Let us wallow in our favorite Lost Causes:
Halloween Candy kept in the freezer in hopes of preventing further hauntings.
Finishing that novel that doesn't make use of the word “Yelping.”
Public Aquariums.
Reopening the roller skate factory.
Petitioning the Vatican for permission to use the word “pew” in mixed company.
Scraping the residue from the inside corner windshield sticker promoting Dad's failed sticker-making business and still functional but abandoned sticker-making machine.
The Tree People hate the Pencil Sharpener People.
The Garbage Bag People hate the Fancy People.
The Upside Down People hate the Mind Yer Own Bidness Collective.
The Men with Metal Arms People hate The Up All Nite Crowd.
The River People hate The Jukebox People.
The Elephant Slide People hate Just About Everybody.
All these hatreds, all this enmity, it all traces back to one ugly misunderstanding. Which centers on a Book on Tape World franchise made worthless by the global economy.
And a church picnic.
Garden hose diplomacy. That's how you get rid of cobras.
Oh zing! That electric snap goes right up to the ears. Ellis’ fists involuntarily clenched. For the next thirty seconds, he was in command. Troubled birth and a childhood of forced napping vanished. He was taller. Eager to bite through low-grade masonry. This was the thrill Ellis felt each time he ordered his underlings to lie on the ground, servile and silent, as he walked barefoot across their faces. Doubt evaporated, and there, atop the mountain stood Ellis.
Endless Regret Catches Us All.
Babylonian sundials. That's actually the name of a disease. Terrible disease. Thankfully all but eradicated by modern science. In the early 20th century it swept across eastern Europe, leaving thousands unable to touch their own necks. Their necks didn't disappear, you see. Their fingers didn't fall off, for the most part. The disease just made a person's neck skin bunch up and smell like oatmeal. Not the good kind with fruit in it or maple syrup. The disgusting kind of oatmeal nuns use to wash their feet. The kind industry uses to make envelope glue and retching powder. And the neck skin is never the same. The person isn't the same. It's only contagious for a few weeks and then the purple-gray color lessens. And, although invisible to the outside, the victim...
