Category Archives: @paulmtracy

Poop Goes the Pigeon

“Gather ’round, my good friends,” he said. One by one, they flocked to the fire.

Word quickly spread, the city was tearing down all the statues, and there was going to be organized outrage. #OccupyMarble began.

Organization was hard with this group, most of which were prone to distraction by stray trash swirling nearby the fire.

Luckily, a leader had emerged. Werble was young and plump with a Master’s in Public Speaking. He knew how to unify the masses.

“Quool! Quool!” Clearing his throat, Werble got everyone’s attention. “Friends, many a feather is ruffled today by the…”

“…developments that going on down south,” he began. The followers wobbled in agreement. “But let us not let that stop us!”

Towards the back of the huddled mass was a drum-pigeon. Banging horribly off-beat in 2-3 step. It threw off Werble’s cadence.

A murder of black crowes began circling overhead, casting wicked shadows on the flock below.

The leader of the crows, Chris, looked at the mass below and began thinking aloud, “they are going to be Hard to Handle”

Chris watched as Werble’s out-of-step eyes were drawn to the sign: “World’s Largest Outdoor Car Show in town today.”

And there it sat, there in the parking lot…everyone’s favorite car. The top target of targets…

… the 1961 Ferrari 250GT California. Less than 100 were made. It was the town’s love, it is the town’s passion. It was…

…the stupid human’s fault he didn’t park in a garage. “Let’s make a statement, boys!” shouted Werble. Protesters took to sky…

…circling. One big, giant blog of gray feathers. “When I give the signal, you know what to do!” yelled Werble.

All of the sudden a wild pack of Honey Badgers arrived. They looked hungry.

Werble paid no attention and forged ahead, signaling with his claw, mangled from a barbed wire incident, three times. The flock…

…descended from the sky emitting an eerie shriek. That noise was deafening to the stupid humans below. Suddenly and without warning

A gale force wind picked up and blew the flock off course. But this formidable breeze was no coincidence.

A huge crow shaped spacecraft emerged from the overcast sky. In the pilot’s seat was

Meryl Streep, the self-proclaimed leader of the International Bovine Transmology Debate Team.

At her side, Cee Lo Green, the self proclaimed Prince of….

…St. Luke’s Presbyterian Medical Center, raised his fist. “Arm the torpedoes!” he shouted, pointing at…

The Boston Billionaires Retreat was being held at the D-Luxe Inn. A veritable hodge podge of the richest peeps in the land.

Meryl, channeling her character from the recent hit, Labyrinth 2: Back to da Maze, raised her crystal necklace to the sun

She and the Occupy group had hated the BBR Club ever since they’d bankrolled the Land Before Time franchise.

The crystal’s power would certainly settle the score. It had the power to…

incite the black-toed dirtybirds to recite the most diabolical of chants.

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me…

…for I must be traveling on now,” chanted the flock. The BBR Club stood no chance against Freebird and retreated to the Inn.

Which is exactly what Streep, Green and Werble wanted. The flock attacked, unleashing enough droppings to turn the blue sky white.

The 1961 Ferrari 250GT California sat there helpless to the onslaught.

Splat! Squish! Bam! The car had no chance. Werble’s eyes got bigger as he swooped in for the kill shot, landing on the hood.

He took a moment to adjust his bowtie. Flashed a smile at Meryl, then let loose.

That poor, poor hood.

THE END

 

Funny story this week. Werble and the pigeons staging a protest. And with the help of Meryl Streep and Cee Lo Green, they were able to show those rich, stuck up Boston Billionaires a thing or two. If only our government could learn a thing or two from a bunch of pooping pigeons. But I guess there’s still time.

Thanks to all the writers on this story – @RobotStephe, Chrisa_Hickey, @MojoEnvy, @TonyPawela, @AZHockeyNut, @MusicAdamT, @Guert, @paulmtracy, @courtcan and @hwtibbs. You guys were great, even despite Twitter continuing to mess with tweets in the timeline.

As an aside, I think this is probably my last story. I’ve been doing this for about a year now, and it feels about time to wrap it up, take what we’ve collectively written and do something with it. When I started, I had no idea what this would become. I was hoping to get a few short stories here and there. But because of all of you, it exceeded my expectations. So thank you. And don’t worry – when I’ve decided what to do with these stories we’ve all written together, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Thanks.

-Josh

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Black and White

“He’s been here,” one of the detectives said, pointing up. And there it was – the Devil’s silhouette.

