Remember what I told you about if you ever found yourself in one of my dreams, not to get in an elevator? Well last night, 3 of you didn't listen. Here's what happened.... This girl from the office tried to confiscate my nearly full shampoo bottle. Basically I told her that 'there was no fucking way she was taking anything from me' and I stormed out with the shampoo bottle still in my hand. I headed for the nearest elevator and got in. This is where the 3 of you come into play. I didn't know you from real life, but you know who you are. Anyway one of you hits the 2nd floor button. Good, a short ride up, but not so fast. Actually, very fast. The damn elevator rockets straight up at an ungodly speed passing the second and then every floor above that in record time. We go well beyond what I thought were the number of floors in the entire building. Then we slam hard into the roof. At least we stopped. We're all hurt as we try to make a quick escape. Not so fast, because we immediately begin to descend like a brick, falling at incredible speeds. No time to scream as we hit the ground and the elevator shatters, spilling it's contents (us) into the lobby. We're broken up pretty bad. I can hardly move and everything hurts. You 3 are in pretty much the same condition. Maybe you'll listen to me next time? email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

The feedback loop quickly hit critical mass and now the snail population was out of control! Everywhere you went, there was that 'crunching' sound. Hundreds of shells were crushed under every person's step. Cars rolling over them made a symphony of crackle and squish. The streets were a flaky paste. Then there was the smell: more 'fishy' than 'meaty'. Birds couldn't keep up. Most couldn't even fly, they were full of fresh snail. That's when the 'bird problem' got out of hand. They were so fat, they couldn't move and now they too were being crushed! It was awful. Though the feathers muffled up the crunching sound a bit, which was a relief. But the townspeople never worried as they were a strong kind. At least not until that dead polar bear was found on the steps of the courthouse. That almost never happens this far South. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

From the minute he walked in, he knew it was going to be a bad deal. The room reeked of old cigars and bad mackerel. A grey haze hung about waist high. So much for hitting the big time, he thought. The lighting was terrible and the carpet was spattered with stains. And worse yet, he was stuck with just a single power outlet. The sound of dripping water echoed from the next room. It couldn't get any more 'third world' in here. The only thing he needed to do now was try to figure out how to get out of this. And, of course, his allergies start kicking in. It happens when he gets nervous. No time for complaining as it was already close to five. And the puppy needed to be kicked. Hard. He had a quick thought back to the old days. Easy times. Hardly ever a care and the sun was so bright. Happy birds chirping blissful songs. Beautiful, colorful flowers. Enough with the distractions! Did he have it in him for one more - just one? email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

Long before he ran the FBI, J Edgar Hoover had another mission: killing zombies! It was well known that at the turn of the 20th century, the ratio of zombies to humans was the highest in recorded history. And the one thing that Hoover hated more than anything - even more than dirty communists, were zombies. Hoover attacked them with an unprecedented zest, brutally crushing skulls with his bare hands in some cases. He had no fear, only an unbridled hate for the living dead. And who could blame him, given that his twin brother was bitten and turned when they were just toddlers. It was revenge that Hoover was after, and he got his revenge. His weapon of choice was the shovel. Simple and elegant but effective nonetheless, the shovel accounted for over half of his kills. But when one wasn't available, Hoover was also an expert with his hands. He knew right where to hit a zombie, bringing the undead back to just dead. In under 8 months, Hoover had over 10,000 confirmed kills - an amazing feat even by today's standards. Then after years of relentless killing, the zombie population was firmly under control and Hoover needed another profession. A new organization was being formed in Washington, DC called the FBI - and they were taking applications. The rest is history. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

Kennedy wanted to put a man on the moon. 50 years later, we had Derpbot. Project Derpbot was a failed government experiment which cost Trillions of dollars in taxpayers' money but ended up just being a pathetic attempt at artificial intelligence. The thing was the size of a refrigerator and basically limped around in circles making a synthetic 'gurgling' noise. It also leaked oil. At least it had a small cluster LED lights on it that made for an inefficient night light. However, nobody with a respectable security clearance would even consider taking the damned thing home. They tried dumping it off on the Pentagon. No dice. And NASA? Well at least they had a decent excuse: something about it being too cumbersome to be sent to Mars on a probe. Nevertheless, they had to come up with something quick as Derpbot was costing a couple Billion a month just to maintain. Then a stroke of genius hit: 'How about selling it to the Russians'? After all Putin loves gadgets. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

There's a reason why Darcy always wears turtlenecks. And Dan, her boyfriend of 2 weeks is about to find out. See, Darcy has gills. Not the multiple slit kind that sharks have, or even the more common, one on each side fish model. Darcy's gills are more 'newt-like', that is they are little cluster branches of red capillaries growing on the sides of her neck. Even more strange was the fact that when sexually aroused, Darcy made a high-pitched squealing sound that went over like finger nails on a chalk board. Dan was looking forward to seeing Darcy tonight. He was sure he was going to go 'all the way' and that she was going to be the future 'Mrs. Dan'. He even had the ring mentally picked out. He was surely smitten! But how would he react to Darcy's little secret? email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

Jeremy finally had enough of Bono's whining. The decision was made and now he had to break the news to fellow bandmates Bruce and Kelly. As of this moment, they were officially a CCR tribute band. Though they spent the last 6 months as a U2 tribute, and with the talent show just days away, Jeremy felt the sudden change was justified. Besides, when was the last time that John Fogerty whined about anything? So, from now on 'High Flying Spyplane' would be known as 'Proud Bayou Traveling Band'. They'd have to make some musical adjustments as well. First, Bruce's favorite digital delay would have to go and he'd have to learn a few more chords as well. Kelly's job was a bit easier to handle since he actually did know how to play drums. And Jeremy would quit with that fake Irish accent once and for all! email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

A wormy boy with the face of a rat told him there was trouble to come. Could he have meant this? Rusty was now being held hostage by the very calculator that he recently purchased from Walgreen's... for 3 dollars! How could a cheap Chinese pocket calculator be so intelligent and yet capable of so much evil? Cloud computing and internet porn gone bad - times ten. Even though he deleted his browser history, all hell was breaking loose. This wasn't possible, yet it was playing out like some bad horror movie. Whatever the cause that little hunk of plastic and silicon now had the launch codes and with it, a list of very specific demands. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

God must really hate that fishing village. This is the fourth giant squid attack since Mayor Brody took office. How could the feeding on one criminally insane person to a great white shark warrant such vengeance? It really doesn't matter at this point. All that's important is just keeping what's left of the townspeople safe. And with each attack more violent than the last, it would only be more difficult. What's worse is that the last squid cut off all communications to the mainland. Now they were truly on their own. As evening falls, the fog rolls in. The air is thick with a foul scent. It's quiet. Too quiet. What nightmare would the sea vomit up this time? email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

Don forgot the safe word! Damn it. Why did this have to happen? He loved Tasha so much and they'd been together for a really long time. She could be a bit on the aggressive side and he swore he'd remember the safe word. Was it 'bean', 'whiskey', 'cactus'? Damn it!!! At least she put the plastic down. It would be embarrassing to have to explain to the Stanley Steemer guys what all that blood, bodily waste and mystery gel was from. There's no way they'd believe that a 10 pound beagle could hold that much. But what was the safe word? Oh no! It's really starting to hurt! What's she going to do with that turkey baster and power drill? It won't fit in there! Not again. No! No! No!!!!! email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com