.

"Okay, fine, whatever you say, Bill," Ned sighed. They walked off in the direction Bill indicated.

The bear had seen this exchange and was intrigued by the two humans he had just seen. What if they had taken the honey? There are never any humans in the forest. The two events must be linked. And so, the bear ran after them.

"Now where are we?" asked Ned, clearly very annoyed. The explorers were now surrounded by vast canyons of mossy rock. "We're lost! Totally lost! Admit it!"

"No, we are not lost! I know exactly where we are," said Bill stubbornly. "It's... You know... Right around the..... Oh, okay, fine! We're lost!" He threw up his hands, accepting defeat.

"Aha! Thank you! Now, how will we get back home? Any ideas?"

"Well, I mean, we have our cell phones --"

"Oh, right. I'll call the authorities."

"I'll call my wife and tell her our situation."

The bear watched with interest as Ned and Bill took out their cell phones. He was thoroughly puzzled when they began speaking into them.

"Hi honey. Yeah, it's me," Bill said casually into his phone.

The bear froze.

Honey.

Honey?

Did he say...

HONEY?!

In an intensely excited and passionate fever of emotions, the bear sprang forward towards Bill and Ned, thinking only of honey, always thinking of honey all the time always. He sprinted towards them with a crazed look in his eyes. The men saw the insane bear rushing towards them, screamed, dropped their phones, and ran. The bear was about to follow them, but he heard the word again from one of the phones!

"Honey? Bill, are you there? What happened? Are you okay? Oh my God..." The bear studied the phone, wondering where that voice was coming from and why did it know about honey. Hold on, he thought, maybe this IS the honey! Oh, that's it, that's it! The bear snatched the phone and chewed it up. He spit it out almost immediately, regretting his actions. That wasn't honey, he thought. That was a metal bug of lies.

The other phone, however, was still speaking. "Hello? What happened? Do you need me to send helicopters?" it asked, then could be heard saying aside, "Yeah, he said they were lost in the forest. You know, the one near -- yeah, that one. Yeah, just go, there's no harm in checking." And then he hung up.

The bear became very grumpy again. He still didn't have any honey or any bees. He didn't have any friends and he didn't have a home or any kind of security. He sat down, went to sleep, and dreamed of honey.

But his nap was short lived, because he was woken up by a couple of helicopters soaring overhead. Wow! thought the bear. Those bees are HUGE! They came, they really came -- but where are they going? Hey! Bees! Come back! Give me your honey!!

The bear chased after them for a few minutes until they led him back to Bill and Ned, who were staring up at the helicopters by a big lake. By leading him here, the bear thought the big bees were trying to tell him the following: "These men have all of our honey and we led you to them so you could have it; just go up to them and ask!" Heeding their instructions, the bear sprinted towards them, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and before he knew it, one of the "bees" shot him with something and the men once again looked terrified.

The bear began to slip out of reality. He began to feel very sleepy as well, but the lake, the lake -- the nearby lake was a lake of honey! Oh, look at all that honey! I must taste some before I sleep! thought the bear. He dragged himself towards the honey lake, using up all of his remaining energy to get there, and then fell in.

Everything was honey, indeed.

If You Give Some Mice a Honeymoon

This is a story about two newlywed mice named Humbert and Dolores. The couple decide to spend their honeymoon inside a theme park ride.

It doesn't make much sense, but I hope you find it entertaining.

***

Humbert and Dolores were the happiest newlyweds the mouse community had ever seen. Humbert's respectable know-how, brains, and eloquence melded well with Dolores's innocent, docile, and admittedly stupid charm. They were always together, always squeaking about how marvelous the other was and how much more one loved the other. In fact, it shortly made their relatives and everyone around them sick. And so, when they declared that they were going far, far away for an everlasting honeymoon, nobody had any complaints.

"Oooh, sweetie, let's, um, go to that place! The one with all the lights and people and big loud fast things! You know? That fun place! Let's go there for our honeymoon!" squeaked Dolores with soft, excited intensity.