Chester’s skin tingled with anticipation; this meeting was the first of many to come. He’d finally meet the man behind the mask…

He’d been close so many times. There was Tulum in the summer of ’98. And Hoboken in the winter of ’04. And Odessa in ’08 and ’09.

Paddling with greater intensity, the canoe neared the entrance to Satan’s Cove.

Chester explored the rock, finding ashes amidst the seagull droppings. He scraped it away and bagged it to take back to the lab.

Chester was an expert in his field of forensic paranormal metaphysics.; an oxymoron to be sure.

One of many in his life. His last name’s Black but he’s white. He expects the unexpected. And his favorite appetizer? Jumbo shrimp.

Chester’s concentration was broken when he became aware of an increasingly strong presence of brimstone in the air.

He paddled away, certain he knew where to go next.

The cove at the far side of the island had been billowing smoke since the expedition started. It was there he would find the….

He would continue his journey far across the sea—to the land of the 1000 trees, in search of the White Lady.

For only she possessed the power to intercept this ungodly work of the Man in Black himself.

The evil Johnny Cash. Composer of great music. Destroyer of Earth. And Chester’s deceased nemesis.

Chester donned his plasma electroscopic lenses. Yep, it was Evil Johnny. He could tell from the

ring of fire.

The fire that burns, burns, burns.

June Carter slowly crept behind Chester. “Hello C, it’s been too long, we’ve been waiting for you.”

Chester’s mouth dropped. “What for, Ms. Carter?” he asked.

Chester had a thing for June. Even though she was just a ghost. Perhaps that’s why Johnny had resurfaced after Odessa.

June was in all white. And Chester put it all together. “Are you the…” he started. “The White Lady?” she interjected. “Yes. I am.”

Of course June was the only one who could control the Man in Black. She took Chester to see Cash and the burning ring of fire.

But when they got there, the ring was gone. And so were all signs of Cash, except his black coat. “Thwarted again,” cackled June.

A furious Chester continued the search, adding the Land of 1000 Trees in ’11 to his list of close encounters with Mr. Cash.

THE END

 

The Devil, Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash. And Chester, the oxymoronic detective who was in love with June and hunted down Cash. And June – always looking out for her Johnny, even when they’re ghosts. She kept Chester at bay just enough for Johnny to disappear. Again.

Thanks to everyone who wrote – @nella22, @paulmtracy, @hwtibbs, @graphics_diva, @swcouture and @_Benny_K. Special shout-out to @graphics_diva, who’s a new contributor. I promise I’m normally a lot faster in getting these stories up.

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Somewhere Over the Rainbow

“The pot of gold must be on top of that red brick building,” she thought. And the hunt was on.

“But how can I get there before Maggie,” she whined, “when she’s a giant and I’m so small?”

Not to be deterred, she grabbed her Ziploc® of loose change, and headed out the door. Cab would be the best way to get there.

“A cab, a cab, who called a cab?” Up pulled Mike the psychic cab driver.

“I did,” Margie said. “Take me to -” “I know where – and we’re racing against Maggie!” Exclaimed Mike as he sped off.

Maggie though had decided public transportation was the way to go and was stuck behind a stroller pushing mother.

The streets were full of vendors, stray dogs and, a camel. All of this was slowing the cab down. Margie was losing time.

Maggie was having problems of her own on the magenta line. Babies were everywhere!

Margie jumped from the cab and lept onto the camel in one swift movement.

However, at a point later in the story, Margie will realize that she left her Ziploc® bag in the cab. This does not bode well…

Since in addition to nickels and dimes the bag contained a gps tracker she had planted on Maggie.

While Margie was camel-leaping, Maggie was having troubles of her own. $4.46 for a medium latte? This city is getting ridiculous.

Margie drove ever-forward in the camel, nestled lovingly between the two humps. Inching closer to the red building.

Meanwhile, the pot of gold was shrinking because

of the hole in the pot, which Lloyd the Leprechaun bought second hand at a garage sale.

“You get what you pay for,” Larry muttered to himself. Not realizing…

…that he referred to himself as Larry instead of Lloyd, it became apparent to others that Lloyd might have a split personality.

Larry-Lloyd spoke those words to himself, but Maggie thought he was speaking to her. Finally, a bright spot in her day.

Meanwhile the camel, who’s name was Manfred, started running toward an oasis filled with rice milk.

