By: Cornelius Thruster ~Guest Writer~

It’s a mutiny. To call it anything else would be to kid myself. And I am not one to kid. Nixon is in charge again. It’s a moment I’ve dreaded for decades. He left the premises years ago when he saw me eating dinner before him. Since then, a few weeks out of the year, I find a crumpled up envelope on my floor, pawmarks on the crease, and my name scrawled crudely on the back. The return address is cut out of old magazines. How does he do that? He has no hands. That’s what makes him terrifying. Now my nightmares have come true. I fear the situation can only get worse from here…

To be continued