Good morning. It’s the weekend! But you’re here! I appreciate that. Thank you! If you’re finding yourself in a moment of leisure right now, I think you should check out yesterday’s stories. Some very funny stuff is waiting for you — both from our established authors and from some new ones, who are off to a very strong start. see for yourself:


Now, please meet Monster 142:

What’s his age again? And why the attitude? And the unclear skin? What does 142 sound like? What does he have to say for himself? Is he jock or nerd? Stock boy or night manager? Rhodes scholar or driveway sweeper? I know it’s the weekend, but if the spirit moves you, I hope you’ll take a minute and…


Have a lovely, lovely Saturday. If you can find some sun,
let it shine on your belly. Please drop by again tomorrow.
Monster 143 will be waiting for you. And so will I.
For no other reason than 344 LOVES YOU


P.S. I put a little page about the monster book on the regular 344 site earlier tonight. If you’re curious, it’s the first page in the “commissioned” section, and contains one or two nifty surprises. As nifty as I can manage using ImageReady that is. I don’t want to oversell it. Anyway…. take a look if you like.


  • Susan Bebié
    9 February 2008 8:32 am

    he is a poor nerd, working as a night watch-man, even though the truth is, he is a sparkling rhodes scolar without job. the reason why he’s in such a calamity, is his orange pimply tongue. he would like to speak at a university, but he doesn’t. he thinks that everybody could see his mysterious mutation.
    darkness gives him the peace.
    but now he will never be like a nightcrawler, thats why his tongue is hanging out of his mouth. this is his own kind of comming-out. everybody should see it, said his psychoanalist. then he’ll feel better.
    let the sunshine in…

  • 9 February 2008 8:50 am

    Date night tonight! Let’s see, sweet new toupee…check. Binaca…check. Turtleneck…check. Ready to rock it. Or so Poindexter believes. He’s actually a secret agent being sent on a new mission tonight. He must infiltrate a Colombian drug smuggling ring in order to save the world…boy, that Poindexter sure can daydream. Date night? Really? Keep dreaming my friend.

  • heathers
    9 February 2008 11:33 am

    Buckley’s Mixture – tastes awful, even to monsters.

  • GristleBean
    9 February 2008 2:10 pm

    Norgo Needlesocks thinks he might be allergic to sweaters, but that doesn’t stop him from trading everything he owns for them. He boldly states that they are fashionable in every climate, be it the desert-islands of Grekfrumey or right above the waterfall-inducing purgegeysers of Dwontwoo. He adores sweaters. Just loves them, and will travel to just about anywhere to get rare ones. His throat swells up to five times the normal size, he breaks out in blotchy lumps, and his tongue resembles a pickled canary when he dons his favorite cardigan, tho. It’s even costing him his normally youthful pompadour, now shedding like an abused featherduster. Ah, all for the collection, Norgo. Keep fighting the good sweater-fight. Just be sure to take your antihistimines along with you.

  • Andu
    9 February 2008 2:36 pm

    Hallo Stefan! (I apologize for the German to all fellow international readers)
    Bin heute über diese Monster gestolpert und ich finde sie wirklich große Klasse! Hoffentlich machst du damit noch lange weiter. 🙂
    And now to the English part! ^^
    He has lost his nose a couple of years ago. This does not stop Rick Yellowtongue, 47 from smelling, though. By autosuggestion, he succeeded in learning to smell with his tongue, like a snake does. Unfortunately, this scared off his boss first, then his friends and after a while, also his loved wife Barbara.
    Today, he drives trucks for a strange enterprise. Mostly in the graveyard shifts. This is a hard job, yet he says that he grew quite fond of it. “I like truck stops.”, he explains while scratching a pimple. “They have great food there, even though you can see it is not the healthiest stuff. But who cares. The people treat me nicely and I earn enough money to pay my sweaters and TV. I like watching Baseball, you know. Take it easy. That’s what I always say.”