"Yes, the fun place indeed!" said Humbert agreeably. "It's that amusement park you're referring to, Dolly. Its amusing atmosphere and charm provide the ideal environment for a happy couple such as ourselves."

"I know! You speak so nicely!"

"You blink so nicely!"

"You breathe so nicely!"

"You pronounce your consonants so nicely!"

And the praise went on and on, like always. The two had seen the amusement park whilst exploring the land on one of their adventures. Dolores wanted to venture into the park immediately back when she first laid eyes on the glowing paradise, but Humbert wanted to save it for a special time in the future, like their on honeymoon.

The couple packed the appropriate provisions and departed. After several hours of traveling and a few minor complications (Dolores had lost her red bow and mistook a snake for it), the endearing couple arrived at the theme park and decided to stay in the "Whirlygig" because Dolores thought the name was fun. Which it was.

The two lovebirds vacationed in the ride for days on end. They lived behind a fake tree; the ride had a forest theme and was very thrilling. The mice were very amused by the humans who passed by in a cart looking excited and very happy.

"They're happy because they know how much we love each other! Am I right?" asked Dolores.

"You're absolutely right! They are screaming with approval, yet also with envy of our love! Oho ho!" Humbert exclaimed jovially.

One day, the atmosphere of the Whirlygig turned eerie. No happy humans went by, and an air of foreboding pervaded throughout the fun, fake forest. Humbert overheard some of the amusement park staff say something about "numerous mouse droppings" and "pest control". Humbert, being the educated mouse that he was, knew exactly what had to be done.

"Dolly, honey, we have to get out of here. It's not safe! They know we're here, and they're sending someone to get rid of us!" Humbert explained to his wife with solemn ardor.

"Wait, what? Oh my goodness! That is awful! Whatever will we --"

Dolores was cut off by a loud thudding noise. It was the man from pest control shutting the door of his van. The mice could see it through the entrance of the Whirlygig.

"Hello, ma'am," he said to one of the staff. "So, you've got a mouse problem, huh? Or is it rats?"

"I don't know. But we found so many droppings around the ride, we figured something's made a home of the place."

"Well, alright, I'll set up some traps and put some poison around." The man's stomach growled. "Oh, it's almost dinner time. Heh heh. Lemme go get my sandwich." He went back into his van and brought out an enormous sandwich. "There we -- Oh, what was...?" He looked towards the ride, where the mice were vacationing. The man thought he saw a flash of white. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, put it on the hood of his vehicle, and placed his sandwich on top of it. "I saw one! Right there! Just where you said!" The man grabbed all of his tools and headed towards the ride. "I'll get started right away."

Meanwhile, Humbert and Dolores were watching the man intently. When they saw him come towards their dwelling, they decided to conceal themselves inside an animatronic lumberjack's mouth.

"Here he comes, here he comes! Oh God, now he's putting things on the ground!" said Dolores, filled with fear.

"Those are mouse traps, Dolly. They use them to lure us in, and then SNAP! We're trapped, and then they kill us." Humbert was well-versed in most everything.

"What's that stuff he's sprinkling everywhere?"

"Oh, that's poison. If we eat that, we'll die." Humbert sighed. "Well, he certainly wins the 'sneaky murderous bastard' award."

The man, now finished, exited the ride and disappeared. The mice thought it safe to come out.

Suddenly, an extremely loud and violent noise filled their ears. But they thought nothing of it, because they are mice.

Dolores was examining the poison. "Hey, what's this stuff made of?" she asked, but due to the deafening and mysterious noise, Humbert didn't hear her. She did not realize this.

"Yes, this belongs to our winner," he said, indicating the poison and referring back to his previous comment about the exterminator.

"Oh, that makes sense! Will do!" she yelled over the din of the noise, which oddly didn't concern either of them. She grabbed a handful of poison and ran off.

