This was my entry to a short story writing contest. The first and last lines were given and the rest was subject to my imagination as long as I could keep it within 300 words. About whack jobs The donkey brayed loud in my ear – hee haw hee haw. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or just being an ass. Especially since, moments ago he had asked me for a whiskey on the rocks. I was contemplating the possibility of evolution and talking donkeys when he hollered into my ears again “You listen to The Doors?” I was used to this junkie like thought disconnect. And The Doors did accompany me to Krypton – the best planet in the 937 galaxies known to everybody but mankind. I am Superman, if you were wondering. People can’t tell the difference between fiction and reality these days. “You listen to The doors?” he asks again. “Of course. Why?” I reply. “Simply” he says, the impish grin quite evident, if you can think beyond his yellow teeth and lack of dental health. One word answers should be banned. Good music is my mojo and I don’t give up easily. I fish for an interesting conversation and add “The ghost song is my fave what’s yours?” “Stoned immaculate” he blurts. Surprise! Surprise! Whatever else did I expect from a talking ass who listens to The Doors. A welcome pause is ushered in. The conversation gropes for leads to enter the world of weirdness again. But the insanity is shortlived. I hear my mom bellow from below. “Time to rise and get to work” “Time to grow up and be the adult you are” Groggy yet lucid, I wonder if the two are interconnected. No answers hit me. Hell, who needs the answers. My thoughts meander back to the talking donkey. So what if my dream reeks of strangeness. Calvin has his Hobbes and I have my talking ass. Bouts of madness … that’s all I want in my life. This entry went on to win the first place. The competition was devoid of any real talent ... hence ;-)