Ha! You think you're going to hear a story about me but you're wrong. I knew exactly what he was up to, eyeing me like that, trying to conjure up his fantasy. I focused my mind and stopped him with my look. He won't think a complete sentence for hours. Nobody's going to do that to me. Not even in their imagination. He was messing with the wrong girl. Pictures aren't always harmless, you know. But I think you and I might get along together. For example, are you thinking what I'm thinking? Yes you are. I can tell by looking at you. The same way I did with him. I sent him to bed. But without his decadent daydream. And now, if you would step to one side of the frame with me...

Story #59

Hi, I'm Loretta and these are my friends. We're the pixies who live inside your PC. Every time you type something in on the keyboard I run over to gather up the letters and carry them back here to the files. My friend Mirella is good with numbers. Sometimes, when it gets boring, I give her a zero to divide by. She never succeeds but it's fun to watch her try! Something like if you'd try saying "Loretta Mirella" over and over a hundred times. Oh, and here's Herman. He's in charge of security. He throws logs on the firewall and keeps the viruses away from us. What's that Mirella? Yes. I think so, too. Look, I'm terribly sorry about this, but we've decided to crash your PC for a while. It's such a lovely day, we feel like going out to play in the sun.

Story #58

Pamela had developed a severe paranoia. She believed there were hands behind her, poised to grab her head and run away with it. It was futile to turn around and bite at the waiting fingers. There was never anything there. At least not anything she could see. But that did not fool her. The hands were real, belonging to an invisible being from Planet X. She was certain of this. The psychiatrists loved Pamela's condition, the way it was so easy to diagnose. The joke, however, was on everyone. Invisible beings from Planet Y, always happy to irritate and thwart the plans of their enemies on X, had abducted Pamela one night, hypnotized her, and bolted her head securely in place.

Story #57

Everyone at the beach ran screaming as they saw the shark. Not only was it a killer shark, it dashed out of the water and commenced chasing people on legs it had somehow managed to evolve. It also brandished a submachine gun in arms just as perfectly evolved, if not somewhat skinny. The ambidextrous hands seemed dangerously capable of pulling the trigger. Upon closer inspection it turned out not to be a shark at all. It was an unfortunate vacationer who had gone off balance after a harrowing assault with sand. The Charles Atlas Fitness method hadn't helped him so he got himself a shark suit and a gun. Fortunately the automatic weapon had been rendered unusable by the salt water and the costume restricted his movements. The girls who had run screaming returned and kicked sand in his face.

Story #56

Girl 1: Come into the water.
Girl 2: Oh yes. Do come in. We're nice girls.
Girl 1: We won't bite you
Girl 2: Of course not. And we won't try to dunk you.
Girl 1: No, not us. We're not strong enough.
Girl 2: Not nearly as strong as you. We're so vulnerable.
Girl 1: Yes, I'm sure we three can have a lot of fun together in the water.
Girl 2: If my bikini happens to slip off, you will look the other way, won't you?
Girl 1: That's been happening a lot lately. I keep telling her to tie better knots.
Girl 2: Oh, do come in.
Girl 1: Yes, do.
Girl 2: Well, aren't you coming in?
Girl 1: Aren't you? Please don't leave.
Girl 2: Damn! He's leaving!
Girl 1: Someone must have tipped him off.
Girl 2: Oh, how will we ever get our pet shark fed?

Story #55

Chief Terobero of the Island of Tunga was diving for cola cans. He had adopted them as the legal tender of his island at a rate of four coconuts per can. The thousand year old remnants of the cola age occasionally washed onto the peaceful reefs surrounding what had once been called Manhattan. The cans, still containing their mysterious liquids, were kept at the Tungan National Treasury stacked in decorative displays, much as they had been in the ancient supermarkets of the vanished civilization that had produced them. The Tungans never opened the cans to drink the juices inside. The medicine man had issued a stern warning as to the consequences. But he need not have. Evil spirits were rumored to live in the cans, and anyway, the islanders preferred coconut milk.