"Dolores! Where are y-- hey! Dolores!!" Humbert frantically waved his arms, trying to get his dim wife's attention. He saw her skip over to the exterminator's van, leap onto the hood, slip the poison into the sandwich, and run back just in time to escape the man's notice. He came out from behind his van wearing a gas mask and holding an extremely intimidating device from which the extremely loud noise was coming from.

"Oh, hey! Forgot about my sandwich! I'm starvin'!" he said, removing his gas mask. Humbert watched with horror as the man bit into his sandwich with relish. He chewed, swallowed, looked at his sandwich as if it just called him a name, and fell down onto the ground with a thump.

"Oh! My God! Dolores, why on earth did you do that?!" he asked his wife, who was now approaching him.

"Why, you told me to! Moments ago, dearest," she said earnestly, looking concerned.

"I said nothing of the sort!" Humbert exclaimed, offended. He thought back to the moment Dolores left. "Actually, all I said was, 'Yes, this belongs to our winner'!"

"What! I thought you said, 'Yes, go slip it in his dinner'!"

"What!? Absolutely not!" he screamed at her, his face contorted with rage. He calmed himself down. "Let's just go see if he's all right." The mice quickly pattered over to the horizontal man.

"I'll just feel his pulse," Humbert said with anxiety. "Nothing." He lowered his head with sorrow. "I feel nothing! He has no pulse! He's dead! You've killed him, sweetie! He's dead!"

"Oh NOOO!" yelled Dolores in anguish. She sat down and sobbed.

Pictor's Very Special Collection of Bones: Part Two

I now present to you the shocking second and final installment of Pictor's story. Enjoy.

***

"I'll... Uh, be there in a second! I have no idea what you mean, therefore I have to come over there so I can understand what you're talking about!" I called, speaking manically, clearly very nervous and jumpy.

I finished up in the lavatory and thought about how the hoot I'm going to explain myself. Should I play dumb? Be clueless and distraught? No, no, that won't do. I have to be convincing and reasonable at the same time; I must have a perfectly good reason for keeping the bones of other animals in my floor. I mean, I can't just tell him they waltzed into my studio and under the tile without my knowledge. Simon isn't an idiot. He knows bones can't move on their own. What a preposterous notion! No, I need something that makes sense, or at least something that makes some sense. This is kind of a lose-lose situation for me. Either way I'm going to look like a fool or a loony.

Well, where would one normally find bones? The ground? As in... fossils?

Hold on! That gives me a brilliant idea! Ha! Look at me! I know just what to say. Oh, Pictor, you've done it again, you crazy fox! ...Or, owl, I mean!

I stepped out of the bathroom confidently and strode over to the studio. I saw Simon coiled up in the corner looking worried, frightened, and sickly.

"There, Pic, there!" he said to me, pointing his tail shakily to the slightly askew tile on the floor. I looked and I bursted out laughing.

"Oh, you mean those bones! Ha ha!" I said as jovially and affably as I could. Simon looked positively appalled and terrified at this point. I calmed myself down and said, "You see, Simon, ever since I was young, I've been fascinated by fossils. Each one tells a unique story, and each one is beautiful in its own way. Evolution! Adaptability! Structure and function! All of these things are communicated to us through the bones of living things. And in order to educate those about the wonders of life, it has always been my ambition to start a museum!"

I studied Simon's face to see if he'd bought it. I tried to remain as calm and composed as I could. Simon uncoiled a bit and I could almost see the ideas I'd just thrown at him tumble around in his serpent mind and, finally, fall into place.

"A... museum?" he asked me with softened eyes. "Oh, god, Pic! I'm so relieved!"

I was too!

He went on and said, "A museum! Cool cool! Ya know, I love those places. You gotta take me to this place when it's done and stuff, because I might live there. I'll have to pay you rent. It'll be crazy."

I sighed with relief. Simon is way too trusting sometimes, but I guess that's all right with me. I mean, look at him, he went right back to his silly self once I'd explained myself!

