justina forever

A couple of months ago I wrote a series of short stories for my anthology: Chicken Poop for the Mole.

And now, for the first time ever in the history of all time, they are available for anybody to read. Here is the first story.

Millie

Millie had it all.

She had the most interesting notebook and the most dazzling earrings.

But Millie also had an enormous mole on her face.

Every night Millie would pray for the mole to fade away, but not before plucking the stray hairs that sprouted from it.

She would tape these hairs into her notebook.

Then every morning Millie would put on her earrings.

Her earrings were so dazzling that they drew everybody’s attention away from her enormous mole.

Or so she believed.

The truth was that when Millie talked to people, they didn’t pay attention to anything she said. They were too busy searching for answers in the shape of her mole.

Even still, Millie believed in the power of her earrings.

Of course she was devastated when she lost one of them.

She searched everywhere for it, but it was nowhere to be found.

So Millie sought the help of a fortune teller.

After hearing Millie’s story, the fortune teller gave Millie a little jar.

“For 12 nights,” the fortune teller said, “rub some of this elixir on your mole. After the 12th night, your mole will disappear.”

So for 12 nights, Millie rubbed the elixir on her mole. After the 12th night, the mole did indeed disappear.

Now Millie doesn’t need her notebook to keep her mole hairs.

And she doesn’t need her earrings to draw everybody’s attention away from the enormous mole in her face.

Because now Millie has an enormous hole in her face.

~ * ~ * ~

Did you enjoy Millie’s story? Did you hate it? Either way, stay tuned for the rest of the Chicken Poop for the Mole series…

And now I present… the second chapter of Chicken Poop for the Mole!

Mr. and Mrs. Mole

Mrs. Mole was a horrible person with a nasty temper.

She would thwack at birds with her morning paper, cast the meanest dagger eyes she could at the children across the street, and hurl spoonfuls of bland porridge at the odd dog who peed on her garden.

But the birds dodged her thwacks with cheery hops, the children never looked up from their games to notice her dagger eyes, and the odd dog was thrilled to gobble up the chunks of flying porridge.

So even though Mrs. Mole was a horrible person with a nasty temper, nobody hated her. Because nobody cared.

Except for her husband.

One day Mr. Mole decided he had had enough of his wife. So he decided to bake her a Farewell Pie, which he’d just read about on the Internet.

Now a Farewell Pie is a very straightforward thing. Feed someone a farewell pie and they will disappear from your life. Forever.

And a Farewell Pie is very simple to make. Just fill it with the victim’s favourite pie fillings mixed with the final, fatal ingredient: a can of chicken poop.

So Mr. Mole embarked on a search for a can of chicken poop.

But he didn’t want just ANY can of chicken poop.

He wanted the BEST can of chicken poop on the market to make sure that Mrs. Mole would be dead as a doornail.

He would CERTAINLY not settle for any watered-down imitation chicken poop!

So Mr. Mole once more consulted the Internet. He refused to consider any product with a rating lower than *****/*****.

This left him with only one product: Molly Majestic’s Magical Chicken Poop in a Can. Mr. Mole read the reviews.

“Deliciously sensational chicken poop! You won’t find a better can in this lifetime or the next!” *****/*****

“MMM Chicken Poop is consistently fresh with a truly irresistible pungent odour!” *****/*****

“Highly effective. Strangely addictive.” *****/*****

So Mr. Mole hurried to the general store to buy Molly Majestic’s Magical Chicken Poop in a Can. Then he went home and made a pie filled with Mrs. Mole’s favourite pie fillings — earthworms and cherries — and, of course, MMM Chicken Poop in a Can.

He threw the pie in the oven and could barely contain his glee while the tantalizing aromas of the pie wafted through their little cottage.

When the pie was ready, Mrs. Mole came thundering into the kitchen. In no time she had gobbled up the pie.

Then Mr. Mole waited and waited…

… but Mrs. Mole did not die.

Instead, an incredibly hunky mole appeared out of thin air. He swept Mrs. Mole off her feet and whisked her away in his muscly arms.

And that is how Mrs. Mole disappeared from Mr. Mole’s life. Forever.

~ * ~ * ~

So, what did you think of this instalment of Chicken Poop for the Mole? Can you relate to Mr. Mole? Have you too scoured the Internet for a way to disappear somebody from your life? Tell the truth!

Dearest readers,

Here is the third and final chapter of my Chicken Poop for the Mole anthology. I hope you are not too put off by how much it differs from the previous instalments.

Sincerely,

Justina

Trom and Breeky

Tuesday, March 24, 2046

0910 Breeky meets Trom in the supply closet and they exchange a series of awkward pleasantries.

0913 Trom moves in to kiss Breeky on the cheek.

0914 Trom and Breeky begin to make out vigorously.

0924 Breeky asks Trom to tell her what his meeting this morning with their boss was about. Are they any closer to identifying the mole in their midst?

0925 Trom won’t tell Breeky. He nibbles on her ear.

0927 Trom tries to go to second base but Breeky is not feelin’ it.

0929 Trom tells Breeky the meeting was about the password to unleash a scourge of deadly alien diseases on the planet Mukkerog, home of the suspected mole. Breeky finds this very interesting.

0930 Breeky tells Trom he can go to second base IF he tells her the password. Trom tells Breeky: POOP NEKCIHC.

0940 Breeky knows that if she says the password backwards three times then the plan will backfire. So she whispers it three times — CHICKEN POOP CHICKEN POOP CHICKEN POOP — while Trom nibbles on Breeky’s other ear.

0941 Trom dies in Breeky’s arms.

0942 Breeky leaves the supply closet to find that everybody on Earth is dead. Her work on Earth complete, Breeky teleports back to her home planet of Mukkerog, where she wins the Mole of the Year award.