4
Points
Gregor Samsa awoke one morning to discover that overnight he had turned into a magically delicious baked good.
"At least it's better than yesterday, when I woke up as a croquet mallet," he mused to himself while he picked up the stray bits of chocolate that had fallen off while getting out of bed.
He jumped into his milk bath and was just getting comfortably soggy when his friends, who had all turned into colorful rings of corn meal a few nights ago, ran into the bathroom screaming.
"There's a gigantic family of mexican wrestlers demanding to sup on our breakfast-balanced bodies!" They shrieked in eerily perfect unison.
"That's just like them," Gregor said, starting to go off on one of his rants. "They think that just because their identities are secret, they can eat whomever they please. Well no longer will they break the backs of my sugar-coated brethren! We will unite and overthrow our fascist overlords just like the Che Guevara-shaped marshmellow bits told us to!"
At this point I should mention that Billy, the talking dog, was hopelessly lost in Kansas, and the approaching storm was closing in fast. Luckily, the socialist revolution the cereal fomented somehow broke apart the structure of spacetime, turning the cereal boxes into wormholes to another dimension, one of which Billy used to make his escape.
Gregor Samsa awoke from his dream, to find he had turned into a giant bucket of shrimp.
4
Points
I grew up in a house in the woods... in the backyard, there are trees hundreds of feet tall. The woods are very dense, with all sorts of animals. I'm pretty sure I saw a black bear once. The house is very secluded, as my parents always wished.
But now, my mother lives there alone. The house gets many more visitors than one would think, being so secluded. Therefore, when a stranger's car entered the driveway one evening last week, my mother just sat and waited.
But, there were no knocks on the door, no deliveries. After a few minutes, she saw the stranger leave. Suspicious, she opened the front door to see if anything had been left. And indeed something was there.. a baby's pink boot.. just one.. left right on the doormat.
It wasn't until today that the boot found its match, another pink boot, left on the doormat.
3
Points
I am a spy. I am Crudworth. And I never live up to my name quite as much as I do when I'm in the Philippines.
Tasked by the American Heart Association to infiltrate the activities of the Egg Council based in Manila, I decided to go straight "to the heart of the matter." (My handlers were pleased with my ability to turn such an apropos phrase.) I would go in as an egg itself. This was not a new approach: Gudgel had tried in '79 only to be included in a dish of pansit Malabon - tasty but fatal. Then there were the Baker's Dozen who went in together. The pressure was too much for Agent 13 who cracked and took his own life. The mission was scrapped shortly thereafter. And of course there was Putras but what did he expect to be the result after hard boiling and battering himself? Even his parents admitted his end was "probably for the best."
I arrived in Manila late. My window of opportunity was closing. Rushing from the airport, I did not have time to completely "become the egg." The best I could do was to shrink and shave my head and hope for the best.
Moving carefully now, I left the cab and made my way through the service entrace of the Grand Hyatt where reconnaissance said the Egg Council was meeting that morning. In the kitchen, they had foolishly left a solitary guard. Unstrapping my 40mm Desert Eagle Israeli military pistol, I eased up behind this misguided fool and pulled the hammer back. The guard froze.
"Don't hurt me! What do you want?"
I had no time for games. I pointed at a tray of eggs.
"Eat more than four of those per week."
The guard hesitated.
"Now!"
The guard began eating. Over the course of several years, his cholesterol began to rise. And not the good cholesterol either. His heart pumped harder and his quality of life worsened. It was horrible to watch but the poetic justice was immense. Eventually he died at age 72 and I was free to continue my plan.
I hid myself in an egg cup and became very still. Only my eyes peeked out over the top edge of the cup. I was nearly invisible. A waiter placed me on a tray and away we went. After many twists and turns we entered a wide hallway. I could hear voices in the distance getting louder.
"Eggs..." Mumbling. "Cholesterol..." Mumbling.
This was it! We entered a grand double door. The room inside was a sybaritic version of the Taj Mahal. Cleaning people swept up gold dust created by workers drilling out holders for diamonds and emeralds in solid gold walls. I knew dealing in cholesterol was lucrative. I had no idea how lucrative.
The waiter placed me in front of a yellowish, wheezing man of perhaps 23 sitting at the head of a long table made from what appeared to be moon dust. He was pontificating about how he judged a good restaurant by their ability to cook an egg.
Beside me was a plate of hard boiled eggs. It had all come down to this. I reached in my satchel where I had stored my secret weapon - a healthy bunch of egg-shaped berries. Quietly, quietly, I replaced the eggs with the berries. Then I waited.
The man went on and on about eggs, his hand wavering over the plate of eggs or waving an egg spoon dangerously close to my head threatening to crack open my cranium. I hoped he would go for the fruit first but I knew my mission was as good as accomplished and having my brains dashed out was worth that.
But then he did go for the berries first. Another man at the table realized what was happening and yelled, "Stooooooop!" Bewildered, the leader stooped and continued to eat his berry.
It worked. The second those lush antioxidants touched his lips, he was a new man. His cholesterol plummetted 20 points almost immediately and his eyes brightened. It reminded me of a scene from the Lord of the Rings I had seen on the plane when Gandalf removed the curse from the Rohan king.
"My God, what have I done?" he said in regretful passion. "From this day forth, I am the enemy of eggs and not their friend." Saying that, some sort of oozy mixture I can only guess was cholesterol shot from his eyelids and drowned the rest of the egg council in a sticky mess.
Getting out of there was no picnic but I did it. Back in New York, my handlers applauded my efforts and my success. Obviously waiting for this moment, the director hurriedly proposed a toast.
"To Crudworth. A man with juevos."
![Ceres [et canis] vs Júpiter](http://static.flickr.com/73/175546917_017e333285_s.jpg)