Hold on. I'm starting a museum? Wait a second! That doesn't justify having bones under my floorboards at all! I'm an artist, for hoot's sake! Not a paleontologist! ...Well, whatever. If it's good enough for Simon, I guess it's good enough for me.

"Yep. It'll be so cool. I kept the bones under that tile for safekeeping. I don't want them getting stolen or anything. After all, those are incredibly rare specimens!" I told him convincingly. Obviously, I have no idea what I'm talking about, but Simon doesn't know any better.

"Oh, yeah, totally! It's a good spot." Simon slithered out of the corner and looked around. "Hey, where's the little 'un? That's why I'm here, remember. I wanna see 'im! Or her!"

"Oh, right! It's here." I walked over to a little basket and removed the blanket that was covering it and keeping it warm. The egg was revealed, and it was wonderful. I've never been more proud of anything in my life. It was as white as the whitest, cleanest, most beautiful bone in the world, and what would hatch out of it would be even more so. I loved that little egg with all of my heart. I'd trade away all of my bones to keep it. Hoot, I'd trade my bones, the ones in my body, to keep that egg safe. My love for that egg extends beyond the reaches of Space and Time.

"Aw, man, now that is an egg," said Simon quietly and with wonder. He saw its beauty too. I could see its white glow on his kind face. They mixed well.

"Say, what time you got?" Simon asked me. I told him nine o'clock and he said he had to go now and wished me luck with my museum. I led him to the door and said goodbye.

Once Simon left I turned around and saw Ursa still fiddling with her fancy telescope that Cygnus gave her. "What's this about bones?" she asked while looking into the eyepiece.

"Oh." Hoot. I wished Simon hadn't screamed so loudly when he first found them. "I'm starting a museum and the bones are my current exhibition."

"Oh, that's pretty neat. I didn't realize you were into that. Well, good luck with that," she said distractedly, focused on some spot in the sky.

"I'm going to bed now," I said, fatigued. "Good night."

"Good night."

---

I woke up the next morning feeling nice and rested. "Good morning, Ursa!" I said cheerily.

"Oh, good morning! Cygnus called." Oh no. "He told me to wish you luck with your museum."

"Okay..." Why would he do that? To mock me? "Is that all he said?" I asked suspiciously.

"Oh, no, he wanted to know how I was doing, how you were doing. It was weird."

"God, what a creep! How did he even know about the museum?"

"I don't know. It was a little creepy. He was trying make conversation, but he sounded angry, he sounded... well, evil. Anyway, he just told me to wish you luck with it."

That's odd. And creepy. Like Cygnus. I disregarded his encouraging remark and decided to go out for a bit. After flying around and adventuring for a time, I found a nice deer carcass and picked out a nice leg bone to take home. I stuffed it into my sack and flew home.

Ursa was at work by now, so I returned to an empty house. I walked into the door, shut it behind me, and then started towards my studio. Just as I was about to turn the doorknob, my telephone rang. I speedwalked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. "Hel--"

"Pic! Oh god, oh god, this is so bad, I don't even know where to start!" Simon sounded completely and totally consumed with fear. His voice shook and he could barely speak. My heart started beating faster, and I didn't even know why. Simon just sounded so scared. "W-well, see, I was talking to Cygnus at work, and first I let it slip that you had bones in your studio, it was just a side comment, you know, j-just a side thing..."

"So that's how he knew. You and your hooting big mouth!" I was a tad bit angry with him. Now the entire world knows about Pictor's very special collection of bones.

"A-ack, I know, I didn't think it was that big of a deal, y-ya know, I mean, you're j-just starting a museum, which is really c-cool, but when I told him, he just got this sinister smile a-and, I knew it was bad then, but then when he got up, this creepy black book fell out of his b-bag, and he cursed and looked at m-me all threatening like, as if saying, 'You ain't seen nothing, this b-book ain't nothing!' But Cygnus, he took the book and went away, and I heard him say the most awful things about you, about y-you stealing Ursa away from him, and he wished the most horrible things on you, and then he says this gobbledegook, it was weird, dark stuff, and he mentioned your bones, a-and y-yeah. But Pic, I'm calling to tell you -- stay AWAY from your studio, man! Away from it! Far away! Okay?!"

