deflation

disclaimer: well i meant to have this finished and out by april 1st (1997). why? well, it's related to that day. now on another note, i've noticed a trend. i tend to write short stories, of just a few pages. why? i just do. i notice other authors write epics. yet, they are jealous of my lack of long pages. they want to write short stories. i don't get it. short stories are easy. epics are hard. to each their own. well anyway, in the past some have complained that my stories are too short. tough. deal. least if they're bad, you didn't spend as much time reading them. that's what i say. and also, well, there is no and also. train of thought derailed. not a good thing in this profession, if i can call it that. more of a hobby since i'm not paid for this. not that i'm griping, i enjoy writing. it's a learning exercise. humm. where was i? oh yeah, this is supposed to be a disclaimer. well if you've read this much of it already, you'll probably read the story and i won't be able to stop you by saying you have to be over a certain age (i think it's 52) before you can go on. if you didn't read all this, you'll probably skip the story, and are too young to read it anyway (so give it to your parents and have them read it to you). note one day my disclaimer will be longer than one of my stories, and then i will have my revenge.

fool for the day

by munch wolf

her breasts grew real big and popped out of her shirt.

ps. see, it happened. my disclaimer was bigger than the story. the joke's on you.

actually, the story is down here. yes, really.

so on a side note, since i have your attention. know why there are bumps around the nipples? instructions in braille. no seriously, try reading, and keep reading, and reading, and oh that feels so good ....

oh sorry, story time. keep going down, there's one somewhere around here. i swear.

further down.

further.

to the right now, 0h yes. that's it. now rub real hard.

heh, you think there's a story in here don't you.

maybe there is, maybe there isn't.

but you're the one wasting time reading.

ok, all the children should be gone now, scared em off. story time.

Amy yawned as she got out of bed. Her suit, now her new body, made her feel more comfy than ever, as if there were pillows under her skin. She made her way to her closet, opened it and checked to see what she would wear. She wanted to go out like she was now, naked, but that would attract unneeded attention. She picked out a green tank top and her usual blue jeans. She got an idea and wanted to try it out. She had seen it on cartoons, maybe it would work with her. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and blew hard. Nothing happened though. "Darn it!

I didn't know the first thing about Dreaming.

Sure, we all dream. Twisted in sweaty linens or clutching a pillow around our ears, usually. That's the bad dreams. But Dreaming, so I found out, is a little different. That was the best name they had for it, I guess. Other names were too tedious or weren't elegant enough. I didn't make the rules.

My name isn't Tracy, either. But it helps me to tell my tales if I'm just a wee bit annonymous. It doesn't make them any less fetching. Most of the time, I'm not even Tracy in my dreams.

“Get a load of me now!”

“Joy, you look like a blow-up doll!”

“Oh yeah, baby, you bet!”

“But now it’s my turn – come on, blow me up too!”