Untitled

by Katie Rose Krueger

flap, wreck, knuckles, chalk, capsule, martyr

She found herself sitting inside her car.  Abandoned parking lot miles from her home.  She was not prepared to face the shame.  How could one ever prepare? She sat gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white as chalk. She released her hold and breathed deeply. Breathed again. She felt calmer, and could now decipher her next move.

She pulled at the small flap of skin hanging from her lip. A chapped mouth from the bitter winter outside her window. It was a bad habit she’d had since childhood.  The slight taste of blood instantly hit her tongue. She reached in her coat pocket for lip balm and slicked it on. Instant relief.  If only it could be that simple now.

She knew her mother must be a complete wreck. Hearing the news and then watching her daughter careen off into the sunset. Lord knows where to, or if she’ll return.  But she had to escape. There was no possibility for discussion. Freedom.  That’s what she needed in order to think.

As she breathed a little easier, her plan became clear:  Revenge.   She would get back at the ones responsible for making her brother suffer. Her poor, innocent brother who can’t leave the house until this is set right.

She drove to her destination, approached the building and knocked on the door.  No answer. Perfect. She found the key behind a broken shingle on the house, and let herself in.  Empty.

She opened the freezer and found the green and orange pills instantly. She carefully removed the cap, and pulled out a single pill.  Gently opening the capsule, she poured the powder onto her outstretched tongue and winced.  It tasted like dead rose petals.  But the effects were instantaneous.  She now viewed the world as one of them.  She emptied the rest of the pills into the garbage disposal and turned it on.  A cloud of colorful dust whizzed into the air and settled back into the sink.  She grinned, knowing she’d be the last one to feel the effects of the drug.

She ran swiftly on her strong legs towards the Old Barn. She felt faster now due to the elixir in her system.  The sun had set, and the darkened sky was a perfect cloak for her plan.  She spotted the culprits immediately, squatting around a fire exactly where she thought they would be.  She shook off the high from the adrenaline, and the drug, and took her aim carefully.

Suddenly, hands grabbed her from behind and pulled her down to the ground, hard.  Despite the darkness, she could tell it was their leader, glaring at her from above. As he dragged her towards the gang, she thought of her mother, and how she did not want her to be labeled as a martyr for her brother’s condition.

Completely surrounded by her brother’s foes, her hands tied behind her back, she could not believe her luck.  They did not know she took the pill… She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead of sound, a bright emerald flame emerged, covering the gang with grape-colored spots, the same ones found on her brother’s skin.  They yelped from the first bit of pain, but immediately broke into laughter.  These were no ordinary spots; they were extremely ticklish.

Triumphant, she broke free and marched away from the Old Barn, ready to return home to her mother and spotted brother.  She felt relief as the effects of the drug melted away, and the sensation of success took over.

Her brother hugged her when he heard the story, though her mother did not look convinced.  She put a hand on her mom’s shoulder and slowly pulled up her pant leg to reveal grape-colored spots.   Her mother realized what her clever daughter had done.   Her son would go from being harassed, to being a trend-setter.  The family was saved.

She hugged her mother and went upstairs to her room.  She looked around to make sure no one was watching, and slowly pulled out a green and orange pill. She examined it, and then hid it safely inside her sock drawer, just in case.  She giggled as she changed into her pajamas, the flannel brushing the ticklish spots on her leg.  The sacrifice was worth it, though.  No one messes with her brother.

Spots or no spots, we’re all just people…

Re-Start at the Beginning

by Rachael Harrington

beginner, essential, shag, bleakly, fuzzy, rotten

The beginning. Ok let's see. Hmmm. The beginning.

Dora looked out over the raging ocean and felt in her deepest, most secret chamber of her heart that something essential was missing in her life.

What? Wait, no. That's. that's. it's too broad. Oh, and it's pretty stale writing. Too misty, too touchy feeling right up front. And you couldn't think of a better name than Dora? I need a snack.
Ok. Here we go. The beginning.

Clara jumped into the ocean like a sports illustrated model, knowing for certain that surt one of the muscled, bronzed boys would- after this spectacle- want to sha-

Oh, lord. I just wrote the first sentence of my very first adult novel, and I guess my main character is a senior citizen named Clara. Really. Clara?
Maybe I need to stretch first.
Ok, that's better. Just dive in.

Janet stared bleakly out the window of her dead husbands beach house.

