Modesty Contest

Nature, beautiful but deadly! Cats in particular, they're killing machines. From the bacteria they store under their claws to their lightning quick reflexes.  And it turns out they have parasitic properties, too..   Toxoplasma gondii is a nasty parasite that originates only from cats. Parasites form a non-mutually beneficial relationship with their host, not killing them but feeding off their life essence. Apparently, parasites used to only refer to creatures visible to the naked eye, but now include microscopic critters. Not sure when the definition changed, I'm guessing around the time the microscope was invented.  Anyway, cats are the only hosts within which toxoplasma can sexually reproduce to complete and begin its lifecycle, spreading to humans and virtually all other warm-blooded animals. In non-sciencey terms, it begins with a cat eating a mouse or some other animal already infected with the parasite. Then, in the cat's intestines, a hotbed of aci

He strode across the plains like a behemoth. Roy DuPois, King of Peas. He was unlike any other creature known, standing some 250ft tall, a full man, a great man.  None were known. He was unique, a man alone, but always welcome, wherever he went.  The villagers looked up at him, craning. Sometimes his head peeked through the clouds. They cheered his arrival and wept deeply upon his departure.  His smile was as warm as a summer eve, bright as the sun as it radiates through though thin eyelids.  His eyes twinkled like stars and entranced all, creating deep trust throughout the hearts of one and all. They dilated in the sun, piercing through the mist of higher altitudes, focusing on the journeys to be had.  King of Peas! Praise thou!  Everywhere He wandered, the peas they did flourish.  Villages were overrun with peas, they emerged up from the ground, almost animal in nature, springing from the ground as if escaping from the womb to suckle at the teat of a shining sunbeam. 

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PART I HERE  Part II Jim had never seen so much blood in his life.  The blood, it was literally everywhere. On the desk, the bookshelf, the cabinet in the corner, the globe on the coffee table, the blinds and especially the ceiling.  Dark splashes across the stucco, as if some Pollock obsessed art school dropout had been experimenting with abstracts of rouge and burgundy, devouring bottles of cheap gin, whipping random patterns, sweeping and spattering across the faded white, curling and exploding in areas.  Rivulets ran down the walls, ending at the dark baseboard and, in some spots, pooling on the dusty hardwood. It momentarily hypnotized him, h e barely took notice of the body splayed across the floor. It was no surprise the secretary had made such a racket earlier when she had burst into the printing office where Jim worked, screaming and babbling, in complete hysterics.  But there he was..Olander was dead, there was no doubt about that. There did not seem to