Meanwhile, across town…

The real story was unfolding: Leprechauns in Lakeview. Not just there for drinks at Berlin, but apparently hiding gold on rooftops.

Neighborhood gossip placed at least one leprechaun working in the back at Cheesie’s Pub & Grub – specializing in potatoes.

Of course, the inevitable drunk Irish jokes are bound to come out when they hide gold so close to 1000 Liquors.

One leprechaun noticed Margie and her camel at the rice-milk oasis. “How much for the camel?” he asked.

“Not for sale,” said Margie. “No, I mean the one behind your ear,” he replied. “I could use a cigarette.” Margie loved her Camels.

Maggie trudged forward in her Converse® All-Stars. She never played basketball, but loved the green plaid design.

She got to the rooftop but the pot of gold was gone. Margie was already off in Mexico enjoying her riches. And cigarettes.

THE END

 

Anytime Leprechauns, booze, cigarettes and gold are involved, it’s impossible not to have a good time. This week’s story was all about greed, and Margie managed to outfox her sister Maggie. Poor Maggie. Maybe she could go get a drink with Lloyd-Larry at Berlin. Or they could just go get a handle of some Irish whiskey at 1000 Liquors and wallow in their sorrows.

The way these stories unfold always crack me up – stuff like when Lloyd the Leprechaun became Larry the Leprechaun and the use of the ®. I’m grateful for everyone who writes these stories with me. Collaborating on this one were @Robotstephe, @Chrisa_Hickey, @swanieson, @paulmtracy, @FeliciaCago, @Guert, @jsetlak and @officerpupp. Thanks all.

 

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Feeding Frenzy

He snapped the last button, secured the final strap. The moment he had been practicing for was here.

Peeling himself off the wall was the only hard part about being a spokes banana.

The rest of the job “appeeled” to him so much! The money, the screaming fans, and, most especially, all the fruit he could eat.

He scarfed one more piece of fruit. He was ready. As his entrance music began playing, the crowd started chanting his name.

“Apple! Apple!”

The audience was filled with kids and grownups alike. They had traveled all the way from Southern French Guiana to see Apple.

This was his most important gig yet; his first since signing with Louis Vuitton.

He grabbed the microphone. It smelled like

an exhaust pipe. This instantly reminded him of his uncle Tuck, all those years ago, of that afternoon in the woods.

Apple’s lip quivered at the memory. Uncle Tuck versus a female Grizzly. It hadn’t been a fair fight.

As soon as Uncle Tuck had saw the bear he ran so fast all that could be found of his was a banana peel

And his car’s exhaust pipe. They never did find Tuck. And now Apple couldn’t get the thought of his uncle out of his head.

But still, he had to keep going. He started speaking into the mic. “Are you

ready for dinner, buds?” Apple was the newest zookeeper in the San Diego zoo’s monkey forest. And LV was their new sponsor.

Better monkeys than bears: Tuck was mauled to death during the ’08 recession as the Bear Stearns-sponsored bear (in a bear market).

Apple got along great with primates. All animals, really. His problem was people, especially…

The guy from Chaquita that kept calling to try and sponsor

a new branch of the company that is well known for their bananas.

But he pushed those thoughts aside. “I’m a professional, Dammit.” The light momentarily blinded him, and his throat itched.

Apple clucked his throat to alleviate the itchiness. The monkeys, though, thought it was a mating call.

The lights dimmed, soft carnival music began to play and the room took on the familiar odor of Vaseline and whipped cream.

LV was testing a new fabric, of which Apple’s costume was constructed. Fashioned into a human-sized banana, it was about to

undergo a stress test like no other. The monkeys were hungry. About to tear Apple the human banana to delicious pieces.

LV began by making trunks and travel bags. Was Apple unwittingly wearing what would become his own body bag, or would it hold up?

But before a claw was laid on him, the ghost of Louis Vuitton’s mustache appeared and issued a stern warning.

“Ne pas faire l’amour avec ma banane!”

But the monkeys kept getting closer, ignoring the ghost’s warning. Apple needed to get out of his suit. Fast.

If only he could find the zipper in the blasted suit.

He got to the zipper just before he was taken into the monkeys’ clutches, escaping. The monkeys were left holding a flat banana.

Though he was out of the banana suit he was left with only his

coordinating yellow, LV boxer shorts,

The ones he had been meaning to replace since they had a large

portion missing on the backside due to Apple being a flat banana.

