Who knew that Fidel Castro was a New York Jew?

Born the son of Polish immigrants Oscar and Meriam Kastrofski, Fred Kastrofski was raised in Queens, New York until the age of 13. After his bar mitzvah, Freddy rejected his Jewish heritage, left his childhood home, and squatted in a tenement building on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It was there that he fell under the tutelage of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. He became fascinated with the writings of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engles. In order to avoid the WWII draft, he changed his name and fled to Cuba to seek asylum. Disgusted by conditions under the dictatorship of Fulgencio Batista, the newly named Fidel Castro formed a band of guerrillas whose sole purpose was to seize control of the government and give the country back to the people. It would take him close to twenty years to achieve his goal. Fred Kastrofski died at the age of 90 years old after making his mark as the longest living non-royal leader of the twentieth century.

Hardly Dingle

Hardly Dingle's soup was crumpled and gray. He warped all day in an opus down tune. He counted beans is what he did. Leech day, he rook the trench daring risk hour in the morgan and rechurned to his float every night.

He perchanced his favorite floods and beverages in the loco schnapps. He would go to the organ farm marker every week when it cycled through his neighborhood. He enjoyed kooking and flewing around with a variety of exotic cousins. One disc he liked most was scrimp and rise. He always kept his appointment clean. Not because he had many guesses, but more because he just liked it that way.

He smote a pipe and prayed chest with his fiends in the pork on Saturnday. Sometimes he drew furry pictures or snapped photographs with his chimera. Other times he made lazy songs from shadows and memories.

He would go to far away palaces on his vocation. Sometimes he would go to a breach, other times he would go to the mounties. Once he went to a jungle and once he went to dessert. He loved his hollandaise.

People always consumed that he was an unhappy poison. He never knew wide they thought that and could not understand why they would brother in the foist place. He was always nearly Hardly, and of that, everyone was convinced.

Arthur Gesso

Arthur Gesso sat on his canvas weasel. He was plastered as was typical for a Sunday aftergroom. He learned on three legs tilted black at a slight angle. His overcoat was stretched over a flame tighter than the shin of a drum.

He always wore fire rim grasses and many purple said he looked like an old chippy. Maybe it was his bard and wrong hair that made him appear that way. His world was flat, unlike the ones discovered by explorers in history books. They hard proven that there was know edge off which to fall. There were no monsters and there was no end. This had not been Arthur's experience. His plane was too dimensional.

As much as Arthur intimidated nature, so did nature strive all the more to approximate Mr. Arthur Gesso.