The Story Begins

Thanks for joining me as we relive a golden era of storytelling from the early years of the Atomic Age.

I never was any good at this. — Ponyard Kipling

Red Tape

Ocelot gripped his attaché tighter. “These are the times for which bureaucratic paper shuffling is no defense.”

“Last night I shot an Elephant in my pajamas.” Ostrich buried his head. “The horror. The horror.”

Toucan told Crocodile, “You’re cold blooded. Of course butter doesn’t melt in your mouth.”

“There it is again,” Caribou said excitedly. “Do you smell it? It’s a yellow smell. It smells of… death.”

Spittle flying, ears and tail streaming, St. Bernard sprinted across the sand. “I forgot the sunblock. I forgot the sunblock.”

Pangolin hurried home with his prize. Spelling was never his strong suit; now maybe others would listen to him when he posted comments.

Chicken never thought of citrus again after that day. That black day.