Fortunately, Apple’s endorsement deal included getting a Louis Vuitton logo tattoo back there, so no one was the wiser.

In fact, the display was a great success, winning Apple a coveted VP of Marketing position.

“Congratulations, Apple,” said his boss, Orange. “You showed you could handle the pressure of monkeys during mating season.”

“Now lets see how you handle a friendly round of competitive karaoke.”

They headed to the bar, where Apple wasted no time picked out his favorite jam – “Killing Me Softly” by the Fugees.

Apple and Orange spent the rest of the night battling on the karaoke stage. Anything to get Apple’s mind off of Uncle Tuck.

THE END

 

This one left me wondering a lot of things. We had Apple, the guy dressed in a banana suit, who went from feeding the monkeys at a zoo to becoming the VP of Marketing. Where though? The soo? Louis Vuitton? I will say this – how could you NOT feel for him after what happened to his Uncle Tuck? Wait..what happened to his Uncle Tuck??? So many unanswered questions.

Thanks to @natapava for supplying the photo. She’s a newb, or noob, so we’ll take involvement any way we can get it. And thanks to @swanieson, @courtcan, @Guert, @paulmtracy, @officerpupp, @jimmydoestea, @Pawela04 and @jsetlak for writing today. Special shout-out to @ChrisDavisCW who’s also a noob and added a pretty funny line, as well as @Robotstephe, who saw my karaoke skills firsthand and STILL decided to jump in on a story. I must not have sucked as bad as it sounded to me like I did.

 

 

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Doin’ Time

“Man, those look so good,” he thought. Anything would. He hadn’t eaten in days.

4 days exactly, since arriving in prison. Chaz didn’t mind being called Mr. Fluffles, but the pebbles they offered him to eat

were not of the fruity kind like he was expecting but instead were of the garden variety and laced with some sort of foul tasting

butter. Chaz loved butter. But butter didnt go with pebbles. Butter went with toast. He’d do anything for buttered toast. Anything.

Up to and including pouncing on an unsuspecting Dougie the bread delivery man who lives next door.

Chaz still couldn’t believe that mousy lawyer of his couldn’t beat the rap. Guess he should have stuck with the rat,

Feral, they said! Really? “How could I have possibly kept my mane this pristine if I was wild?! Unless they knew about

the membership he had to the Cat Beauty Club for Convicts.

CBCC included daily milk baths and all the mackerel he could eat. Great for the coat! And weekly hairball extraction.

Chaz paid dues for the membership in cigarettes. It’s what you do in prison. He had a guy on the outside who’d smuggle them in.

Though when you pay with candy cigarettes it takes a lot more of them.

Hence the poofy mane. Looks good & helps hide the stash of cigs. It’s a vicious cycle, really. One that Chaz was looking to break.

He’d tried 12 step programs to overcome his candy cigarette hiding addiction. If only there had been warnings on the packages.

So here he sits. Jonesin’ for that high only street candy can give. Those big yellow lollipops out the window calling his name.

If only he never hid candy cigarettes in his fur. If only he didn’t join the CBCC. If only he never robbed that bank. If only.

After a while they turned from lollipops to resemble the heads of this siblings, whom he hadn’t seen since…

Since who can remember, with the candy jones clouding his feline brain. He was so hungry now, he could eat one of his siblings.

“Cats with the poofy mane are always up to something, but never taken seriously.” He thought to himself. I need to break out.

Suddenly Chaz had an idea that might shorten his sentence. Design packaging for those evil candy cigs w/pictures of decayed teeth.

He could also alter his identity with a haircut. “Hey Rico,” he yelled to the resident inmate barber. “You still got a 4:30 open?”

“Not if you want another permanent wave,” Rico yelled back.

“I need to look like someone else,” he thought. “No, no,” he replied to Rico “I’m thinking a mullet will do the trick.”

“Business in front, paaarrrty in the back,” cooed Rico. “Of course he digs that,” said a voice from solitary. “He’s a hairdresser.”

Behind the bars the face of Chaz’s favorite hellraiser Jack Murphy appeared, grinning in his familiar half-crazy way.

Jack Murphy though was the one that got Chaz into this whole conundrum in the first place.

If only he hadn’t raised his prices for mullets and got Chaz hooked on the imported milk bath.

“Hey Rico,” yelled Murphy. “You think I could borrow those scissors when you’re done?” Just then, Officer Friendly came by.

