Boys and girls, it's time for today's story.

Although I can't speak for my sister, Jen, I can pretty well assume that, when it comes to our memories of bedtime stories, the memories have little to do with our parents, and much more to do with each other.

When we were growing up, I used to tell all kinds of bedtime stories. Nighttime would come and Jen would demand that I tell a new story or continue the story from the night before. I would tell all kinds of stories - romantic ones with heroes and damsels in distress, scary ones with murders and monsters made of twinkies, corny ones with people named Mr.Butt who farted all the time, and so on. Jen would sit there in the dark, totally transfixed.

Once in a while, I'd get tired and insist that Jen tell a story. However, her imagination was a little, well...limited. She'd get started and, within a few seconds, get stuck and kill everyone in the story: "Once upon a time, there was a girl. And she fell in love with a boy. But...um...then one day they ate poisonous mushrooms and died. The end." She killed so many characters that way that it soon became an inside joke that no one in her stories would live for more than 3 seconds.

Despite her pension for fictional murder, she managed to write a few stories that at least allowed her characters to get a word in edge-wise. A long time ago she dug up a few of those stories and I cracked up. She is unintentionally hysterical. Here's a story that she wrote when she was 12. Enjoy!

CHICKEN PHOBIA!

Sally and Molly were walking home from school one day. Sally was new in town, and Sally and Molly were getting to be really good friends. As they separated at the corner where Molly turned left and Sally turned right, Sally called out,

"Hey, Molly, ya wanna come over to my house and have dinner tonight? My mom cooks real good."

"Well, yeah, sure, just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Your mom can't cook chicken.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm afraid of it."

" Well, we're having a surprise for dinner today, but I don't know if it will be chicken because my mom rarely ever cooks chicken."

"Okay then, I'll see you tonight!"

"See ya!"

Later that day, Molly walked to Sally's house for the surprise dinner. She couldn't wait to find out what they were going to eat. Little did Molly know what was she was in for.

Sally and Molly were seated at the dining room table, waiting for the main course.

Suddenly her mom swished in and before them was a big, silver, platter. Since Sally's home was very old fashioned, the father did all the cutting and handing out. And he gave Molly a big piece of chicken!!!

"NO!" she cried out. "It's chicken! I can't stand chicken!"

"Oh, shut up," said the mother. "Children must be seen and not heard."

So the father forced her down to eat the chicken. And she had to.

"Ok, but you'll be sorry."

She took a small piece of chicken and all at once she began shaking and trembling. Than she started getting coppered spots on her. Then she had feathers and huge, beady, black eyes and a sharp beak! And far worse, it was growing 10 times the size of itself every minute!

"Run! Run for your lives!" shouted the father.

But it was too late. Molly the Chicken, which by the way was a giant chicken by now, and Sally, ate up Sally's whole family except Sally.

Sally and Molly the Chicken were never seen again, but it is heard that they were last seen in a chicken shop, getting rid of all the chickens.

The end.