I didn't respond for a long time. I didn't even know what to think. Simon's instincts are uncanny, they always were. But I don't know. This sounded ridiculous.

"I'm just going to go peek. What harm could it do?" I said to him.

"NO! Do not go in there, man! It ain't a good idea --"

"Look, it'll be fine, what could happen? I'll even keep you on the line." I walked over to my studio, stretching the phone cord, of course, and threw the door open.

I immediately wish I hadn't.

What stood before me was the most frightening, nightmarish, colossal being I have ever encountered. It was assembled all out of my entire collection of bones, and looked like a giant human with a cruel skull, pointy, gargantuan hands, brutish arms, sleek legs, and heavy feet.

I started to scream, but then the bone giant swiped its huge and powerful hand towards me and shattered the wall and broke the phone line. Fear and awe swept over me, and my eyes fell on my egg, our egg, which was sitting right in the giant's path. I ran back towards the kitchen out of instinct and began searching for a weapon.

Just as I heard the BOOM, BOOM of the giant's steps, I looked back, just in time to see it squash my egg like an ant.

"NO!" I screamed as I watched it ooze and run. I wanted to cry, to scream and yell out of anguish, yet I had no time to think because I was next. I grabbed a huge knife and held it in front of me for protection. The giant tore down the studio wall completely now and walked towards me slowly. It stared at me blankly and I stared back, afraid.

But suddenly, the front door flew open, and Simon slithered in with more speed than I've ever seen a snake slither! Good old Simon! He ferociously and fearlessly pounced on the giant and bit it in several places quickly in a staccato-like fashion before the giant even had time to react. It was powerful, the bone giant, but it was also very slow. After Simon was finished attacking, he touched the ground gracefully, and the giant toppled over with a moan.

I stared at Simon with great wonder, admiration, and gratitude. He stared at the giant, which was no longer animated by Cygnus's revenge. After a moment, he said with a wink, "My venom's real poisonous, you know."

Pictor's Very Special Collection of Bones: Part One

The following is the story of a worrisome, quirky, unsettling owl named Pictor whose hobby is to collect bones. To say any more would reveal too much; just read it! It'll change your life!

***

I'm feeling a bit stressed at the moment, but I've just collected so many exquisite pieces that I couldn't happier. One's from a mouse, one's from a sparrow, and another one is from an owl, like myself. What fine specimens! Oh, they excite me so!

I don't know what it is about bones -- their variety, their function, their structure -- that makes me so taken with them. Hunting for these beauties has been my release for as long as I can remember, but I am the only one who knows of this. I need them, you see, and if anybody else knew that, they'd declare me a loony and send me off to a nuthouse, I just know it! But I am not a loony, I swear upon the stars!

But, alas, the aforementioned stress remains, and the root of it all is my fiancée, Ursa, who is also an owl. We've got a young one on the way, you see, it's my job to take care of it at present, and the thought of being a father shakes me up like nothing else. What's worse is that Ursa's strictly traditional mother disapproves, as we aren't even married yet and we've already got an egg. Which is my next point! Marriage! Oh god! It's less than a month away, and I feel nothing! Complete apathy, all because I'm not ready to deal with it. Don't get me wrong, Ursa is all I can think about, but marriage is a huge commitment, and I'm having second thoughts, but not really, because I love Ursa and I'm going to marry her. God, I'm going to marry her!

Anyway, I get home that afternoon with all of my fabulous new bones wrapped up in some cloth and I find the loose tile in the floor of my studio. I carefully place my new ones in with my old ones and they introduce themselves. And so politely! What nice bones! I admire my collection for a moment. Oh, this one's one of my favorites: the skull of a chipmunk. How cute! I named it Alvin and I found it just lying around the forest. What a wonderful, effortless find. No violence! I just had to pick it up! Oho ho! Ha ha ha!

