The Finger of Shame

Here's a story- There once was a young girl named Bootsie. She was a great young gal. "How was she so great?" you may be asking, and for very good reason. Because she was so great at video games, and playing the ukulele, and making a mean guacamole. But one day, it all went to her head. One fateful day, her video game machine broke. Then her ukulele's strings all snapped. Then she tried cutting an avocado to make her mean guacamole, and she sliced her index finger off. Even though it was quite painful, she kept at it, and she made that guac, even though it was bloody, and she was in quite a bit of pain. "Here honey," she said, setting a bowl of bloody guacamole before her husband, Rex, who did not appreciate her video game playing, her ukulele playing, or her mean guacamole, like he really should. "This isn't guacamole," he said. "It's just a big bowl of blood. Hey, where'd your finger go? I swear you had a finger last time I saw you." "Oh, it's right here," she said, pulling it out of her apron pocket, and then she gouged his eyes out with it. She wasn't having any of his sass anymore. He screamed and clutched at his eyes, or what used to be his eyes. He crumpled to the floor, his screams filling the cavernous space of their 50 million dollar mansion. Bootsie just stood there and watched him, holding her severed finger in her hand, an eyeball stuck to the fingernail. If she felt any remorse about the gruesome deed, her face did not show it.

Traffic

Have you ever thought about traffic? We hate it so much, right? But what is traffic, really? Road. Sea. Sky. Just people moving from point to point. We wish there was no traffic. We wish there were no other people, anywhere. We wish we had the whole road to ourselves, the whole flight to ourselves, the whole lake to ourselves. What a strange thing to think, that our lives would be better without traffic. You would just be a lonely little pebble in the universe. Nobody else around.