Ok, I'm just gonna stop myself right there. Your problem started with the name Janet.
Go get some water, Harrington.
Ok. Just ... Don't try so hard. Just be yourself. Let it flow.

When the cold water of the Atlantic hit Willow's toes for the first time, it slammed her mind with the jarring recollection of her her families first vacation.

Hmmm. Ok. Maybe this one. But it's not quite working. Lets see-

When the warm water of the Mediterranean lapped onto Willow's toes for the first time, a fuzzy recollection of her family's first vacation floated through her mind.

Yeah. I kinda dig this. I think this could go some where. I mean a girl named Willow? That's a girl on a journey!

I wonder of professor Rodriguez will think this is a rotten art history essay?

White Girlz

by Justin Jain

brown, gurgling, coil, dangerous, headache, constant

Taylor is a brown girl, light skinned. At St. Mary's prep school she is the only one in the 9th grade of her kind. Her friends think it's sooo cool to have a "black friend" and find themselves absently joking about Beyoncé's new secret album, where her 3rd track sounds like she's gurgling some guy's semen. "Black girls are so cray cray."

"I know, right?" Says Taylor.

This is the point when Taylor begins to coil up all of the confusion, the anger, the frustration, the shame, her sadness into a tight ball. Buries it deep in that dangerous place she calls "my dark matter." She laughs it off and goes to Chemistry.

Her headache is constant. Perhaps tomorrow she'll say something to those stupid fucking white girls.

Rug-Pocalypse: A Short (Role) Play

By Ross Compton

beginner, essential, shag, bleakly, fuzzy, rotten

There are rugs everywhere. They vary in shape, size and color. Many cover the floor. Some are stuck to the walls. Others hang from the ceiling. All of them are vibrant and furry, as if made from Muppet flesh. Just rugs, rugs and more rugs. The only non-rug item in the room is an old, wooden chair that sits at the center of it all. Eventually, we see an old man wearing nothing but rags hobble on. He has a long tree branch that he uses as a walking stick. He makes his way to the chair and sits very slowly. He turns to us, the audience.

OLD MAN

I ‘member life before the End of Days. I might be the only one, though. That’s why I took it upon m’self to tell others of what once was. It’s essential to keep the past alive. People come--well, what’s left a people, anyway-- they come from all over to hear me talk ‘bout it. It does get lonely, I do admit. Cause it’s jus me here. Well, me and Gregory, that is. (Turns to the chair he’s sitting in and addresses it) Ain’t that right, Gregory?

Gregory doesn’t talk. He’s a chair.

OLD MAN

That’s right, Gregory. So anyhow, I-

Looks at the chair, which does and says nothing

OLD MAN

Yeah, Gregory. I understand. Save that for later. (To the audience) I member life was a beautiful-(suddenly to the chair) WILL YOU SHUT UP? JUST SHUT UP! YOU HAD YOUR MOMENT, AND I’M IN NO MOOD TO TALK POLITICS RIGHT NOW! (Back to audience) Damn. I member life was a beautiful kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and feeling. There was buildings as tall as the clouds in the sky. And the clouds in the sky, they was actually clouds instead of the horrible squid-things that shit everywhere like we got now. But the thing I miss the most about the ole world is simple, beautiful, lovely, love. The love between people. Between a man and a woman. Between a man and man. Between a woman and a woman. Between two men and a women. Between two men and then a third man who came later cause he couldn’t find the apartment they was meetin’ at. Between 5 men, 2 woman and then one person who no one can..really figure out what they are. Between a man, by himself, and season 5 of Gilmour Girls on DVD. Between a handful of men and a real big cat. Not like a lion or a tiger, but like just a freakishly huge house cat. Between a freakishly huge house cat and a really tiny horse. Between a miniaturized version of me, riding a really tiny horse through canyons, only the canyons are boobs, and then a bunch Indians show up, and they say “We’re gonna kill, ya.” And I say, they only way ta kill me through my penis, and then we have a boob canyon-orgy. And it’s all set to “The Bends” by Radiohead. That’s really more of a fantasy and couldn’t feasibly happen, I suppose, but honest ta God I just can’t stop thinking about it. (Pause) Love. That’s what I miss the most.

There is a rustling off to the side. It is a huge, fuzzy, PURPLE RUG. The biggest one in sight. It begins to vibrate, and emits a low, almost feminine moan. The OLD MAN stares, and for the first time, is visibly shaken. He recovers, brushes it off and returns his attention to us, the audience.