I put my bones back because Ursa will be home from work soon. She's an astronomer, and a darn good one, too. She's made many discoveries, both major and minor.

Myself, I'm an artist. A painter, to be exact. I was so caught up with my bones and Ursa that I'd forgotten to mention it! You know, I'd like to paint my bones one day but at present I could never capture their enrapturing beauty. Maybe I never will, but I'd like to.

I hear some fluttering outside. Ursa's home! I hear her call, "Pic! Open the door for me please! You won't believe what I've got!" I waltz over to the door and open it expectantly.

"Holy cow! That box is positively enormous! What's in it?" I exclaim.

"I'll show you!" she says happily, walking through the door. I close it behind her and follow her to the kitchen table. She sets the colossal box down carefully, stands on a chair due to its hugeness, and rips it open. "It's the greatest telescope in history!" she declares proudly.

"Wow!" I said. I didn't really know what to say. I had many questions, but I remained enthusiastic. "That's incredible! But how did you-"

"Help me get it out of the box!" she squealed, interrupting me. I agreed and, after a considerable amount of heavy lifting, we got the telescope out of its packaging.

"Oh my God, Ursa..." I said, astounded. The telescope was so incredibly complicated and big. It had a ginormous lens, so many buttons, and the knobs, the knobs! The sheer number of knobs made my head spin! The number of settings as well! I had no doubt Ursa could operate it, but...

"Ursa, dear, how on Earth did you afford this wonderful contraption?"

"Oh, it was a gift from Cygnus," she replied nonchalantly.

Oh, I get it now. Cygnus! That bastard! That slimy bastard!

"Well, then. Did he include a receipt? I'll just go and return it, after all, it might try to-"

"Oh, honey, calm down. I know how you feel about Cygnus, but I think he's sweet! I mean, look at this telescope!"

Okay, first of all, Cygnus is not sweet, unlike most swans. Ursa, Cygnus, and I all met each other in college, you see, and once Cygnus learned I was interested in Ursa romantically, he did all he could to kiss up to my Ursa and make me look like a fool in her eyes. Well, when he proposed to her, she rejected him. She had her eye on someone else, see; me! And I, her! Cygnus's plans failed! Oho ho! Ha ha ha! So she proposed to me and not Cygnus and he's hated my guts ever since.

"He's absolutely horrible, Ursa. You know he's only giving you that so you'll like him. He really doesn't quit, does he?"

"No, he doesn't. But still, it's kind of romantic, isn't it?"

It wasn't.

She continued: "To still try for me, even though he'll most definitely fail. It's so... Uhh..."

"Pathetic." I wanted to change the subject, so I did. "Hey, Simon's coming over today."

"Oh, he is? How nice. I love Simon."

Everybody loves Simon. How could they not? He's a snake who is determined to become a tap dancer. And such a friendly and talkative fellow! Simon is a lot of fun. We've been friends since we were infants.

"He wants to see how the egg is coming along," I tell her. "Oh, he should be here any minute, actual--""

I heard a knock and saw his smiling face through the little window in the door. I opened it and he slithered in, beaming.

"Hello Pictor! Hello Ursa!" he exclaimed excitedly, but then fearfully, he bellowed, "Oh my god, it's a hawk! Hide me, hide me!!"

"No, Simon, it's just a really, really big telescope! Look!" I explained to him. Simon edged closer, saw it, and sighed.

"Oh, phew, gosh, that was scary. Where did you acquire such a telescope?"

"Cygnus sent it to Ursa," I told him angrily.

"Oh. So that's why he looked so pleased with himself at work today."

I forgot to mention that Simon and Cygnus were coworkers in the IT department at some company.

