Mammal by M.K. Joseph 

Normally, I’d take nourishment from the climax of Father John’s sermon by closing my eyes and savoring his fervent spirit. On this morning though, despite sitting in the rear of our antiquated church, his rhetoric gave such breath, such charge that the compulsion to commune with another overwhelmed me. 
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As unlikely as some myths are, there are some that you might wish were true. This may be one of them. In a land never far enough away from Iowa there lies a kingdom; this land is one of the few truly wonderful places to live. Partly because the Queen of this land, named Queen Cheezit, has long reigned with a firm hand and an iron clad constitution. One her first decrees was that mean people suck, and people that suck were to be from the kingdom. A tragedy of epic proportions is about to strike at the very heart and soul of this land and all the cool people who call this place home. This is where our story begins.

My daughter said that one of her friends had told her that there's a certain amount of hair in cookies and cream ice cream.

"Hair permissible?" I said. "I think that's just in case you find one, so you don't sue the ice cream company."

Dear Sir and or Madam,

Recently…whilst on a pleasant trans-Atlantic scurry flight to the fruit fields of Malaysia, I had the decided displeasure of making your rancid acquaintance. I remember when you first boarded… wandering in, garishly clad in your overwrought jumpsuit splayed by an abundance of sequin misuse…your tasteless sideburns and the perverse familiarity of cheap Scotch, unwashed boxers. You were severe and protracted yet strangely pithy and blunted and I do admit I felt a certain tinge of pity for you and what has become of your vanity…sodden from the futility of your apparent misplaced futility of your vocational endeavors.

Regrettably, the unavoidability of bleak fate and assigned seats would soon swathe me into quite the unfortunate reality that you and I would soon be sharing an armrest and undoubtedly, a bit of tattered banter.