Gassy-mac-gas-gas

It is silent. Suddenly, an explosion. Now it is not so silent. The end.

I was at the club the other night. Had a few drinks in me, was feeling pretty good about myself – little liquid confidence, you know? Stud in a bottle, all that noise. And, anyway, I spotted this group of girls across the bar. Real bunch of hotties, man. This cute little brunette in particular caught my eye – long, wavy hair; pouty lips; big brown eyes. Real good looking girl. So you know, like I said, I was feeling pretty good, and you know, I thought, what the hell? Go up and say something. Be clever. Get her attention, you know? Maybe segue into drinks or something – dancing, a little alone time maybe. Whatever. I mean, just

Cat Story By McKenzie Richards The cat didn't know just what it was, but at that moment, sitting in its man's lap, hearing the mindless hum of the chilly wind outside and the endless tick-tock of the miniature grandfather above the fireplace, it felt something change. The feeling was like a fine wire being slid across its back: subtle but sharp. It knew the man felt it, too, as his rhythmic breathing caught with a startled choke. The cat was a fat calico, about eight years old, whose given name was Coco – a name that never failed to elicit curiosity and muted irritation. It had been with the man for two years, and though it had warmed