Per Your Suggestion: "Why Mom Never Gave Me Chicken Milk As A Kid"

And now for something completely different (as if the other stories today haven't been far left of center anyway)...a story based on the "crazy title" suggested by my friend, Joseph Holton. Joe and I are kindred spirits in the Way of the Weird, as this title (and the others he suggested which I will later write) will attest. Hope you like this one, Joe. (Everyone else, too.)  ~  JH

"WHY MOM NEVER GAVE ME 
CHICKEN MILK AS A KID"

Why Mom never gave me Chicken Milk as a kid, I'll never know. Because this stuff is awesome! And healthy, too! It's simple enough to make. You take a whole chicken, minus the skin and bones, and drop it in your handy-dandy, albeit massively huge food processor and purée that sucker till it's just a bunch of mush. Add three-quarters of a cup of milk per pound of chicken and simmer in a large sauce pan for 36 minutes. When it's piping hit, you pour an appropriate amount into your favorite frosted mug and you're ready to enjoy it. For those of you who've never experienced the aroma, the taste, the creamy goodness of Chicken Milk, well – I can't really explain it in a way that would do it justice. You just have to try it. Now that I've gotten the hang of it, I'm thinking of branching out into other meat/drink hybrids. Turkey Soda, Hamburger-Aid, and of course, Bacon Water. The possibilities are endless! Chug-a-lug!

Per Your Suggestion: "Rainbow Hamsters vs. Monster Cookies"

This "crazy title" was submitted by Taylor Evans. When I first read her suggestion, I thought, "Oh, boy, what in the world am I going to do with this?" But then I got an idea. And this was it. Hope you like it, Taylor. (Hope everyone else does, too.)  ~  JH

"RAINBOW HAMSTERS VS. MONSTER COOKIES"

The three brightly colored rodents crouched impatiently at the starting line. To their right, the three gargantuan sugary snacks glared menacingly at the track ahead. This was going to be an epic race.

The Rainbow Hamsters – a genetic curiosity, resulting from ordinary house pets being crossbred with crayons – were clearly the underdogs, despite their swift-moving feet. True, they were seriously overmatched in the size department. But size was not everything, they understood.

The Monster Cookies – pathetic mutants themselves, with their dripping fangs, razor-sharp claws, and piercing quills – were poised to win for the fourth year in a row. Their advantage was in the rules of the game – or, to be more precise, its lack of rules.

The starting gun was fired, and the racers were off. Lukas, the youngest of the Rainbow Hamsters, quickly took the lead. But as he rounded the first bend, Glorg – the undisputed leader of the Monster Cookies – took Lukas down with a quill to the hip. Lukas hit the track hard and helplessly rolled off onto the grass, panting and squeaking.

Hundy, a tough but runty Rainbow Hamster, saw Lukas go down but refused to let it stop her. She pressed forward with all her might, determined to win the race. She never saw Pok coming until it was too late. The hideous fanged Monster Cookie sunk his teeth into her neck, and she squealed out in pain. She padded a few steps farther, but no longer had the strength to go on. She slunk off to the grass to lick her wounds.

Glorg and Pok head-butted each other, the Monster Cookie way of congratulating a friend. Cookie crumbles rained down around them, but they didn't seem to notice. Their work here was done. All that remained was to finish the race. Rilpas would make sure that that wouldn't be a problem.

Tila – the oldest Rainbow Hamster, but by no means a pushover – glanced back briefly and sighed as she saw one, then two of her fellow Hamsters defeated by the devilish Monster Cookies. She tried not to let the tears cloud her vision, but couldn't stop them from coming nonetheless. She ran as fast as she could – hardly as speedy as the others, but still – until the finish line was in her sights.

Rilpas, the ugliest and most evil of all the Monster Cookies, let the pitiful little rodent in front of him think that she had a chance. He'd given Tila a head start from the get-go, and allowed the gap to open further once his associates had taken down Lukas and Hundy. Maybe he'd even let her approach the finish line, only to take her out just before she crossed the ribbon. Either way, there was no chance of her winning.

Rilpas glanced back at Glorg and Pok, who were jogging slowly – not caring if they won, as long as the Monster Cookies didn't lose – and gave them a devious smile. Back in front of him, Tila was 20 yards away from the finish line. Time to make his move.

