It's a bird! No, it's a plane! No, wait, it's a planar surface embedded in Minkowski space!

So, I have started the beginnings of a story. I might write more; I might call it quits and start playing around with another one. It depends on your feedback (if I get feedback). Otherwise it depends on getting liquored up and sifting through the New York whitepages for plot lines, just like they do in Holywood. But I digress. Without further adieu... well, maybe just a little more adieu. Not much. Ready? Sure you don't want any more adieu? I have plenty of it. Seriously, it is lying in heaps around my dorm room; if you want more adieu you can have it. Alright, well, anyway, here's my little literary escapade:

Josh looked at the donkey pityingly. It stared back, quizzically, with big brown eyes. If things had been different, Josh supposed, he might have asked to keep it. But things being as they were, he could only cringe as the unfortunate creature exploded violently. In seconds, a dozen voracious toddlers swarmed over the remains, stripping its candy innards like African fire ants attacking an injured wildebeast.

Today was Todd's birthday, and Todd's father was presently explaining to him the perks of turning 18.

?You mean the American government has trusted to I, Todd Skalawak, the power to elect it's leaders and so determine the nation's ultimate fate? Hahaha! What naïve saps!

There is something you should know about Todd. He is passing through one of those rebellious ?phases? psychologists love to talk about so much. You know, a totally non-sensical world perspective based entirely on fanciful adolescent notions, like believing in the tooth fairy or voting Democrat*. Todd's phase was that he was evil. He liked to do evil things like beat up homeless people, torment small animals, and compute integrands without using a constant of integration.

"Ha, you dastardly integrand! I have incorrectly particularized your solution yet again!"


"Todd would you take out the trash?"

"Oh, woe is I, Todd Skalawak, indentured on the annual commemoration of my natal day--a mere one three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth of the earth's immortal venture around the sun--to perform acts of menial servitude for those I had supposed to love me. Alas, I am but mere--"

"Cut the crap and take out the trash."

"Yes, mother."

Todd read his Word-A-Day calendar quite regularly?it was part of his plan to take over the world. Well, after he had taken out the trash, anyway.

*For uptight humourless readers who cannot scorn to be laughed at without making it an effrontery, please kindly substitute "Republican" for "Democrat" and take ten deep breaths. And maybe even a few regular-sized breaths after those.

To be continued. . . (maybe)