From: gooley@netcom.com (Mark. Gooley)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: more hundred-word quickies
Date: 28 Jul 92 23:52:15 GMT
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest)


	He filled his cereal bowl with the CBS Morning News.  A generously
large piece of Paula Zahn ended up on top.  "Good morning!" it said.
	"Hello, Paula," he said.  "You look delicious."
	"Thanks!" it replied with Paula's cheery grin.  He poured whole
milk over the News and the piece of Paula squealed with laughter.
	"So long, Paula," he said, and scooped it up with his spoon.
	"Nice knowing you," it replied as he closed his mouth over it.
He chewed it up and swallowed it.  It let itself be digested and did not
try to take possession of his body.

-

	"No prom for you, young lady, and that's final," he said.  "Roger's
going as you."
	Jennifer burst into tears.  "I never get to live the fun parts of
my life," she sobbed.
	"Awww, Mom," whined Roger, "I don't wanna be her again!"
	"You'll be a good boy and become your sister," he said, "and
don't call me Mom when I'm being your Dad."
	They stripped Jennifer of her face, larynx, hair, genitals, and
breasts.  With those parts, Roger made a convincing Jennifer who fitted
perfectly into Jennifer's prom clothes.  Jennifer's date arrived, and
Roger minced out to the waiting limousine.

-

	"And now," said Sally Jones, "some familiar people who aren't
who you think."  To audience applause, impersonators of popular talk
show hosts trooped onstage.  Last came a Sally Jones impersonator, who
said, when the laughter and applause had died down, "Of course, I'm
the real Sally," in Sally's voice.
	Everybody laughed again.  "She's just kidding," said Sally.
	"No, I'm not," said the impersonator.  Striding confidently up
to Sally, she tore off Sally's wig and the rubber prosthetics that had
served as her high cheekbones and long nose.  Sally fought back, but
Security moved at once to drag her off quietly.

-

	"Hold still," he said, and she held Miss February's pose as
the apparatus sculpted her flesh.  Presently she was the woman in
the photograph, only better: such skin, such a face, come only from
airbrushing.  She rose and admired herself in the mirror; he could
barely contain his lust.
	"I feel strange," she said in her sexy new contralto, once
they had made love.
	"It's the metamorphosis," he said, and left the bed to use
the bathroom.  "Lie back.  Relax."
	He returned to find the bed apparently empty.  Then he saw
the cutout, large as life, of Miss February screaming.

-

	He returned with a bottle.  "Afraid this is all I've got cold,"
he said.
	She took it and studied the label.  "Snaffle Rat Flavored Iced
Tea," she said.  "Overpriced.  Ever had it?"
	"Nope," he said, "but Lush Rimbaud loves it."
	She shook the bottle to raise the sediment, and he saw the
tendons work in her frail forearms as she unscrewed the top.  She
gulped and grimaced.  "Pretty bad," she said.
	"I'll finish it," he said.
	"It's okay," she said, and chugged the remainder.  Suddenly
she became grossly obese.
	"I guess that's how Lush Rimbaud got that way," he said.

-

	"It's wonderful, waking up with you in my bed," he said.
	"I love men who work with money," she said, and covered his
mouth with hers.  At their climax she liquefied and flowed into his
nostrils and mouth; he choked and sputtered and tried to fight back,
but in minutes her entire substance was inside him.
	He laughed her laugh, got up and shaved what he now considered
his stupid face, showered his weedy body, and dressed.  He needed no
breakfast.  As he sat on the toilet and excreted his excess mass, he
worked out the details of the embezzlement.

-

	"Look at me!" she cried.  "How could you be so cruel?"  Her
hair was straw blond and impossibly coarse.  Deep circular scars made a
pattern on her scalp.  Her face looked caved in; she had enormous blue
eyes, bushy black lashes, a nose impossibly retrousse', a rosebud mouth,
a pointy chin.  Her breasts were huge, her waist tiny, her hips and legs
somehow unnatural.  Her rough dress fitted badly.
	"I'm sorry, Barbie," he said.
	"Make me a doll again," she pleaded.  "I have to pee, and there's
no hole!"
	"I can't!" he said.
	She struck him, then collasped in agony.

Mark., easier than working
gooley@netcom.com
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre