"And if I was a girl, I would think it was real cute and nice, and really, really want to wear it, probably, you know, but I'm not though."

"...and mostly we ignored the movie, and Lisa whispered jokes about Zack, and I denied them, and she told me about two boys that she likes: a cute one and a nice one, and I said go for nice -- unless he's totally gross. (Right answer for a girl?)"

"...Marsh, I mean, I know lots of boys do babysit, but they don't brag about it. They would wear shirts that say "World's Best Lawn Mower," or something. Right?"

PROLOGUE: Last spring these letters began showing up in my email. I thought the address had been typed wrong and sent a reply warning the writer, but it bounced back as undeliverable. I know that seems impossible, but the letters are here, and I think the web holds many weird gremlins.

Last night I decided that, perhaps, the universe brought them to me to show to others and, if you can get over your qualms about eavesdropping on strangers, some of you might find them interesting too.

Here I am back home where my Mom is taking care of me ever since I got sick from going to see my beloved husband Mark. He is currently serving a tour in the HOSPITAL WITHOUT WALLS in Africa.

“Miss Bryant, do you think you might give us the benefit of your undivided attention? This is a medical school, not a dating agency, as I am sure that you are well aware.”

"Is there any way," I asked, "that we can talk about this subject so that *I* can understand it? without a lot of malarkey?"

"I don't think so," he replied. "You can have incomprehensible or you can have nonsensical. Those are the choices."

AUTUMN is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.

The Falling of the Leaves ~ W. B. Yeats.

Secret agent Maxwell Smart must prevent a rocket scientist from handing over American defense secrets to KAOS at the British Open Dance Championship. Smart's sexy dance partner is Agent 69, Charlie Watkins, a master of female disguise. Can Smart keep his mind on the mission and resist Charlie's charms? Part 1 of 2.

by: Laurie S.

I have sometimes found myself wondering if vampires have problems with the hems of their cloaks fraying, as they glide along with the fancy, satin, floor-length item trailing behind. It seems to me that some type of ball-bearing system, offering both weight, to assist in the dramatic drape of the cloak, and protection, from the ground upon which they are dragged, may be a good idea (ignoring the noise that would make the whole appearing from nowhere more difficult). So it was not surprising that last night this thought crystallized into a Far Side like vision of some salesmen, knocking on the door of a vampire’s castle, with the caption, ‘Rex Simpson, door-to-door salesman of the Heminator-5000.’ And though this story has nothing to do with that vision, it did lead my mind to wander in this direction, rather than letting me go to sleep.

Lost Parents, Will the lost parents of a six year old child named
Renée VanPuten please come to the security office at the main gate.

An Invitation to a Wedding, a day of celebration should mean a day of joy and sharing, should it not?

By

Susan Brown

Michael went into the bathroom and had a wee. After sprinkling everywhere except down the toilet, he dried the floor tiles with some toilet roll, mumbling to himself that it ‘wasn’t fair!’