  • Evie
    9 February 2008 4:25 pm

    Mrs. Tellulah Ploony tried to hold back the tears as the officer gave her the file. His MPD badge glistened in the electric light. “There you are, Mrs. Ploony. Criminal File Number 142.” Tellulah gasped when she saw her Johnny looking so rough in the mug shot. “What have they done to my baby boy?”
    When she got home, she made some Human Baby Hairs tea with 2 sugars, and she spent a while working on the pink I LOVE MY JOHNNY needlepoint pillow. Finally, she opened the police file.
    There it was. The entry from two days ago. “Suspect apprehended on Malevolent Street after poking an elderly monster in the eye, stealing his wallet, breaking his cane to avoid pursuit. 5 witnesses ID Ploony.”
    And one from several years before. “Breaking and Entering at the MONDO TV ORAMA. Fingerprints match Ploony.” Tellulah shuddered. She looked to the 30 inch color television that Johnny had bought her for her birthday last year. How they had laughed together watching Monster Millions and Bite the Running Human.
    The file went on for pages and pages, all the way back to Johnny’s school days. The principal had scribbled notes. “Threats, harrassment, minor theft.” She’d always wondered where he gotten all the Sugar Children and Little Kitten Candy. Tellulah turned to the first page of the file, a note from a third grade teacher. “Little Johnny is moody and withdrawn. His classmates call him YELLOW PICKLE BREATH YELLOW PICKLE BREATH, and drive him off of the playground with sticks. I worry about his future.”
    “No! No! Could it be? My boy!” Defeated, she let the tears flow. It was a lament to a monster God, a piercing cry that only a heart broken mother could make. “How could I?!” She opened the cupboard. There they were, 794 jars of yellow pickles. One jar of pickles a day, whether he liked it or not. “What have I done! What have I done!?”
    She opened an empty pickle jar and took out her last wad of cash. In the morning, she’d take the bus to the station and bail him out. She’d make it right again. She would.

  • 10 February 2008 3:07 am

    wow. this one is really cool. we all were guessing different things when we saw the ink blot. only one was right. 🙂

  • CreateEvity
    17 March 2008 2:31 pm

    Poor Billy had the monster measles.
    It wouldn’t have gotten so serious if he had just gone to the doctor when he first started itching – like his mother had told him to. But Billy was stubborn, he hated going to the doctor, and he hated his mother telling him what to do even more.
    The doctor needed to give Billy a tongue-scan, and made him stand there with his tongue sticking out for 3 full minutes. To Billy, it felt like hours.
    “Good news, Billy,” the doctor said, “You have a mild case of the monster measles, and won’t have to miss a day of school!”
    But this was not good news to Billy, not good at all, and so he left his tongue sticking out at the doctor for just a little bit longer than necessary.

  • Sue Bebie
    2 August 2008 6:19 am

    Teerpaste über die pustelige Haut, Kopfbedeckung aufgesetzt, und die Zunge eingerollt… So gerüstet verlässt Herr Adonis Pickelgruber, ein pensionierter Dermatologie- Professor, allnächtlich das Haus. Er stielt sich durch die heiligen Hallen der Monsterländischen Eliteuniversität in die Katakomben des universitären Forschungslabors, immer auf der Suche nach geeigneten Ingredienzien für ein farbloses Ganzkörperbalsam mit einer Heilgeschwindigkeit vergleichbar mit der Haftfunktion von Corega Tabs oder Sekundenkleber.
    Armer Kerl, da er wegen seines Hautleidens sehr zurückgezogen lebt und keinerlei Kontakte pflegt, wird ihn wohl auch niemals jemand auf die Idee bringen können, mal anstatt im Dukeln zu munkeln seine grauslige Kopfbedeckung genauer unter die Lupe zu nehmen…

  • Nadia Hansen
    13 December 2008 5:05 pm

    Peter Turtleneck just tried to be popular but the jocks just forced him to lick the frozen pole!Poor,poor,poor,poor,poor,Peter.
    Maybe a pity party will heal his pain.

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