Not a Terrible Baby

"Man, that is a terrible baby." "What?" Mary put a protective hand on her infant's stroller. "Why would you say that?"

"I mean, look at it." The wrinkled, balding man gestured. "It's just lying there, sleeping, doing nothing."

"That's what babies do!"

"Yeah? A minute ago I was on the other side of the park, and there was this baby there, and wow. I mean, it was grabbing things, and, and kind of hitting stuff. It put at least three things in its mouth in the time I took to walk past. Now that's a baby that's going places."

"That baby could've been months older than mine. Babies learn to do new things every day at this age. Besides—"

"Nah, that was just a good baby. Not like yours."

"Besides," Mary repeated with force, "you just walked up! You have no idea what my baby was doing a few minutes ago."

"That's not my fault. Babies have to put their best feet forward if they want to get any traction, you know? We only get one first impression."

"Well, yours is terrible!" Mary stood up and stormed off with her stroller.

"Ahhh," said the man, sitting down. "My favorite bench."

A Seafood Review by Someone Who Hates Fish

Straight Outta Bayou and Palace on the Bay Serve Disgusting Food with Class In the past month, two new restaurants have opened up on the harbor, both making the mistake of serving primarily fish. Though both go to extraordinary lengths to make the unappetizing creature palatable, even their Herculean efforts cannot achieve the impossible.

From veteran local restauranteurs Paul Hebron and Alexa deMais comes Straight Outta Bayou, focusing on a southern and cajun style of cooking. Select dishes have a classic American or Asian twist to them, giving their menu an intriguing flexibility that is wasted on fish. They bring their unique sense of decor and management to the new location, making it wonderfully New Orleans even as they fail to salvage the least pleasant material commonly confused with food.

New to Seattle is Palace by the Bay, all American elegance. Built with a gorgeous view across the sound, the decor is marred only by the unavoidable odor of fish that wafts inexorably throughout the restaurant. Impeccable service brings artful arrangements whose many awarded prizes make a convincing argument for a dangerous piscine conspiracy.

Try out these interesting new restaurants if you're in the mood for masterfully prepared disgusting food.

Deep Conditioning

"Oh, hon," Darlene said, "I love your color. It's so rich." "Thanks," Heather said. "I'm just lucky."

"You sure are," the stylist said. "But you could have so much more depth. Y'know, I think you could use a good deep conditioning. It would really bring out your—"

Heather's punch floored her. She held her jaw as she looked up at her client, now standing before the stylist's chair. "What the hell, Heather?"

"I, uh," Heather looked around at the employees and patrons, all staring at her in shocked silence. "That just seemed really offensive. Like an attack, you know, and I..." she trailed off.

"You need to leave," one of the other stylists said. A few others, including customers, muttered agreement.

"Yeah, I..." she gathered her bag and coat, not putting them on but hugging them close to her chest. "I'm sorry," she said to Darlene. The stylist wouldn't look at her. "I have no idea what... what..." she trailed off into a whisper. The glares of the crowd pushed her out the door.

Outside, she shivered in the light rain. She shrugged on her coat and rubbed her hand, wondering if the ache blooming there meant she'd broken it.

Harry Potter and the Garbanzo Bean That Lived

"Be careful, 'arry," whispered Hagrid in a voice the entire room could hear. "Don' tell anyone yer goin' ter look fer th' Lost Garbanzo." Goyle smirked at Hagrid's dim wits, but Draco shot Harry a sharp look at the mention of the legendary legume. ***

"I don't know, Harry," said Hermione. She set down a thick tome, capping a pile of books almost as tall as she. "Even Doctor Gargleflop's Lexicon of Things Vegetablish doesn't mention the Lost Garbanzo. Maybe it really is just a story."

"No," Harry said. A familiar determined look gleamed in his eyes. "It is real, and I'm going to find it."

***

"Merlin's toes!" said Ron. "Look at Ravenclaw's bludger assault! It's unstoppable!"

"Ron," Hermione said, annoyance in her voice, "what does this matter if You-Know-Who finds the chickpea Harry's mum was preparing for dinner when he attacked?"

***

"Only a truly open mind could conceive of the Lost Garbanzo being transfigured into a chick made of peas," Dumbledore said to the assembled professors. "By reassembling the peas, Harry Potter has saved Hogwarts yet again. A thousand points to Gryffindor!" Everyone cheered. Snape glowered.

"And all the Slytherin students will get wasps for Christmas," Dumbledore said. "Just because."

A Netflix Original Series

"Dad, peeing feels really good." Dad looked up from his book. "I suppose it does, son. It's, uh, it's a relief."

"Yeah," the child said. He looked up at his father. "Why aren't there TV shows about peeing?"

"Um." Dad's face blanked. "Um," he said again. "I guess, most people don't want to watch a show about peeing."

"Why not? I love peeing."

"Yeah, I get that," Dad said. "Well, see, peeing is something that we do, uh, when we're alone."

"I pee with you or Mommy there."

"Yes." Dad ran his hand through his hair. "But you don't really need us there anymore. And after that, people pee alone. Also, it's gross. That's why we wash our hands after we use the toilet."

"People get mud and blood on their hands on TV. Don't we wash our hands after that?"

Dad hesitated. "Yes."

"So why don't we have pee on TV?"

"I, just," He pinched his nose. "I don't know."

"I'm going to make a show about peeing," the boy said. He looked determined.

"Well, it will certainly be original." The boy ran off.

A few minutes later, Dad heard, "Hon? What does Jimmy want the video camera for?"

Tiny Ghost

"I think I'll just go home." "What, you're afraid of a hookah bar?" Jerry smirked, and our friends looked at me.

"No, it's just that I'm sensitive to smells. I really wouldn't like it."

"C'mon, we're having a great time. Why break up the gang?" He looked around to build support for his peer pressure, but none of our friends gave him any. "What's the big deal?"

"Look, if you really want to be an ass about this, it's because there's a tiny ghost that lives in my nose."

That stopped him. "What?"

"There's a tiny ghost in my nose, and he doesn't like tobacco smoke. So I'll just skip the hookah bar, okay?"

Our friends were laughing. "What kind of bullshit is this?" Jerry demanded. "If you don't want to go, just say so."

"I did, Jerry, and you were an ass about it. So now it's a ghost." I started walking to my car, and a couple of our friends followed.

"This is stupid," Jerry called after me. "There's no ghost or whatever, you're just being a stick in the mud."

"There is a ghost, Jerry," I said over my shoulder, "and right now he's flipping you off."

Question and Answer

First thing she said was, "I'm here to kill you." That's how I knew I was in trouble. Not the death threat — that's hardly rare — but the way she said it. Most folks'd say something like, "I'm gonna kill you." But elves can't lie. Not ever. So they also can't make predictions, just in case they won't come true. So this woman, in a blue jacket, blue jeans, and a baseball cap, was probably an elf here to kill me, and that scared me.

Either way, I figure the death threat justified emptying my gun at her. The couple rounds I know hit her didn't slow her down, proof enough of my fears. Then she threw me against the wall of my office. It smashed my framed newspaper mention to pieces, and after it took me three years to frame it in the first place.

"Wait!" I said. "Answer me one question before you kill me!"

"Fine," she said, standing over me. "One question."

"Thanks." I sat up. "Might take a while to think of one. Sixty, seventy years, maybe."

That got me an angry glare. But she didn't kill me, so I counted that as a win.