ABRAHAM LINCOLN: HOW PEANUTS COULD HAVE SAVED THE PRESIDENT

Abraham Lincoln was not known for liking peanuts or sporting events. In fact, no records even mention whether he liked them or not. But he was known for being President of the United States, and for being assasinated in a theater. Perhaps if he'd been eating peanuts at a sports bar instead of attending some show at the Ford theater we'd all have been spared the early loss of such a great president, not to mention his risk of heart disease would have decreased by nearly fourteen percent. Ah, but as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn't it.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE PUMPKINS?

Norbert sat shriveling in the lobby, watching another round of newbies being brought to the retirement center. In his prime, he had been the classic pumpkin: triangle eyes, triangle nose, jagged teeth. His features were fading now, his face less recognizable. "These new guys," he thought to himself, "they don't appreciate their heritage. Look at this guy, a graveyard isn't a face!" His irritation rose further when he saw Graveyard was talking to a Happy Halloween. "Some front," he thought, "It's a wonder they kept you as long as they did." Turning to go back to his room, he made his way down the long hallway.

Because his family had carved Norbert a full week before Halloween, he'd been one of the first to arrive at the retirement center. He didn't blame them; they were a busy family and they didn't have the time to refrigerate him every night. It was when he started to go soggy that things just became too much for them. Still, he never really got used to the alarm his face brought to the newcomers. One of the more naive pumpkins nervously found gumption enough to ask him, "Will I end up like you, too?" Norbert, understanding the youngster's concern but not wanting to lie, looked him straight in the eyes. "Sooner than you think," Norbert replied. "Sooner than you think."

Back in his room, Norbert cleaned the new mold from his eyes and looked out the window at the fallen leaves. After a light knocking, a nurse stuck her head in his room.
"Collecting stray seeds. Need anything?"
Norbert quietly shook his head, looking back to the leaves after the door closed.

They covered the ground, covered each other, in masses of gold and orange and red. He pondered the fall, sadly lamenting the season that took so many to their end. He remembered the pumpkin patch of his youth, the happy farmer who tended the field. His exciting trip to the city. The Sander's family. And Billy. Good Billy. It had been his first Halloween, and Norbert had been his very first pumpkin. Looking at the lights of the city in the distance, he wondered what his family was doing and if they missed him.

He walked over to his bed. Just before turning out the light, he looked at the picture of himself and Billy, taken two weeks before, on the porch of the blue house he'd called home. He smiled. "No," Norbert realized, “I've had it pretty good. I was a first pumpkin."

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CATS AND DOGS

The old man sat on the porch of the gas station, looking out at the deserted highway with his menagerie of dogs and cats.

“I’ve had critters my whole life, “ he told the young traveler. “You know the difference between cats and dogs?” the old man asked as he scratched his leathered cheek. “Dogs are easy to make happy. Sure they’re loyal; to whoever feeds them, but they’ll accept food from just about anyone. But cats, cats are particular. They know what they want, and can’t be distracted from that. They won’t eat something just because it’s placed in front of them.”

“And cats cover up their shit,” the young man added earnestly.

“That’s right,” the old man acknowledged, nodding. “That’s right.”

2nd TRIMESTER

I tried to ignore the thumping, but one can only take so much. I used to hate hail, but these pickles were much worse. At least hail melts. Pickles just lay about, staring at you, slowly shriveling and smelling of vinegar. Regardless, Sylvester Stallone never had it so good, the pregnant bastard.

SOUP DU JOUR

Clam Chowder was his favorite soup, but I liked split Pea, so he had to die. I took the carburetor out of his engine, at least I think that’s what it was, the thingy with the two wires coming out of it and the holey thing on the end? Well I took that out, and tried to affix it to his toaster so he’d be electrocuted. But it didn’t work, I guess because you have to have some source of power running to it and maybe because carburetors can’t electrocute people. Still, the fact that he likes clam chowder is pretty annoying.