Tila heard the clomp-clomp-clomp of the Monster Cookie's feet advancing toward her at a frightening rate of speed. Just ahead was the finish line. It was not so far. She could make it, couldn't she? Then an idea came to her.

Rilpas was astonished to see the small Rainbow Hamster stop in her tracks. This was going to be easier than he thought. He sneered sadistically as Tila turned to face him. She was smiling. What was this?

Tila tried to hide the shaking that she felt, deep within her. The plastered-on grin must have been convincing, for Rilpas' sneer turned to a look of utter confusion.

A moment before, she'd remembered something about Monster Cookies. Something that neither Lukas nor Hundy would have known. An ancient knowledge, known only by Tila because she was ancient – in Hamster years, at least.

Tila had remembered that – despite their inherent cruelty and outright evil behavior – the Monster Cookies were compulsively polite. Indeed, it was so deeply ingrained in them that they could scarcely control their impulses. And she would use this to her advantage with Rilpas.

She smiled a little harder, confounding Rilpas further, then spoke softly, "After you, Rilpas."

Without even thinking, the Monster Cookie extended a hand toward the finish line, and growled, "No, no. After you. I insist."

"Alright," grinned Tila. And she crossed the finish line.

Rilpas' jaw dropped hard and fast. Glorg and Pok reached him at that moment and stared at him in wonder.

"What was that?" shouted Glorg.

"Yeah," added Pok. "Why'd you let her win?"

"She wanted me to go first. But I insisted that…"

 All three Monster Cookies slapped at their own foreheads furiously, cursing their race for its confounded courtesy, while knowing that there was absolutely nothing they could do about it anyway.

Tila beamed happily as the medal was placed around her neck. Lukas and Hundy flanked her – she mostly supporting them – in victory. This time, the good guys had won.

Per Your Suggestion: "Mario's Slimy Pants"

I had the (probably insane) idea yesterday to have my (wonderfully creative) Facebook friends suggest some crazy titles from which I might be able to write (somewhat coherent) stories. 

The response was pretty good (if slightly overwhelming), and I am now committed to the task of coming up with what promises to be some truly weird (probably insane) stuff. That's okay. I'm up for the challenge. (I might as well be, right?) 

First up, an original poem – sorry, not a story, per se, though it does tell a tale of sorts – based on a "crazy title" which was submitted by Cade and Claire Anderson via their mom, Julie Anderson. Hope y'all enjoy this one. If it elicits at least one giggle, it was worth the effort.  ~  JH

"MARIO'S SLIMY PANTS"

Mario sat sneezing, without covering his nose.

Now he's covered in snot from his knees to his toes.

Mario ate a sandwich, peanut butter and jelly.

But he dropped a big glop just below his big belly.

Mario made friends with a slug he called Cap

Now there's glistening trails all over Mario's lap.

Mario would like to change, if given the chance

For he finds that he's now wearing quite slimy pants!

Story # 3: "The Bed Bugs Bite"

This one is more like a nightmare than a story, but make no mistake – it's most definitely fiction. I would implore you to enjoy it, but I know you won't. I didn't while I was writing it. The best I can say is: endure it. It's sick, it's icky, but it all ends quickly.  ~  JH



It never occurred to me to wash the sheets. I don't mean recently. I mean ever. So it shouldn't have come as a surprise when the itching started. At first, it was my ear, just above the lobe. I wrote it off as perhaps a stray hair that had found its way where it didn't belong. Then it was my back, right at the center in between the shoulder blades. I did think I was bitten that time. But it certainly wasn't the first time, and I'd never died of a bug bite before. So I scratched the spot as best I could and rolled over to go back to sleep. But sleep would not come again this night. As soon as my face hit the pillow, the itching began again, creeping down from my scalp to my neck, across my chest, and down one arm. I scratched at my skin urgently, violently, doubtlessly drawing my own blood. After a brief respite, I felt the too-familiar burning, itchy feeling at my waist and then down the front of both my legs. I scratched and scratched until my skin hung in shreds. Literally. And then I knew. It was time to wash the sheets.