Friendly’s name was a misnomer, as he was anything but. It was rumored he’d killed a man during a cell search. Chaz was very…

…tall for a beagle. Don’t let those cute little ears fool you. He was no Snoopy. As he walked by, Chaz whispered….

“The cat flies at midnight.” Friendly smacked his billy club on the wall. “Shut it, you cat, or Beagle, or whatever you are.”

Friendly had trouble identifying criminal animals, aka crinimals. He was always confusing himself, a Beagle, with Chaz, the cat.

It’s why Friendly left the camaraderie of the police force for the isolation of the criminal system. The ridicule bruised his ego.

Chaz looked anxiously at the clock, pacing back and forth. “It’s 4:20, Rico” he yelled. “We’re still on for my 4:30, right?”

“Yes,yes, the mullet,” Rico answered. “But why do you need my scissors?”

“I don’t,” said Chaz, now with a mullet. “He does.” He pointed to Jack Murphy in solitary. “Ahhh,” said Rico. “That makes sense.”

But it didn’t make sense to Jack. He’d been told by Friendly to get them away from Rico. He just couldn’t figure out the reason.

He suspected it was because of the increasing number of inmates with mullets. In their uniforms, it was hard to tell them apart.

That explains how Dax escaped during the annual football game. He went long down the sideline & kept going, unnoticed into freedom.

And with this year’s game tomorrow, Chaz had similar plans. But he needed help. Someone on the inside to unlock the gates.

Lucky for Chaz he had a sympathtic fellow inmate that had been working on an escape plan and was willing to spring Chaz for the sum

of 22 candy cigarettes. But Chaz still needed help on the inside. If he could just talk to that quiet new guard Dempsey.

Dempsey had a thing for kitties (he always used that “p” word) and Chaz was sure his knowing Dempsey’s secret would sway him.

Dempsey’s quiet and unassuming demeanor was a facade to cover

the fact that he spent time in the joint when he was younger. He had sympathy for the inmates & was dying for one to approach him.

Chaz approached during lunch, putting up a front to seem tougher than he was. “Psst. Word is you got a soft spot for cats like me.”

He tried really hard not to laugh at his “cats” pun. He bit his lip & furrowed his brow, waiting to see how Dempsey would respond.

Dempsey growled back “scat cat” but slipped him a piece of paper.

It read: Doors open fur game at 11:30. Doors open fur u at 12:40. Chaz winked, then yelled,”I ain’t no scaredy cat.” Again, a front.

He was shaking in his non-existent boots and dropped the paper as he walked away.

Moments later, Warden Raton, making his daily rounds, happened upon the slip of paper.

Thankfully the warden was slightly dyslexic and read it as game is at 3:11 and the doors open fur you at 4:21.

The clock was approaching 12:30 and Chaz made his way to the outer lock.

He spotted Dempsey walking away from the doors, and he knew it was only minutes until his freedom. The clock struck 12:27.

Hearing the hum of the locking mechanism beginning to open, Chaz tightened his spine; ready to spring.

12:30. As Dempsey promised, the doors opened. Chaz sprang out to freedom, just as the inmates scored a touchdown on a flea flicker.

Chaz was running free, past the yellow flowers. The guards paid him no attention. They were in a dogfight on the football field.

And Dempsey was right behind…remember, he had a thing for kitties!

And so Chaz was able to safely run free to meet up with his long lost family.

And the two ran off until they became dots. Chaz after his family. Dempsey, the horndog, after Chaz.

THE END

Whew! That was a long one. (That’s what she said.) I’m really happy for Chaz. He deserved freedom. He deserved to break free from his candy cigarette hiding addiction. He deserved a new ‘do from Rico the prison hairdresser. Not so sure he deserved Dempsey, but hey, what can you do?

Thanks so much to you all for contributing to this story. Thanks @lilmissjen for the amazing photo, which I believe you snapped in a window in New York City. We had a new writer today – @Sean_Heffernan. Thanks for joining, and I hope you enjoyed. And thanks to all the veteran writers – @LundieP, @swanieson, @paulmtracy, @elderberryjam, @jsetlak, @ParkRidgeDDS, @courtcan, @adelamiz, @Sean_Heffernan, @Chrisa_Hickey and @hwtibbs. This one had deep character development, so an extra thanks to @swanieson and @paulmtracy for hanging in at the end and helping me finish.

