My friends and I are in an on-again/off-again writing club where the rules are simple. Every two weeks you have to submit three short stories that it took you 20 minutes or less to write. These are the results.

The cat looked up from licking his asshole, one leg over his shoulder.  I was equally surprised.  Slowly lifting the gun to my mouth, it’d gone off, the bullet gouging a trough in my eyebrow.  Blood filled my eye and poured into my mouth.  My cat went back to licking its ass and using its teeth to dig the crud from between its claws.

The hole in the ceiling was small, a flat, spiked and jagged fried egg of shattered plaster. Turns out the bullet had traveled through the ceiling and blown clear through the ribs of the sleeping Doberman belonging to the family in the apartment above me.

His name was Ferdinand.  First time I ever saw him, I was at my mailbox, opening the previous tenant’s bank statement.  An enormous, barrel-chested red Doberman trailing a leash smashed through the front door.  He looked like a maneless, carnivorous horse.  He slid to a stop on the tile and furiously nuzzled my crotch with an avarice that said, “therein lieth the greatest stench known to canines.”

A teenage girl ran in after him, a cartoon scratch on her head like a bloody triscuit.

“Ferdinand!” she screamed, “Leave his thing alone!”

Ferdinand headed over to her, looked back longingly over his shoulder at my balls, and sat behind her, watching the door.

“Sorry?” she said.

“It’s alright.  He was just being friendly.”

“You let your friends do that to you?”

“Depends on the friend.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t mean it.  She checked her mailbox.  Ferdinand came up and sniffed her ass.

“It seems your buddy likes all kind of different things.”

She turned purple and dropped her envelopes.  She ran for the elevator.  Ferdinand started to follow, but when the doors closed he turned around and ran back to me.