Literature
So many countries claim Ms. Purée as their own. But you saw some eating plain boiled potatoes, which practically the whole world grabbed onto.
Two more potato relatives have been unearthed: we here introduce Ms. Pomme de Terre Frite, and her distant cousin, Ms. Pomme Puree.
When does a storm of stupid so abrade the land that the choice is either Deicide or rolling the whole human enterprise into the soft dirt of a fresh grave?
I found a dead rat today, attempting to make its way home into my attic, stricken with the poison I so carefully left by its front door.
Love in a Time of Sickness: A bomb went off riding waves from East to West, an army of mindless motes marched off to a microscopic war.
I can't do anything for you, dear Dr. Ford so for the first time in three months I Swiffer my floor; meanwhile you are speaking for 51 percent of women...
Pomme de Four (or Courgette, as our heroine liked to be called) wondered, "Why cling to one life when you can have more than one?"
Oo la la! Ms. Potage looked around. She'd passed the test, and the officials anointed her with finely-ground sea salt and red ribbons.
"Escape means different things to different people," thought Pomme, as she sat in that icy cold place meant to stop her aging.
We meet her in a white loneliness whose walls are a shiny white with the faint whirr of a machine as if far off, and she, a beauty, uncovered and ashamed.