OLD MAN

So you’re all probably wonderin’, “what happened to love”? You’re also thinking, “what’s with all the rugs”? And probably, “why are they shitty-ass squids in the sky”? Well I can tell ya that. Ain’t that right, Gregory?

Gregory does nothing again. OLD MAN suddenly looks incredibly offended. He slowly stands up, picks up the chair and bashes it against the floor again and again and again until all that’s left is splinters.

OLD MAN

Asshole. When the apocalypse happened, it come in waves. It also come in many different forms. Some regions of the world got just aliens. Some regions got aliens and an earthquake. I know Germany just exploded. Iceland got sucked in a black hole. Denver is int’resting. In Denver, everybody just got mono. For like 6 months. And that’s it. They all fine now. I’d move up there, but, you know, the altitude is just…..so yeah. It was all s’ strange, though. It was as if earth couldn’t make up its mind on how to end everything. Like it was forced to watch a Roland Emmerich movie marathon and then decided to commit suicide via Roland Emmerich movie plot-lines. It was awful everywhere. But this region. The place that I call home. This twas a special case. The skies opened up. The squids came. Pooped a lot. We thought, that’s not so bad. Sure, there was lots a clean-up. Everything smells like rotten eggs now. But we can deal with it. But see, our punishment was more intricate. More needlessly complicated. Some real convoluted bullshit. It turned out, the squid fecal matter had life giving properties. But it only gave life ta one thing.

The OLD MAN looks around and lifts his hands in the air, indicating the rugs.

OLD MAN

These rugs is sleeping now. That’s just cause they know I gots comp’ney. But when they wake up, only one thing will be on their mind: S-E-X. Not with each other, either. They only want what humans got. For the rug, it’s a most pleasurable, magnificent moment of ecstasy. For the human…well, let’s just say there ain’t no post-coital cigarette.

More moaning from the fuzzy, PURPLE RUG, which actually begins to lurch forward a bit. The OLD MAN turns suddenly, terrified. The fuzzy, PURPLE RUG stops and lies still. The OLD MAN stands there, staring bleakly at the gargantuan mound of purple fuzz. Without looking back at the audience, he begins speaking again.

OLD MAN

Some people call it the rug-pocalypse. Others call it the shag-pocalypse, which is like a play on words I guess on how they’re rugs, and they also like to have sex. Most of the people who used the term shag-pocalypse are dead now, and I’m kinda glad because I really hate puns. I just call it cold, blooded murder. (Takes his walking stick and begins to move closer to the PURPLE RUG.) How do I know all of this you ask? I could say it’s because I’m wise. Because I’ve been around a stretch. But the real answer is much less of a cop out. I know all of this cause a squid told me. Oh, yeah, they can talk. We had coffee. It was fun. (Leans in, as if telling a secret) You know, the squid just took a shit right there in the café. Right there in his seat. So, I don’t think it’s a malicious thing. I’m pretty sure it’s involuntary. I actually feel really bad for those squids.

The PURPLE RUG starts to shake and moan again, only this time, it almost sounds impatient.

OLD MAN

I KNOW! I know. (looks at the audience) I’m afraid…my time has come. I must surrender myself to the carnal desires of this relentless, mutant throw rug. Just member, that love…love was once beautiful. And not some weird-ass, David Lynchian nightmare on acid.

The PURPLE CARPET seems to open up, as if to accept him. The OLD MAN drops his stick, and resigns himself to his fate. He drops his pants and slowly starts to lower himself onto the carpet. He then stops and pulls himself back up, as if not ready. The PURPLE RUG moans impatiently. He starts to lower himself again, slowly. Suddenly a hand comes out of the rug and pulls on him. He pulls away with the strength and agility of a young man. This is because he is a young man.

OLD MAN

Stop, stop, stop! I can’t do it, Jess. I’m sorry. I just can’t.

A young woman emerges from the rug. We see that it was actually several rugs that had been duck taped to herself.

JESS

What?!?! Honey, we were so close! WE WERE SO CLOSE! What happened!

OLD MAN

I don’t know! Things were going really well. I was talking about squid poop and Gilmour Girls and I was like “Yeah, this is hot. Awesome.” But then I started going into the whole “what love USED to be”. That love WAS beautiful. And it just, made me sad. And scared.

