Crocky-the-Crocodile and His Crocodile Smile

There is a Crocodile named Crocky.  Crocky-the-Crocodile is his official title.  Now, speaking ‘factually’, crocodiles do not live on Vancouver Island, or anywhere in Canada for that matter.  (This is aside from the crocodiles held captive in zoos, which is a horrid thing and ought to be made illegal!)

All that said, Crocky-the-Crocodile does live on Vancouver Island, in the swamp just north of my cottage.  If you don’t believe me, why not embark on an expedition and see for yourself?  I have given you the precise coordinates: the swamp north of my cottage.  And if you don’t already know where my cottage is—well, then you never will know—for I am never going to tell someone who needs to ask.

Now, where was I?  Ah, yes… Crocky-the-Crocodile often strolls over from his swamp to my cottage, to join me for tea.  The forest animals are familiar with him now, but this certainly was not always the case.  As I’ve said, Crocky is the only crocodile in all of not just Canada, but North America. 

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The Tale of Holly the Christmas Elf

There is an elf named Holly. Like most elves, Holly has long pointy ears. But, unlike most elves, for much of her life, Holly had the honour of working for Santa Claus.

Yes, Holly is a Christmas elf—and, because she is a Christmas elf, she has vibrant red hair, and her face is laden with freckles. She is also kind-hearted, of generous spirit, and a very hard worker.

For many years, Holly toiled away for jolly old Saint Nicholas. Centuries, in fact. She started her position at the North Pole in year 1324, and she only just retired in 1954. Blimey! That’s six hundred and thirty years!

For the sake of her privacy and solitude, which Holly now truly enjoys, I have promised to keep the location of her retirement home secret. For the purposes of our story, all you really need to know is this: Holly moved into an old abandoned cottage in the middle of the woods, somewhere on the West Coast of Vancouver Island.

Having spent so much of her life in the North Pole’s forever Winter, she had grown tired of seeing the snow year-round. Although she didn’t want to lose Winter altogether, she was craving some change, a turning of the Wheel. And here, in her woodland cottage, Holly could witness and appreciate each of the four seasons…

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The Haunting of the Flapper

The speakeasy roared with jazz; the blasting of brass instruments filled the ears of the people on the dance floor. And for Charlotte, they filled the hole in her soul as well. She was out for a night of drinking with her boyfriend, John, and she was ready to, once again, forget her troubles. Yes, the flapper was ready to let the music and the spirits and the cocaine numb her.

And afterward, during the early hours of the morning, when the party had finally died down, her and John would polish the night off with some wild sex. This might simply mean a night of rope play—or, if Charlotte and John were lucky, it might mean bringing another girl home with them—or, if they were really lucky, another couple girls. The most they had ever managed was two, but both Charlotte and John wanted to try for three. They wanted to test the limit, see how many ladies they could pick up at once. (Much to Charlotte’s dismay however, John was completely opposed to the notion of bringing home another man.)

John, who had gone off to fetch their drinks, returned. He passed Charlotte a gin on the rocks, her favourite. As for himself, he was drinking a Bee’s Knees—a very popular gin beverage, one with lemon, and of course, honey, hence the name. Charlotte, however, preferred her gin straight.

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