Bye, bye Bentley’s. Bye, bye.

The Bentley’s are still singing.  Their voices stretch across the water and claw at the stern of my boat, trying to pull me back, but it’s too late.  I’m going home!

I was there, by the fire when Mr. Bentley, in his bathing suit and cable knit sweater, settled the guitar between his thin white thighs and started to strum.  Mr. Bentley tilted his head back and proffered his wispy grey beard to the stars.  The stars winced but he thought they were twinkling.
Then Mrs. Bentley and the four handicapped Bentley children lifted their heads and all together launched the Bentley Song into the night sky.
 “All I really need is a song in my heart,
 Food in My Belly
 And Love in my family…”

“I need this like a hole in the head!” I said aloud, but in Tagalog.

I kicked up the sand behind me as I pushed on the bow of the little wooden boat. The water lifted the hull and I hoisted myself aboard.

Oatmeal, the Bentley’s droopy-eyed Labrador was the only one who watched my escape.  Poor Oatmeal stays tethered to the tree day and night. She’s too undisciplined for walks but without being chained she’d runaway.  I might have freed her before I left…
Bah, who cares!
I’m tired of being depressed for the Bentley’s sake.  If they’re too thick to be depressed for themselves it’s not my problem!

When I get home to the Philippine’s they’ll all throw a party for me!

By Kathleen Phillips

Rehab Island

Sandra Bullock looked gorgeous on the Red Carpet. She is intelligent and hot. Her significant other obviously lacks refinement. Disasters happen. I fell for you. She fell for him. Before I went to sleep in the middle of the show I thought that the sparkling gown would match the Oscar statuette in her hand. It was her night, not Meryl Streep’s.

A few days later Michelle McGee’s plot was skilfully executed. Poor Sandra. I know exactly how it feels. It hurts. I had my bitter pill the night before the Oscars when I saw you kissing another woman. I don’t usually hide my head in the sand. But even my tough ego needs time-out and help for recovering.

The ideal place would be a tiny land in the sea. Beautiful sailboats would pass by as a friendly reminder that the rest of the world still existed. In a different dimension galaxy I would be alone, licking my wounds and thinking. In the shade of a big tree I would gradually regain my cool.

I wish I could share the secret remedy with Sandra. She can pick a spot on the planet and heal up her soul over there. She has money. She can afford a private jet to get to the destination. Here it will take me longer, but I will be OK too.

By the way, the TV mechanic and his tattooed fame-seeker are so compatible. Because they both suck.

by Farida Samerkhanova

Tree / Life lessons

Tree waited and waited and waited. Tree waited and grew, waited and grew, waited and grew. It came to be anew, a new day, the wind was billowing the sails at last.

“At last,” said Tree, at last they will come.

The men upon the ship wore white shirts and like the sails they were billowing in the wind, giving them false muscles and barrel chests. They were prepared, they had prepared while they were waiting, waiting, waiting for the wind to come and take them.

The man sang as they sailed, “sailing sailing when the wind is free”

Tree made up the chorus, “a sailing life for me.”

They came upon her, grand before them, tall and strong and she was proud, beamed at them and shook her branches to flatter her leaves.

But her arms were larger than she knew and made a greater sound than she could hear and frightened the men in their boat, frightened them into shivering bodies, no longer grand in their white shirts, but shrivelled somehow with their fleshy arms wrapped around their chests.

“Come back, come back!” she called, for she was glorious and she was great and she longed for men to sit on her branches, swinging their legs.

And she had waited for them so long , stretched out her roots to grasp and keep them.  But the waves were on their side, the wind gave them strength and she was left to think forever about what she had done.

by Martha Tuff