"That would be the reason," I said to him, indicating the telescope. I didn't like all this Cygnus talk, so I changed the subject again. "Hey, Simon, the egg's in my studio. You go on in and I'll join you after I make a trip to the lavatory."

"Oh, yes! Oh, I'm so thrilled to finally meet the youngster!" Simon said happily. He slided down to my study while I opened the bathroom door and walked in.

While I was doing my business, I heard Simon say, "Hey, Pic, you got a loose board in your floor, you know."

My eyes widened and I froze. My pulse quickened. Don't panic, Pictor, stay calm...

"Hm?" I called. "No I don't!" Whoops. I sounded way too manic.

"Nah, you totes do, man! Hear it squeakin'?" I heard it squeakin'. "Hm, I wonder if -- Oh... What the? ...Oh my GOD! PIC! YOU GOT BONES IN YOUR FLOOR, ARE YOU AWARE OF THIS!? PIC!! Oh, oh, Pic, I think I'm gonna be sick! PIC, WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY ARE THERE FLIPPIN' BONES IN YOUR GOSH-DARNED FLOOR?!"

TO BE CONTINUED

Cuckoo in the Nest!

This week's story is told from the point of view of a baby cuckoo bird, who invades a nest and tricks the dumb birds who live there into caring for him. This is what cuckoos actually do. It's a classic!

***

It's dark. And cramped. I think I'm in the air. I hear whooshing. Where am I going. If I'm even going somewhere. Maybe I'm just floating. I hope so. I want to float someday. Maybe someday.

Oh no oh no now I'm falling. Oh wait I'm fine. Yes, I'm okay. My compartment is intact. It hit something soft and rustle-y. I hear something. "Bye, sweetie! Be good!" it said, to me, I think. "This is a nice, well-kept nest. You'll thrive here, don't you worry..." This thing sounds kind, but sad as well. I'll miss it. I heard more whooshing and now it's gone and now I'm alone.

I stay still for a bit. Not that I can do anything else. Nothing happens for some time. But then there's a disturbance and I'm rocking back and forth a bit. I hear some whooshing and a shrill, gravelly, croaking, oddly feminine voice with some accent scream, "HONEY!! Are yeh back from work yet? I'm stawvin'!"

I hear it, or her, coming towards me and I tense up in my compartment. She says to herself, "Oh gawsh, look at the kids. They're awl so byootiful." She hops even closer to me and I can tell she's right above me. "This one's new, ain't it? Aw, I gotta ask him, I don't keep tracka dis stuff." There's silence for a moment, which is nice because this thing is really getting on my nerves. "Kay kids, momma's gonna go have a smoke and then a nap and then who knows what," she declares. I hear whooshing and my compartment adjusts back to its original position.

I get bored. I want to break out now. Of whatever's confining me, I mean. I don't know how, though. I don't understand how one -- oh, wait, that ridiculous thing is back.

"Wanda? Where are ya, babe?" says a different voice than before. Oh hold on. This is a different thing. This voice is smoother, with the same accent, but deeper and more pleasing to listen to than that other yappy and rough-sounding voice. "Wanda? Wanda, where -- Oh, Wanda, get away from dat tower ting! Iss bad fuh ya lungs! Dat stuff comin' outta it'll kill ya!"

"Oh, there ya are!" replies what I deduce to be Wanda. Her voice comes closer and I hear whooshing. "Did ya bring food or somethin'? If I don' eat right dis minute momma's gonna go on a... a RAMPAGE!" she yells, clearly very proud of her wide vocabulary.

"Yeah, I got some worms for youse," the other voice, not Wanda, says. "But I want yeh to stay far away from dat ting wit the smokey stuff floatin' out. It ain't good for yeh, and the people livin' in the box it's attached to prolly ain't gonna like dat yer stealin' their stuff."

"Oh, honey," says Wanda to her spouse. I still don't know his name. "They don't care! Not one bit! An' dis smoke is doin' me good, I sweah on my mothah's mothah! It makes me feel ALIVE!"

