There once was a man who like to build card houses, towers, and various other structures - even furniture and statues! He built each one with exacting precision and absolute attention to detail, and each was beautiful when finished. Oftentimes, he would employ as many as five or ten decks of cards. He had a open, but unventilated room of his house dedicated to his hobby, as he lived in constant fear of a draught toppling his creations. Even so, he lived in an earthquake zone, so every now and again, a tremor would cause a tower to collapse in on itself.

The man contemplated this dilemma for some time, and realized that the best solution would be to carefully glue his constructions together once they were complete (doing it before would be cheating). And so he set about stabilizing his lastest work - a card throne. As he worked, the fumes from the extremely powerful but also extremely toxic glue began to cloud his mind - the lack of ventilation in his breeze-proof room was not working well for him. He shrugged off his discomfort and continued his work late into the night.

Finally, he was nearly finished, he leaned across the chair to glue the last card of ornamentation down and collapsed into the chair, twisting to sit in his throne, whose extremely powerful glue held him up. The last card fluttered down from its place and landed face-up on his lap. It was the three of diamonds.

"Can we go?"

"I'm not really interested."

"Please?"

"Well, alright. But I'm doing it for you."

And she was, but he'd make it up to her later.

There once was a young lad who aspired to no great things. He did well in school, but didn't put forth the effort to be outstanding. He then went to a good, local college wheree he earned a bachelor's degree before going to work for a company that facilitated sales of various products form manufacturers to retailers. Over the years, he advanced to a senior management position, mostly through his seniority. During that time, he married and had two children, whom he loved very much. All his life, he was fairly happy. At the end of his days, he looked back and thought, "Yep, I've had an alright life. It was pretty good, yes it was."

When they discovered his crime, he was immediately arrested. The trial did not take long. He plead guilty - he'd been caught red-handed. His sentence was not a short one. But even after all this, he remained cheerful. The prison guards were haunted by his smile, as was the judge. 'Why is he so happy?' they wondered. The question wasn't hard to answer. He'd let himself get caught. In prison, you don't have to sleep exposed in the freezing cold or wonder where your next meal's coming from. Instead, you're kept fed and clothed, and are sometimes indulged with things like paper and pencils. You barely have to take care of yourself, instead, you have all the time in the world to dream, and think, and plan. He was happy indeed.

"Ok, now!"

He did it.

"Wow, that's spectacular."

"It really is beautiful."

It really was beautiful.

Once a man bought himself a house. He didn't have much money, but he believe in the power of appreciation and made the investment. This house was a real fixer-upper. The paint was peeling, the door hinges squeaked, the roof leaked, and the entire thing smelled of cat. He bought the house under the table, to keep inspectors from messing with his transaction - he would make it safe during the restoration.

However, he spent most of his money on the house and couldn't afford to keep renting his apartment, so he was forced to move in. One night, a strong gust of wind blew the house right over, killing him nearly instantly in the collapse and teaching him, too late, the value of a thorough safety inspection. On the bright side of things, the demolition nearly doubled the lot's value.

There once was a girl who dreamed the whimsical dream of floating on the gentle winds of spring on butterfly wings. She saw herself fluttering from flower to flower, tasting the distinct tastes and smelling the unique smells of each. She would be precious, and delicate, and loved by all. One day, she wished for her dream to come true and tossed some change into a wishing well. Her dream magically came true, she was a butterfly!

She set out for the flowery fields and feasted on both the flowers' beauty and her own. She could hardly believe how wonderful her experience was until she began to feel hungry. She began to flit from flower to flower, trying to fill her tiny, hungry, butterfly belly. She soon discovered that not only do flowers taste bad, but that it takes a lot of effort to fly, and that she was very tired. She landed on a leaf to sleep, but unfortunately for her, the bat noticed.


ALTERNATE ENDING

There once was a girl who dreamed the whimsical dream of floating on the gentle winds of spring on butterfly wings. She saw herself fluttering from flower to flower, tasting the distinct tastes and smelling the unique smells of each. She would be precious, and delicate, and loved by all. One day, she wished for her dream to come true and tossed some change into a wishing well. Sadly, her wishing well was just a well, now polluted with dirty coins.

A dapper youngster once declared, "Sorry for the lack of updates! Stories will continue after MLK Day. Until then, check out the archives or something."

What an odd thing to say.

"I love you, I'll never let you go," he said, grasping her hand. This worked out well for quite a while. Their hands remained together through the rest of the movie, out of the theatre,
and back to her house. They remained lovingly clasped through the TV shows they didn't really watch from the couch, instead just enjoying each others presence. Much of the evening and night passed and eventually she had to use the restroom. Their hands didn't part, but things started to get awkward after that.

The children were unhappy. Their parents were almost never around, and their sitter was no good. Things got better when they grew up and went to college, all the money their parents worked hard to earn sure paid off then.

The Man with the Magic Pants, by T-Rex

"Star light, star bright - first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight. I wish I could pull a dollar out of every pair of pants I own every day."

There was a bright flash of light as the first star of the night sky burst into a massive supernova of wish fulfillment. The man looked on with wonder and slowly reached into his right pocket, where he found a dollar bill.

He rushed home as quickly as he could and checked the right pocket of every pair of pants he owned, where he found more dollars bills. Drunk with success, he drove to the nearest retailer of fine apparel and bought as many pairs of pants as he could carry. The next morning, he opened his closet and pulled forth a dollar from the right pocket of each pair of pants. Again, he rushed to the store and bought more pants. Needless to say, closet space was at a premium. His magical pants meant that he'd never have to work again, but he didn't have any room for shirts.

The dilemma of closet space irked him for quite some time. He was forced to live shirtless, and many establishments for the sale of fine goods and automobile fuel refused him service on the grounds of his inappropriate attire. This was a problem until he realized he could use his money to buy a house his a bigger closet, expand his current home, or just buy an outdoor closet.

After expanding his closet capacity, he was once again able to wear things that weren't pants, and lived relatively happily ever after. The happiness came not from the wealth of his magic pants, but from his good decisions in life. Remember: money can't buy happiness!


The previous story was inspired by this comic.

There once was a man who dressed improperly for motorcycle riding, but still rode a motorcycle. In his defense, he wore a helmet (purportedly the most important item in crash protection). However, along with this helmet, he wore a sweatshirt and shorts. Even disregarding the illogical combination of his attire, this seemed somewhat unwise, as sliding along the road in shorts and a flimsy sweatshirt would cause severe scratches at the very least. Leather or fancy motorcycling clothes seemed a much better option. Once a young lad of ten noticed this man and asked him, "Ain't 'neone never told you you sho'n't wear shorts on a motorbike, mistah?"

This child was very difficult to understand.

The time has come, I'm going to do it.

Details forthcoming.