A Million Ducks and a Twelve-Inch Pianist

The world was filled with peas, mountains and fields covered in tiny spheres. Windows had burst. Cars were stalled. Muffled voices emerged where the unlucky had been caught outside, unawares. Everything smelled green.

In a small room that had once been a bar, two men and a woman were buried waist-deep in legumes. Thousands upon thousands of happily quacking mallards surrounded them. The woman held a battered Arabian-style brass lamp. One of the men carried a miniature piano and a tiny tuxedo-clad man, like a living doll.

"After the first two," said the bartender, "I would've thought you'd know better."

It's a Sensitive Topic

Chet pounded on the dorm room door. “Come on, dude, open up!”

“What’s up?” said Jenny.

“Drac locked the door and won’t come out.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno! We were telling jokes, and I told that one about the guy who gets a wish and wants to save it and then he accidentally sings along with the commercial and goes, ‘I wish I was an Oscar Meyer weiner.’”

“Oh, no wonder,” said Jenny.

“What?”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Meyers.” She stepped to the door and rapped gently with her knuckle. “Drac? Come on out, honey. No one thinks you sparkle.”