They argue some more, and I've had enough of this now. I start pushing against the walls surrounding me, and it cracks and cracks. Wanda and Larry notice.

"Oh, honey!! Oh, babe, look! It's hatchin'! Our first child is hatchin'! Oh, I hope it's a goil, I've awlways wanted a daughtah!" exclaims Wanda. I burst out rather anticlimactically and look at my new parents. One is very fat and has stubby wings. The other is suave and sleek. "Oh, it's a boy," says Wanda, who is clearly disappointed. It appears that Wanda is the fat one. She perks up: "But 'e's my son! He's our son, and I love 'im! Oh, honey, let's name 'im Junior, after his fawtha, Junior, Sr.!"

"Oh, Wanda, he's wondahful, just like 'is mothah! Let's go find some food for 'im! Be right back, Junior, Jr.!" promises Junior, Sr., my new father. They fly off together, happy as can be.

I look around the nest. There are lots of other white oval things here, like the one I came out of, and my instincts tell me to push them off. So I do. One by one they fall, splat splat splat splat. It's kind of a mess down there now. Oh well.

Wanda and Junior, Sr. return bearing lots of berries and worms and other things. "All fuh you, son!" says Junior, Sr. as he lays the wad of nourishment down in the nest. Then, Wanda gasps the loudest, most frightening and dramatic gasp I have ever heard. Eyes wide with panic, she screams, "OH LAWD! WHERE ARE THE OTHAH CHILDREN?!"

Hello!

Welcome to BLOGGING TO THE MACKS, a hip new blog where all misfit ideas go! Here, each week, I will reveal a new concept or character that previously had no place. If something appears on Blogging to the Macks, it is most certainly an idea that I like very much, but never found a home for it. I suppose you could think of Blogging to the Macks as an idea dump, but that would be unwise, as I don't think a dump should come to mind when you think of BTTM. Instead, think of it as a magical, wonderful, imaginative dump where anything can happen and where dreams can come true. It is a demonstrative, daring, dynamic, dazzling dump.

So step on up!

The world is our oyster!

Anything is possible!

The sky is the limit!

And we'll reach it together!

* * *

First, I'll introduce you to Bob White, a lonely, batty old sailor who falls in love with a whale. Yes, really. He first crossed paths with the, as he called it, "enchanting blue being" whilst sailing for pleasure in the Atlantic. Once he spotted it roaming in the distance, it was love at first sight.

For the longest time, that whale was all he could think about. It occupied his dreams and his waking dreams, his work and his play. He even fashioned a wooden sculpture of it from some spare lumber he had lying around. It was his prized possession. Nobody except Bob could touch it.

One day, it occurred to Bob that the whale, his whale, was nameless. "Oh, this shall not do!" he exclaimed. "She deserves better than that! I shall call her..." Bob stared into space, his eyebrows scrunched together, evidently in deep thought. "Debbie!" he exclaimed with ecstasy and with wide, excited, and very insane eyes. "Debbie! What a beautiful name! What a perfect and lovely name for a perfect and lovely whale! Debbie! Oh yes!"

Bob set out the next day to proclaim his love to Debbie. He even brought a ring, but he didn't expect her to wear it. He considered it more of a symbol of their love than a piece of jewelery. He was at sea for hours before he finally tracked Debbie down.

"Debbie!" he screamed at the whale from his ship. "I love you! Debbie!!" The whale was ignoring him, wasn't even glancing at him, and Bob was heartbroken. "Debbie, it's me, Bob! It's me!!"

He wanted to cry. Debbie swam away from he and his ship. Dejectedly, Bob turned his ship around and went home.

He opened the door to his house, and his caretaker, Mrs. Williams, was waiting for him. "Oh dear, you look awful! Where were you? What happened?" she asked worryingly.

"She doesn't love me," he said sadly. "Debbie doesn't love me."

"Oh, Bob, you'll be fine, trust me. After all, there are plenty of fish in the sea."

Bob glared at her angrily.