Story #54

Roger had just turned into a dog. The first thought that crossed his mind was meat. "I recently bought some choice sirloin steaks. Now, where might I have put them?" He remembered storing his purchase in the refrig- refrig- woof. Big words were getting hard to think. "Meat. Kitchen. Woof." he thought to himself. "Woof woof meow. Meow!?" Why "meow"? Something was definitely wrong with him. He was a dog, but he didn't feel absolutely essentially like a dog. A new thought popped up. "Stick. Stick. Chase stick." That made him feel better. The sound of an opening door caught his attention. He couldn't put it into words, but he hoped it was his mistress bringing him a mouse to play with.

Story #53

Let me entrance you. There is such power in my body. Depending on how my eyes meet you I am mother, lover, diva or muse. I can give birth to your daydreams. I can show you attraction that will never let you go. My nuances have you completely in my power. I transform the light that tastes me. How will I show myself to you this time? Someone to hold? Someone to adore from afar? --- That knocking. Who? The art class? They're waiting for me? I'll think about this later. I have to go out now and pose for them.

Story #52

Note from Indeterminacy: A big Thank You and belated Happy Birthday to Livinia Red Lips who found this photo for me.

The party was getting hot now. The DJ had laid on a new type of soul sound but instead of freezing in stunned silence the guests at the Disco Inferno continued the to and fro movements merged so intricately with the beat of the music. One by one the dancers burst into flame, twitching ever more rhythmically, their deepest lusts feeding the fire that consumed them. Air and body heat sweltered to the temperature of lava as swaying embers of men and women intermingled as one. A single dancer was seized suddenly by indecision: to continue the free fall into the final anonymity of smouldering ashes or struggle his way through the burning lusts and put on an ABBA CD.

Story #51

Max was a first class magician. He could cause a lamp to appear out of nowhere and hover over his head. He could make the lamp glow. He could conjure up beautiful women to sit on his shoulders. He could pluck apples from the women's bodies and juggle the luscious fruits in the air. But there was more to life than all that. Max's contemplations soon developed a more existential essence. He realized that he was only a fragment of an author's imagination. He was also aware that this particular author had an especially grim way of dealing with his characters. He read his author well. Perhaps the two women would pelt him with fruit, or peel him like a banana. And if that wasn't enough, when the story ended he would ultimately cease to exist. Taking action, he froze the apples in mid-spin and concentrated intensely. The writer of these lines was aware of Max's intentions and attempted to end the story as quickly as possible, but before completing the final sentence dealing with Max and rescuing a point of wisdom out of the narrative, the author found himself wandering in the mountains of southern Poland far removed from the Internet.

Story #50

Since I got that chip wired into my brain I can have nine different emotions at the same time. It's so awesome. Before the operation I could only feel simple things. I'd be happy, sad, mad. But nothing in between. That made me really angry. With the chip I can match and merge my moods as I need them. If a guy I can't stand tells me he likes me I just press buttons 1,3,5,7 and 8 on the remote control. Then he goes away. If I'm crazy about him I press buttons 2,4,6 and 9. And he stays. If I'm fighting with my parents over a new boyfriend I press all the buttons at once. They freak and run into the bedroom. I feel the right stuff at parties, funerals, and concerts when the music is cool. But what do I do now? The neighbor's new garage door opener is on the exact same frequency as my remote control!

Story # 49

The parade was incessant. It marched, marched from city to city all around the globe. Wherever it approached it triggered mass actions to join. People ran frantically from closet to closet until locating the white clothes and the scarlet hat and bandana which must be worn. Snare drums, bass drums, kettle drums were hastily organized, any instrument of percussion. In larger towns you could chose from drums and uniforms piled high in front of city hall. A fortunate few were given cymbals. The beat of the drums solidified into a rhythmic wall of sound that sent out its hooks and dragged in young and old alike. Everyone must join. Everyone must march. Soon everyone did.

Story #48

Hannah had a pair of x-ray glasses she wore whenever she had a boy in her room. "Ah what nice bones you have," she'd say. The boy usually thanked her for the compliment and hoped to initiate other matters, but she was only beginning. "Ohmigod, what IS that in your small intestine?" - she'd blurt out suddenly - "Maybe you'd better sit still for a while." After a time it became quite unsettling for the boy. "I wonder if that cherry pit is going to make it through the appendix," she'd speculate, and eye his abdomen with tense excitement. "Oh, this is going to be good!" she'd conclude with an expectant quiver in her voice. That usually got the boy to stand up and run to the nearest emergency room. Of course, if it was someone she really liked, she took off the glasses and kissed him.

