Story story

For some reason, I've taken to writing stories in weird places and at weird times.  My most recent endeavor was during the run of "Cash On Delivery" at Hale Theater.  I was a doctor who was supposedly taking notes, when in reality I was writing a story.  It turned out rather well, I think.  It's a bit long, so I won't post it here, but I will post a poem that I wrote during the last show on Saturday morning:

Mrs. Pumpernoodlestein

Had a cat, and it was fine.

She bathed it once or twice a day

Bathed it in the usual way

With rubber ducks, and suds, and soap-

The kind that hangs upon a rope

The cat would scream, and scratch, and screech

But Mrs. P kept out of reach

She thought it pertinent that he,

The cat, that is, should be as she

Squeaky clean, dressed to the nines

That's how she sleeps, and reads, and dines

The kitty, though, had other plans

You see, he'd found some rusty cans.

He planned to soil his pristine fur

And that would surely rankle her.

He sprang from tub, through bathroom door

And dashed along the hallway floor

He found the cans in back, you see

And thus began his dirty spree

But her poor cat runs out of luck

And gets picked up by garbage truck

Mrs. P sees that he's gone

And sheds a single tear - just one.

But soon a new friend comes her way

And Mrs. P smiles to this day

Mrs. Pumpernoodlestein

Had a bird, and it was fine.

Here's a short story that I wrote at church a few months ago while practicing my cursive handwriting.  I teach cursive in third grade and thought I might want to brush up a bit:

Once upon a time there was a little house in the woods.  Inside the house lived a small boy with his family.  The boy was missing one of his eyes, but he was very happy.  In the summer he would go to the beach and lay in the sand and relish the feelings of the waves as they washed over him.  All of a sudden he was attacked by A Flock of Seagulls - the band, not an actual flock of seagulls.  However, it was not a physical attack of violence, but an attack of pancakes!  The best part was that pancakes were the boy's favorite food.  So the boy feasted on pancakes with A Flock of Seagulls.  Then an actual flock of seagulls came and ate the boy and the band. 

The End.

One day I may publish a few of these stories.  Do you think the world is ready for my warped tales?