Story # 2: "The Rub"

So I guess I'm in "story mode" again. Here's another new one I just cooked up. It was inspired by a curious green car I saw driving down the road this morning. Enjoy!  ~  JH

"THE RUB"

You painted your car a vibrant mint green color. It's by no means the best paint job you've ever seen, but certainly not the worst either. At the very least, it serves its purpose. Despite its light pastel shade, you can no longer clearly see the blood stains. You were surprised when the car wash didn't take care of that. The car's interior was a different matter altogether. The seats were fabric -- albeit a deep gray -- but the blood had soaked in deep and there was no concealing those rust-colored stains or that coppery smell. You had to rip it all out and start over. You'd never reupholstered a car before, despite your extensive experience in the business. It's every bit as hard as you thought. In this, however, you believe you succeeded greatly -- even beyond that of your amateurish but surprisingly effective paint job. There's only one thing that troubles you now. No matter what you've tried -- patching it, filling it, etc. -- you can't manage to make the bullet hole appear to be anything other than it is. And there's the rub. 

Story #1: "Arrow Head"

I didn't set any specific goal for story-writing this year, simply deciding instead to write whenever and however I feel inspired. And this afternoon I was. Here's a brief, 185-word excursion into a very twisted imagination – mine. Enjoy?  ~  JH

"ARROW HEAD"

I wake up with an arrow in my head. I don't know how it got there, but it hurts quite a bit. Apparently, I have an enemy I didn't know I'd made. There's a pool of dried or drying blood on my pillow, so I either napped at the scene of the crime or was dumped here after the fact. As I try to sit up, I realize that I'm feeling more than a little woozy. I must have lost a fair amount of blood. Which isn't surprising considering I've always been a free bleeder. (Don't ask why I know that.) I'm also a little confused, so I think I had better call the cops. Why would someone want to kill me? I'm not that annoying, am I? Perhaps an enthusiastic but spatially misguided child was practicing his archery skills and I inadvertently stepped into his path – just a simple case of being in the wrong place at the right time. Or maybe it's just because it's Tuesday and that's the way it is. Either way, I'd better notify someone before I completely lose consciousne...

Interesting Quotes By Guys Named Malcolm

"Every defeat, every heartbreak, every loss, 

contains its own seed, its own lesson on 

how to improve your performance the next time."

~  Malcolm X, activist

"The purpose of education is to replace 

an empty mind with an open one."

~  Malcolm Forbes, publisher

"Monkeys are superior to men in this: when a 

monkey looks into a mirror, he sees a monkey."

~  Malcolm de Chazal, writer

"Let us be honest with each other. The threat to 

marriage is not the gays. It is a lack of loving 

commitment – whether it is found in the form of 

neglect, indifference, cruelty, or adultery – 

to name just a few manifestations of the loveless 

desert in which too many marriages come to grief."

~  Malcolm Turnbull, politician

"One of the peculiar sins of the twentieth 

century which we've developed to a very 

high level is the sin of credulity. It has been 

said that when human beings stop believing 

in God they believe in nothing. The truth is 

much worse: they believe in anything."

~  Malcolm Muggeridge, journalist

"Government, which does not and did not 

grant us our rights, must not now seek to 

deny them by using fear as its justification."

~  Malcolm Wallop, politician

"I was taught that to create anything you had 

to believe in failure, simply because you had 

to be prepared to go through an idea without 

any fear. Failure, you learned, to be a wonderful 

thing. It allowed you to get up in the morning 

and take the pillow off your head."

~  Malcolm McLaren, musician

"Reconciliation requires changes of heart and

spirit, as well as social and economic change.

It requires symbolic as well as practical action."

~  Malcolm Fraser, politician

"However one might pray – in any verbal way 

or completely without words – is unimportant 

to God. What matters is the heart's intent."

~  Malcolm Boyd, clergyman

"Music is the social act of communication among 

people, a gesture of friendship, the strongest there is."

~  Malcolm Arnold, composer

"What do we tell our children? Haste makes waste. 

Look before you leap. Stop and think. Don't judge

 a book by its cover. We believe that we are always

 better off gathering as much information as possible 

and spending as much time as possible in deliberation."

~  Malcolm Gladwell, author

"Culture is a way of coping with 

the world by defining it in detail."

~  Malcolm Bradbury, novelist

"Age is not different from earlier life 

as long as you're sitting down."

~  Malcolm Cowley, critic

"If our civilization were to 

sober up for a couple of days,

 it'd die of remorse on the third."

~  Malcolm Lowry, poet

"Appreciate every opportunity that comes to you."

~  Malcolm Smith, Super Bowl XLVIII MVP