(Indrotusink, vrom Mittledon Ohio, mit hiss virst condribution, vhich I veel rades mit Jug Bearsson'ss "An Etgated Mon.") by G. P. Combs IN MY CAGE I am perched happily, for I am in my cage. My cage is a very special one, for it's the only thing I have. When I finally do run down the postman or the friendly policeman I can always take them to my cage and eat them. I do love my cage. One time, someone took my cage away. That made me depressed, then angry. The nerve I thought! If he thinks he can take my cage without a fight, he is greatly mistaken. He was. When I finally caught up with him I just threw him over one shoulder, the cage over the other and started home. "When I get home," I thought happily, "I'll have realfood. Food that I can enjoy." But what if he makes me sick, (The wretch! The last thing I had tasted like old leather, the lousy postman.) But I was soon to find out that there was nothing wrong with him. When I got home, I took my cage to its very own place and sat it down. Then I went inside with the would-be robber over my shoulder. I went over and got on the little perch. As I sat there, I said my thanks to my creator, Uncle Clyde. Since the death of his beloved Otto he had been tinkering with dark magic, which is not quite as dangerous as black magic, but still is nothing to fool around with. He had been trying to bring up a toad, but he used a pinch more pazaz than directed on the box... and got me. When I was through I got out the salt and pepper. "Only people of little or no class don't use spices," I thought dignified. I pawed over my dinner carefully to be sure he hadn't coated himself with anything. Only when I was sure he hadn't did I reach one paw over to him and shook his hand. "No sense in not being friends," I croaked. "It won't hurt a bit. That first bite is the pain killer. Matter of fact, it not only kills the pain, it kills you too." The thief was too busy thinking of how disappointed dear old mother would be when she found out that her son was eaten by a thing to laugh. I carefully reached a paw forward and when he was most unsuspecting, jerked his legs out from under him. As he hung in the right position, I ran my fork through him. I was taught that it was uncivilized to eat without a fork. Somehow the silly idiot got his head stuck between the bars. It was really in there tight. "Goody," I said, "now I won't have to hold you for the first bite. Smile!" My, but he was a screamer. He kicked and bit me and was a fraidy cat on top of everything. I got his big head in my mouth only after a hard struggle; found out that I'd only cut part way through. It took a real hard bite to sever it. He had a hairy head. To my surprise it kept yelling inside of me. Whenever I jar or crawl now, he lets out a horrible yell. People keep staring at me. I've got a surprise for that stupid head today. I went out and bought a big gun. I'm really going to fix it. Boy, is that barrel cold on my stomach. Still, it'll shut that crazy head up. One... Two... THE END #################### These four pages were done without lining up the right hand margin just to show you what a difference even margins make in a zine. #################### FREE PLUG Atlantis #2 should be ready soon. If you'd like a copy, send 20 cents to: Tim Morris 1360 Nancywood Pontiac, Mich. or Timm Wall 4555 Major Drive Drayton Plains, Mich. [pp. 16 - 18, THE UNKNOWN #2, Summer 1965]
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