In one photograph, you are seen holding a large, expensive elephant over your head. You are certain the name of this elephant is Fancy Dan, though you are certain also that you have never before met.

Milton Glick waddled his girlish hips through my front door.

“What? Someone broke into your apartment while you were there and did what?” “The dishes.” “The intruder did the dishes?” “Yes.” “The intruder did the dishes?” A second time, skeptically, “And left a sweet note.” You would clarify.

Carl finished his beer, burped, crushed the aluminum can on the floor with his foot. “Oop, now we’re outta beer.” “Alright, let’s send the dog.” They did. They sent the dog. The first time Luther trotted down the sidewalk. The next time, Henry let t

We were offered mannequins that had pubic hair that grew and swirled, and could visit like a pet, and sit in your lap

He took off his sombrero and playfully placed it on my head. “And really, don’t be upset. You’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with loving your cat.” He was right, there is nothing wrong with loving your cat. But there is something wrong with owning a di

he scans the headlines of the tabloids as he waits to pay. “Dog Accidentally Shoots Man With His Own Gun, Elvis's Hidden Extraterrestrial Daughter, Swedish Man Bursts Into Flames on Train Platform.”

"I have consulted the Internet," the man remarks, squatting low, sorting through a mountain of tablets. He snags two and stands slowly, confidently, and I realize suddenly that he is Moses. Two iPads, cradled surely in each wrist, glow with lists.