JESS

I just don’t understand it, Glenn. We’ve tried so many things. And I feel that I’ve been patient with you ever step of the way. I was on board when you wanted to start watching videos, and when that didn’t do the trick, we went to therapy together. I went with you to that convention with all the creepy guys in giant bear costumes. And now, I’ve agreed to try this role-play stuff. I’ve been right there with you, Glenn. I understand that you’re having a problem with…us. With intimacy. And I’m willing to do whatever will help us through it. So if you say we need to fabricate a post-apocalyptic scenario for where you’re a wise old sage that talks to no one, and I’m some strange creature that devours you after sex, praying mantis style, I say, “Where can I buy the stage make-up?” What I don’t understand, is how you’re able to keep sabotaging yourself like this.

GLENN

I know. I know.

JESS

And I’m still a beginner at this whole storytelling thing, but why do squids need to be involved at all? We spent 4 hours buying all these rugs at the dollar store and you never mentioned maybe looking for some hoses and suction cups.

GLENN

It was a last minute addition I thought of at the end of Dress Rehearsal, but by then the stores were closed. I’ve been reading a lot of Lovecraft lately and I just wanted to squeeze a Cthulhu homage in there.

JESS

That’s fine, Glenn. But when you mentioned it being a bit convoluted, you weren’t kidding. Not to mention, this is the third chair I’ve let break in a role play scenario. I’m amazed at how you somehow manage to always work that in.

GLENN

I know, I KNOW! It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t make any sense. I guess… as we get closer and closer to the end of the whole role-play, you know, when the actual S-E-X happens, I get more and more nervous. So I start to ramble on about pointless, pop culture bullshit. But the funny thing is, in that web of non-sense I was weaving for myself, I started to find a truth about my…about our situation. When we first started getting serious, and when we were newly-weds, it was so wonderful and…effortless. It was a time when love was beautiful. It was the time before our rug-pocalypse. But now, we’re in our rug-pocalypse. Love feels weird. And I really do miss what it used to be. Back when I didn’t feel uselessand I still felt physically compatible to you. When I wasn’t scared that you might think I don’t love you anymore because of my intimacy issues. That’s not true, I love you more than anything in the whole world. But I completely understand if you’ve had enough. If this is too weird for you, I wouldn’t blame you for leaving.

Pause. Jess takes Glenn’s hand

JESS

Weird can be a good thing. And I think you’re going deaf because I already told you, I will try anything. I know you love me. You show me that every day. Ok?

GLENN

Ok.

JESS

Hey. That whole thing with the tiny horse, and the Indian orgy. Where did that come from?

GLENN

Uh…that. That’s actually….something I’ve thought about.

JESS

Yeah?

GLENN

Yeah.

JESS

So….do you wanna take a look at my boob canyons, tiny cowboy?

GLENN

Oh god. Uh…yeah.

JESS 

You wait here. I’ll go grab “The Bends.”

END OF PLAY

Kevin and the Russians

by Liz Days

brown, gurgling, coil, dangerous, headache, constant

I've always hated the stereotype that just because I've got brown skin, I must be dangerous in some way. And here I was, Ivy League Kevin, locked in the trunk of a pale Russian man's towncar and all I could think was: "oh yeah? Who's gansta now? It's not me!" Who THINKS like that?

I was coming out of "Bar" having too much beer in my body to walk with confidence or choose my direction carefully, all the pizza I ate long since digested. I turned onto crown which was slightly out of the way but I was SURE it would be a good idea to visit my ex girlfriend Anna at this hour. She would DEFINITELY be happy to see me. "Not emotionally open enough? Are you kidding me? Look at me now Anna!"I thought! "I could cry in your arms right now I'm so drunk and then let you cry in MY arms! Look at this guy. You'll wish I was LESS open after tonight. We're gonna cuddd-le like BUNNIES, girl. Like soft-ass RABBITS."

I rambled and rambled in my brain, maybe sometimes outloud. My parents would be so embarrassed right now "are you on drugs, Kev?" Just beer and a drug called love, mom. LOVE. Maybe you've heard of it!?" I reached Anna's off campus shack. I always called it a shack because what kind of landlord would think this pealing paint job was ok?  these "fall through the floor" wooden slats "no problem"?