Story #47

He was devoted to the statue. The seductive aesthetic of her form, the numbing perfection of her proportions cast a spell that eased ever deeper into his soul. It stunned him the first time he saw her. He stared then into her eyes for what seemed like hours before finally gathering the courage to move closer and place his arm around her. It was a moment of magic. The cars driving by sounded like angels singing and he never wanted to leave her. But as he could not stay and she could not go away with him, they finally had to part. Following that first encounter he came to her at every opportunity, lovingly wiping the pigeon droppings from her unclothed body. Entire evenings found him there, sharing the quiet solitude of his thoughts with her, feeling himself drawn ever closer to his Goddess. It was a devastating shock that one day when he arrived and found her standing with another man.

Story #46

I'm quite a capitalist, you haveta admit. Don't be fooled by the color red you see me wearing. Made a great deal on the Brooklyn Bridge today, got it for $100. That guy was a complete jerk. Talked him down from $500. Thought he could pull a fast one on me! The damn cables are rusted! After that I felt so good I bought my wife this Brooklyn sweatshirt. It's a Christian Dior, without the label. A steal at $75. Now, I don't wanna brag, but how 'bout that ocean behind us? Pretty nice ocean, huh? Just traded the Brooklyn Bridge for it. Plus $200 for the salt. Wheeling and dealing. High finance. Big business. It's working for me now!

Story #45

What if I hold this pencil? Does that help? Do I at least look like an author? I'm trying my most concentrated gaze. Is it intellectual enough? The glasses are in the right place, aren't they? Look, I know they're in the right style. I checked all the pictures. It's authentic! What if I think "Steppenwolf Steppenwolf Demian Demian" over and over? That must help! C'mon! This could be my big break, the one I've been working towards all my life. I just gotta win the Hermann Hesse look-alike contest. How will I ever face my creative writing class if I lose?

Story #44

- Doctor, I'm really worried about this. My shadow is too small. Is there anything you can do for me?
- We could try a shadow enlargement, but sometimes the shadows do get rather large and threatening. It might scare people.
- What about adding a second shadow, same size as this?
- And have two small shadows?
- Yes, I get awfully lonely sometimes.
- It could be done, but we'd have to find a donor.
- How about a nice girl's shadow?
- Hmmm. Might be interesting, if the two shadows – get along.

Story #43

The boy carried his girlfriend around with him wherever he went. Whether on the beach, to parties, in buses. Even as a child she preferred to be carried instead of walking herself. It had become a habit that was impossible to break. Her parents were to blame, of course, but they had washed their hands of the whole affair and moved permanently into their summer home in Florida. When it came time for the boy to end the relationship with the girl he could not just put her down. He would have to wait for another boy to hand her over to.

Story #42

The three girls were turning into trees. They had been to doctors, specialists, tried all kinds of medicines. Even the tree surgeon was mystified, snapping out of a lustful stare to tell them there was nothing he could do for them, as they indeed seemed to be turning into remarkably healthy trees. Each day new leaves grew into place, and their limbs felt like wood. The girls became frantic, at times stumbling through the forest in panic. They didn't want to become trees! One morning they could no longer move as nimbly as they had been accustomed, and the thick foliage began to smother them. It would not be long. They resigned to say their adieus to everyone. As they repeated their tearful farewell to the gardener, he shook with hearty laughter. Upon recovering he told the girls how silly they had been. Now they came to him twice a week to have their bark removed and their leaves trimmed away. The gardener knowing how to treat plants, and the girls knowing how to treat gardeners, it goes without saying that they all lived happily ever after.

Story #41

In the future there were no more men! It had been a shock when the last surviving specimen had consummated the extinction of his gender. Exhaustion was the diagnosis, a consequence of services enjoying such high demand. Women were sad at first but continued their lives. Brilliant female architects conceived and erected obelisk-like museums to fill the need of nostalgia. There women could be reminded of how men had been. The man-models were so realistic women often found themselves climbing into bed with them. Then they had to giggle.

Story #40