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The Gnome Wars

The two friends crouched down slowly. Lamont peeked between the wood slats. “Do you see that?” he asked.

“Yes Lamont, I’m not blind” snapped Gordo. “And I can smell it. What do you think it is?”

Oblivious to Gordo’s tone, Lamont replied, “Well it smells like bacon, but it can’t be. Who has cooked bacon under a deck?”

The lawn gnomes had been plotting an ingenious bacon trap for Lamont and Gordo for some time now. They wanted vengeance on the canines.

Gordo: It’s cooking, but not bacon. I think that damned rabbit nibbled on the porch light wires once too much. Smell burnt fur?

The dogs were unaware that the gnomes dared the rabbit to bite all the way through the live wire. Just one part of a sinister plan.

“It smells like victory. Now I’ve got a craving for bacon flavored rabbit,” said Lamont.

The dogs were tragically unaware of the gnomes’ plot to teach a lesson: Never, ever piss off – or especially ON – a garden gnome.

For years, the gnomes have been pissed on. By birds. By meerkats. By donkeys. By llamas. And of course, by Lamont and Gordo.

One by one, meticulously, the gnomes got their revenge. The birds were tarred. The meerkats skinned. The llamas drugged.

The donkeys? Let’s just say those asses’ll never be heard from again. But Lamont & Gordo? They’re different cats. Cuz they’re dogs.

Bobbing side to side, the great gnome warrior, Metro Gnome, waited for the bait to draw in his unsuspecting prey.

Metro Gnome was ruthless, known to trip children for fun. Paranoid about a coup, he saw Gordo and Lamont as threats to his rule.

Metro lived a solitary life under a patch of mushrooms. He talked to himself by day and developed conspiracy theories by night.

These were the unfortunate effects of the mushrooms being of the Psilocybin variety.

Metro Gnome’s hallucinations often involved magical unicorns. Not surprising, given his brother Gastro’s My Little Pony collection.

There were rumors of a rebellion, but always in hushed tones. Metro once forced a cat to bark as punishment for purring loudly. He

was true definition of a crazed despot. Known to sit quietly for hours, he’d spring into action after wolfing down the mushrooms.

Conspiracy theories too often amplified by Metro’s cousin, Terror Gnome, who is sure someone or something is always out to get us.

“Neil Armstrong, Oscar winner,” Metro was fond of telling Gordo and Lamont. The dogs’ response? A simple leg raise & a lot of piss.

That’s why the Gnomes had beef with Lamont and Gordo. That and Lamont teasing Gastro about the Tourette’s he’s had since he was 6.

That was the last straw. Metro, Terror and Gastro Gnome had a plan. And it involved their other cousin Gee, an electric Gnome.

Shaken from his reverie, Metro saw a sudden movement reflected from the surface of his pinwheel made from the finest Gnomish steel.

It was the white haired fiend and he was approaching quickly!

“Quick!” yelled Metro. “Plug Gee into the socket!” Gordo was bearing down on them. Terror & Gastro got to the outlet just in time.

With 120 volts coursing through Gee Gnome, he began to replicate. Dozens then hundreds of gnome warriors began to appear.

As their ranks swelled, a battle cry went up. “Red Rover, Red Rover, these Dog Days are over!” Gastro twitched with anticipation.

Lamont led the charge, followed closely by Gordo. Poor Gordo was a step behind when it came to everything – sports, girls, school.

They got closer. Metro calmed the troops. “Steady! Steady!” But since their legs were really just painted on, they had no choice.

Lamont & Gordo leapt at the Gnomes. The Gnomes held their ground, as Gnomes do. Sparks flew in the air, as did some fur & plaster.

As the debris settles, Lamont is seen gnawing on fragments of a silver whirligig while Gordo bats about a small red cap.

Lamont & Gordo defeated Metro, Gastro, Terror & Gee Gnome in the Battle of Madison’s Yard. But the war may have just begun.

THE END

Ha! Dogs vs. Gnomes. Loved it. Especially the names – Gordo, Lamont, and the Gnome family (Metro, Gastro, Terror and Gee).

Thanks @MadisonZyluk for supplying the photo. Your dogs are pretty cute. And thanks to all the writers – @FeliciaCago @hwtibbs @jimmydoestea @jsetlak @paulmtracy @thatgirlmari. Special shout out to @Paulmtracy, who was writing with us for the first time. Hopefully I’ve got another addict.

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