And that's when I saw him. A man, hiding in Anna's "wish the landlord cared about landscaping" rodadendren. My first thought was "already? So soon? And What are you 16? Having guys crawling out of your bed and into the bushes?"  I got all hot. I was definitely gonna cry. See this is why I don't drink. But then I saw another guy and another. 3 guys.pale and dangerous. Before I had a chance to yell out, a fourth was close behind me coiling something around my neck and pulling me towards a car. He whispered something in Russian (I took an Russian elective in  high school, so I was pretty sure he said "I like cheese" although now that I think again, that was probably not what he said). The cord against my neck hurt, I felt my air being cut off but right when I was able to take a deep breath again, I was lifted and shoved into a trunk, lid slammed. Darkness. Headache. Stomach gurgling. I like cheese, too, Mr. Russian. I like cheese, too.

Power Struggle

by Ryan Krause

brown, coil, gurgling, dangerous, headache, constant

The King used a pond for Andrew's torture. It gave the queen a headache. Her husband was constantly overreacting.

The King's henchman-puppet pushed poor Andrew underwater once again and he wriggled like a salted worm.

The King just sat there. Watching. Smiling from afar, up up up.

The Queen entered the scene and yelled from low low low.

"Mason!"

That was his birth name, but he liked going by "King"

"Mason! Just what do you think you are doing to that poor young man?"

"He called me a dumbdumb head."

The queen sided with Andrew, but didn't dare tell him in front of the entertained crowd of villagers. Not because she was afraid of Mason's wrath, but his delicate spirit. The humongous ego comprised of wafers. Brittle cracker-cookie ego. She didn't want to break him. She was the one who governed the country in the first place. Like a post-FDR stroke America. If you didn't know, FDR's First Lady ran the joint after his health caused a national earthquake. So yes, the Queen thought the King was a moron and didn't want to bruise him. She loved him. But what she did do was more embarrassing. Andrew's head was forced underwater once again by the black-leathered torture guy, the Queen bullied her way through the cheering crowd. One middle-aged peasant tried to stop her. He didn't know it was the Queen because she shoved him from behind so he didn't see her face before blurting out "Hey! What's the big idea?" That guy was shut up real fast when he noticed who he was really being a weiner face to. That taught him. She shoved him out of her way and looked onward to her destination. She shredded through more peasants, tripped a couple times on her dress, but moved onward. She noticed now the torture guy was wearing PLEATHER. Gross. "We can afford better torture-wear" she thought, then marked it in her memory bank. She marched up the stairs of the platform, clunk clunk clunk clunk. The crowd gasped. They had no idea what to think. The Queen always meant business. She was dangerous as a hornet's home when it's stabbed with a short pole. The torture guy pulled the gurgling Andrew up and out of the pond. It was brown sludge water. She couldn't believe it. Some animals were treated better. Poor dear Andrew. And all because her idiot husband's feelings were hurt? Some guy! As she stood on the platform in front of the crowd, she became nervous. Like she was expected to perform a soliloquy. They must have thought she was going to speak. But why bother about formality. Andrew was in danger! The pleathered torturer stood there completely still, holding the coughing flailing spitting Andrew by the scruff of his neck. The torture guy stared at the Queen with no life behind the eyes of his mask. The queen looked at him, then the crowd, then Andrew, and the crowd one more time. She thought something, then stepped close to the poorly dressed executioner, whispered in his ear and in that instant he let go of his victim who coiled onto the floor like a bed of angel-hair pasta. The executioner removed his mask and walked dejectedly down the stairs of the platform, head hanging down down down. Clunk clunk clunk clunk.. The crowd booed him and called him names. He was awful sad at his failure. The queen knelt down and cradled Andrew in her arms. He looked at her with kind eyes. He was grateful. She looked out to the king who was sitting in his high majestic loft. She smiled at him, looked down at Andrew and laid one on him. A big heavy make-out kiss. Andrews eyes became dish plates. Surprised, and gleaming. She didn't care that his mouth had been full of poo-water moments before. This was revenge. The King grew very sad. "Long live the Queen!"

Chosen

by Jesi Mullins

bacteria, bitterness, bronze, company, coincidence, tongue

“As above, so below.”

Caro closed her eyes tighter as she open her mouth to receive the offering. Though blindfolded, she could practically see the bronze chalice tipping forward, reaching for her tongue. The liquid within spilled down, rushing through her teeth and collecting in her cheeks. At once tasting of copper and cinnamon, the concoction brought tears to her eyes. Don’t swallow, don’t swallow, she chanted to herself.

