Fragments from books that don’t exist: My Sister, Poo-Face


“It’s the damn stompers again!” the toad complained. “They keep stompin’ on by like they ain’t got nothin’ better to do. Every night it’s the same damn thing. I get to croakin’ out me tunes, trying’ to get me some action, but no, some damn stompers come stompin’ along with their chitterin’ and their chatterin’, whole lot of talk about nothin’.”

“I hear you,” said the mouse. “All I want to do is come out and get some grains. I don’t mind the humans so much. It’s the damn hawks trying to grab my ass and gobble me up that gets me down.”

“Screw that!” squawked the heron. “Y’all are just too sensitive. Think the humans give a little old shit about you? No way. And hawks got to live too, my friend. Think of it this way. You get all fat from feasting on these seeds over here, who wouldn’t want a bite out of that?”

“Easy for you,” said the mouse. “Nobody wants to mess with you. They just want to take a goddamn picture because you’re so big and weird and white and all.”

“Hey!” croaked the toad. “Tryin’ to sing over here, if you all don’t mind.”

“Stuff it!” said the crow. “I’ll pick your bones myself if you don’t shut up.”


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