Theo said to Reginald as he placed the hair brush down. “She’s tough, but she shouldn’t be too hard on you, just PLEASE don’t let her know you’re scared.”

Reginald looked off in the direction of a man eating a sandwich.

“I wish you would just let me know what you’re thinking so I can help you,” Theo said sternly.

Reginald was wondering if he preferred ham over bologna, or if he really did like them just the same.

Theo regained his composure. “Hey, look at me,” he said, and patted Reginald’s shoulder.

They made eye contact and Reginald stood up on all fours.

“Come on boy,” Theo clipped on a leash and led Reginald out into the lights, “it’s showtime.”

said Meryl, while staring at a passing school of fish.

“Would you just give it up already,” Meranda replied, “you’re a fucking mermaid, alright. We’re all fucking mermaids. None of us have knees. None of us have legs. None of us are marrying a goddamned Prince.”

Meryl swam to the ocean floor and pranced on the sand as if her fins were legs and she were on a runway at New York Fashion Week.

“You know what Meranda. I hate to say it but…you’re a bitch.”  

“Ugh. What would you even say to a Prince? You don’t speak English. Have you even been above water? That’s California you see. Princes don’t fucking exist.”

Meryl turned her back to Meranda.

“Meryl,” Meranda said.

“At least I have ARMS you bitch,” Meryl said, covering her ears.

“MERYL!” Meranda yelled louder this time, but it was too late. A gray whale swam by and devoured Meryl whole.

Tommy said, a bit unsure of himself. “So…you like man boobs?” 

There was no reply. “Well, why not, right? They’re boobs too…nothing’s wrong with you.”

He heard a knock on the door. 

“Honey. Who are you talking to in there?” 

“No one,” Tommy replied, and shut off the sink. 

He looked up again at the mirror, pulled his v-neck up, and walked out the bathroom.

she said, pushing the loaf across the table. 

“Ma, you’re losing it, I said it’s a headache” Anthony replied. 

“Well, I’m going to bed,” his mother said, ignoring his comment. 

“I say I’m looking for a job,” Anthony said to himself, “she says try the back of the closet? What am I ‘sposed to do with her?” 

Anthony vowed to find an answer the next day, and decided to call it a night too. At 3 am, he was jolted awake by a splitting headache. He ran to the bathroom mirror, but the ibuprofen bottle was empty. He wandered downstairs, and noticed the rye bread.

The next morning Anthony’s mother walked down the stairs. Anthony was sitting at the kitchen table, asleep, with his head sandwiched between two pieces of rye. 

“Losing it,” she muttered to herself laughing, and pulled a slice off Anthony’s cheek and popped it into the toaster.  

he muttered nervously to himself, “what the fuck am I supposed to do?” 

He looked anxiously down at the kids hanging on his legs. Giggles, or Greg, as most people knew him, was having an emergency. The sweat from his bald head was causing his clown make-up to run. He caught his reflection in a car window in the driveway, pulled a big red ball out of his pocket, and placed it on his nose. It didn’t cover up much. 

“Fuck. She’ll know” he said, staring into the back yard, defeated. He walked back into the party and made a balloon sword for a screaming child. As he waved it around, Giggles paused to look at the birthday boy’s mother. She was as radiant as ever. “The one that got away,” he mumbled, then turned his half painted face to the ground. 

When he lifted it back up, the woman was staring curiously. “Greg, is that you?” She asked the clown.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Giggles responded, most certainly not giggling. 

The woman stared deep into his eyes, “can you fix your make-up before you go back out? It’s scaring the kids.” 

said Dexter Gabriel, food critic for The Weekly and featured judge for this week’s episode of A Knife to Remember. 

“Guy’s I’m seriiiillllloooossss…” His words turned to butter mid-sentence and saliva dribbled down his chin. He stared at the other 2 judges. 

“It’s tart, but the finish is delicate, smooth even. It’s bittersweet. Honestly, I love it,” one female judge was saying into the TV camera. 

Dexter started to feel faint. His eyes started blurring. He felt like someone was tenderizing his temples with a chili powder rub. Dexter got up and stumbled around the set, finally getting to a fridge door. 

“Looks like Dex had a few again,” the male judge said to the woman judge. Dexter reached for a carton of milk as he fell to the floor. His head bounced on the linoleum and he noticed off to the side, in a chef’s costume, Peter Piper. 

As the drippings from a near empty milk carton dribbled across Dexter’s lips, the man walked over, leaned down, and whispered, “another bad review from you, Dexter, and it won’t be just my pickled peppers you get.” 

“He couldn’t have. Not if he left me here, where there’s no sweat or dirty socks. It’s disgusting. Only spare vegetables fall to the ground. I miss him, and the spontaneous 1am walks. And I miss his butt, and how after it squeaked, it smelled like all my favorite foods at once. I wish he’d come back,” she thought, sniffing at a woman’s bare foot before collapsing to the floor.

“Did he ever love me? I think no” the woman thought, “he couldn’t have,” she looked down at the dog, “not if he left me this.”

Lucy said under her breath to Margaret, while passing a drink through the pick-up window. “I’m 45 actually, and I produce the local evening news,” the woman receiving the cup responded.

“Old people are the worst,” Lucy muttered.

She walked to the deep fryer and poured a batch of fries into the bubbling oil. “When I’m thirty,” she thought, “I’ll have a chiseled husband, a golden retriever, and a baby boy. He’ll have an older sister, and she’ll want to be on TV just like me. And, it will be TV people actually watch. And, I won’t have to be a chef anymore. I’ll actually shop at Whole Foods. I’ll come home to my own house, with marble counters, and a beautiful stove that’s always clean. And, maybe I’ll even try Can Boocha, or whatever the juice spices float in….”

“Lucy!,” Margaret interrupted, “the fucking fries are burning.”