The murmured chants around her began to swell. Next to her she heard a gurgle and sudden harsh coughing. One down, she thought, forcing herself to imagine she was back home, playing the Mermaid Game with her sister in the bathtub. Whoever holds her breath longest is Queen Mermaid. It’s the same thing. She always lost. This time she would win.

Coughing again, this time behind her. How many left in her ragtag company of dedicants, she couldn’t tell. Amidst the chants, the heady fog of incense, the bitterness on her tongue, and the overwhelming darkness, the only thing left was to focus. Roots are growing from my knees, anchoring me to the ground, she reminded herself. There is a string connecting me to the moon. I do not swallow. I am a vessel. I hold and transform. As above, so below.

She could feel her hips beginning to shake. How long have I been here? She wished she wasn’t wearing this ridiculous gown. If she’d had her trousers she could have gotten herself in a better position when she first knelt down. But once you were in position, you were stuck there until the end of the ritual, whenever that was. What a coincidence, she thought, wryly. Here I am to beg someone to do just that. Stick her in a life, one from which she would never budge...until they decided otherwise.

She heard hacking and suddenly her bare legs were sprayed with liquid. It took everything she had not to jerk her body away. Great. Can’t wait to contract whatever disease that was carrying. The Chosen had walked them all through the moist and overgrown wilderness without the benefit of their boots. “It’s important to feel the punishment it takes to brave the journey to your true selves.” Idiots. Caro could practically feel the bacteria nestling into the cuts along her feet.

The chants were reaching a point of frenzy. The voices were beginning to distort, becoming animalistic shrieks. She heard weeping, felt the tears soaking through her blindfold and, for a moment, wondered if the cries were hers. I’m not going to make it, she thought in panic. I can’t hold it.

There were two options when you pledged yourself to the Sept. You are Chosen or you die. To be Chosen, you had to complete the ritual, holding the poison in your mouth until the spellwork converted it within you to a harmless substance. To die, it was much simpler: swallow it before and die from the effects, or spit it out and be executed. Caro had vowed to herself she would never die as a coward. She would swallow it and take her own life before someone else could. Somehow that felt a lot braver before.

For a moment she thought the ground was shaking and then realized it was her own heart. Her shoulders began to tense and she could hear her ridiculous mother’s sister telling her not to stoop like one of those hideous common people. Get out of my head, you old bat. Her tongue began to convulse, as though a wave was trying to force the metallic liquid out. No no no no. She tensed her jaw, the muscles screaming. Her neck was made of stone.

There was a single unified cry of exultation and she felt a great wind flow inexplicably from the ground in a column to the sky above.

Silence.

She swallowed and tasted nothing but cool, sweet spring water. Hands were on her then, holding her shoulders, untying the blindfold. Mouths kissed her tears, her palms, her sweat-soaked forehead.

She opened her eyes and saw nothing but the radiance of the moon in the lake before her.

“Welcome.”

Queen of All Snow

by Katie Krueger

bacteria, bitterness, bronze, coincidence, company, tongue

ZOE:

Welcome to the 2014 Winter Olympics in So-Cheese, Russia!

I am your host, Miss Prettiest Queen of alllllllll the Snow!

You are in good company today, with Mr. Bear, Perry the Stuffed Penguin, and of course, the entire cast of Littlest Pet Shop Critters.

Please hold your applause until the main event.  The contestants will be lining up one by one to compete for the coveted gold, silver, and bronze medals.  Fourth place or lower will receive a consolation prize for participating, so please, keep the bitterness to a minimum!

I would like to introduce our first athlete: Fluffy, the Cat! She comes from Persia, and has a tongue like sandpaper to keep her soft fur all going the same direction.  She may look indifferent, but I assure you she is quite a force to be reckoned with!

Next up is Minnow, the Goldfish! He (or she – we still haven’t figured it out) can swim circles around any bowl, and it is no coincidence that he is a distant relative of the Zander fish of Eurasia.  He’ll feel right at home.

Finally, we have Toby, the Turtle! His hard helmet-like shell can ward off any beast, foe, or flesh-eating bacteria that come his way.  Do not underestimate his ability to be a champion, despite his being made of plastic…

Will the contestants please arrange yourselves at the starting line?

MOM: [yells from downstairs: “Zoe!! It’s dinner time! We’re having mac ‘n cheee-eeeeeeze!!”]

ZOE: Mac and Russian So-cheese???  [yells] Be right therrrrrrrrre!!

Sorry guys, gotta go… but if you wanna know who wins.  It’s Minnow, duh.