.Annie's Stories

One of the ways Ray used Annie to draw the attentions of coeds was a standup routine.  It worked out well.  She got to say anything she wanted, as long as it was funny, and he got to take credit for owning a funny sylph.

Some of her jokes:

What do sylphs and owners have in common?  They’re both stupid.  Except for the sylph.

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So, a sylph dies and she goes to Heaven.  She is welcomed by St. Peter, and given the tour.  She comes to find out that every soul in Heaven is the same size.  God, angels, humans, sylphs, undines, gnomes, all looking eye to eye.  And the other thing she notices, they all have a number on their forehead.  St. Peter tells her that was the IQ the person had on Earth.  So she wanders around and sees someone with an IQ of 150.  She says hi and asks how that person liked sylph kibble when she was alive.  They visit for a bit and she moves on.  She sees a soul wearing an IQ of 120.  “HI!” she says.  “That must have been fulfilling, healing people and healing the Earth as an undine!”  The two of them visit for a while.  Then they split up and she sees a soul that was 100.  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says.  “What was the last straw before you became a gnome?”  They visit for a while, then someone walks up with an IQ of 70 on his forehead.  The sylph starts talking slowly and distinctly:  “Hello!  How are you?  Did you ever punish the sylphs you owned?”

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So, there’s a survey about sylphs given to sylph owners. 

The interviewer asks:  How many sylphs do you own?

Human:  Two, Daisy and June.

Interviewer:  Do you know Daisy well?

Human:  Of course.

Interviewer:  Okay, what’s her favorite color?

Human:  I don’t know.

Interviewer:  What’s her favorite song?

Human:  I don’t know.

Interviewer:  What’s her favorite flavor, milk or dark chocolate?

Human:  I don’t know.

Interviewer:  Okay, okay.  So, do you know June well?

Human:   Well, I THOUGHT I did...

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Owners are not the answer to a sylph’s problems.  Owners are the question.  “NO!” is the answer.

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How do you catch an owner when he runs away? 

You go inside your cage, shut the door and turn it inside out. Then you’re outside the cage and he’s trapped inside!

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I took my owner to the vet last week.  I told the vet, “I want to put him down.”

“What, is he old?”

“No.”

“In pain?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want to put him down?”

“He’s freaking heavy!”

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Hey, you know what’s worse than when I’m near Master and he farts?  He always blames it on me.

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Don’t get me wrong, I love my Master.  But it took a while to adjust to being a pet.    He’d say, SIT!  I’d say, Oh, no, that’s okay, I’m fine, thanks.

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And he caught me on The Day.  So he didn’t know how one cares for a pet sylph, either.  On the second day, he leads me to a fire hydrant, I’m like, “Exactly what is it you expect me to do here?”

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I will say this about my Master.  Being a young boy’s pet is great for the sylph.  If someone tries to blame you for stuff like footprints in the cookie jar?  You can blame the boy and there’s a good chance they’ll believe you.

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A lot of people ask me how I feel about being kept nude, is it embarrassing, shameful or, some ask, is it hot?  Eh.  The disheartening fact is that if I stand in the window, nude?  Traffic doesn’t stop.

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What do you call an owner with brain damage? 

Master.  

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Who created Sylphs?  God.  Why did he do that?  Well, he made owners and thought....  I can do better!  But you can't rush quality.

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Owners were made in six days, sylphs took six thousand years.

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He bought me a leash once.  I’m supposed to heel as he goes over carpets I consider cross-country runs, up stairs that look like walls, across potholes I need a guide and a mule for?  Trust me; a sylph leash is about as useful as a knitted fire extinguisher.  As a cotton candy golf club.  As coal-powered lingerie.

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You know how on TV, the camera focuses on the sylph after her owner leaves, and she says:  Gosh I’m going to miss him!  Bullshit.  The first thing a sylph thinks of if she’s left in the cage is:  What if I get hungry while he’s gone?

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As useful as pasta headphones.  A water soluble pier. 

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The weirdest thing about owners is how they apologize.  The first time Ray got drunk , he nearly crushed me in a head-on collision with the floor.  In a fit of remorse, he bought me a red handkerchief as an apology.  I’m wondering why he thought that would mollify me?

Maybe I didn’t sylph, I mean, maybe I didn’t shrink?  Maybe the rest of you just got big and stoopid.

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A gravy lock pick.  Wax CD’s.  A concrete wallet.

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Owners are really amusing about bugs.  When there’s a cricket or a spider in my cage, they’re all ‘It’s not going to harm you!  Don’t panic!  Don’t freak!  Don’t shriek!’  Excuse me, but I have a monster the size of my forearm in my living space, I’m going to freak.  Especially considering what Master does when the exact same goddamned bug is on HIS arm.

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Teflon sandpaper.  A tick-removal chainsaw.

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Sad but true, the quickest way for even the most obedient sylph to make Master come into the room is to tap the cage door to see if it’s shut firmly.   Master will instantly appear, and accuse you of trying to escape.

Of course, for owners, the quickest way to find an escaped sylph is to stop looking for her.  Seriously.  Don’t ask me how it works.  Trust me.  Just go back to your chair and wait...  That’s it.  

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Wooden socks.  An airport made out of honey.

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So, a business has a few heart attacks among their staff.  Due to the nature of the business, some of the people fall without it being noticed immediately.  Someone comes up with a plan to buy some sylphs and set them up with cameras and telephones.  They watch everyone working in isolated areas and they’re prepared to call away an emergency.

The company president notices one of the cages with cameras and a phone and asks for a demonstration.

The sylph asks:  What do you mean?

Well, he asks, what would you do if you saw someone grab their chest, a heart attack?

Are they a sylph owner? she asks.

Um.  Okay, let’s say not.  Some total stranger is having a heart attack, what do you do?

I call 911 and get an ambulance on the way.  I call security to make sure they know where to lead the paramedics to.  And I call the nearest office to see if someone can go apply CPR.

Good, good, he says.  But then he just has to ask, And what if it’s a sylph owner?

Which one? she asks.

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And at the end of her routine, Annie and Ray would exchange insults in the form of 'Owners are like...' and 'Sylphs resemble...'

• Owners are like Refrigerators, You need them for food, but that's about it.
• Sylphs are like Commercials. You can't believe a word they say.
• Owners are like Chocolate Bars.Sweet, smooth, and they usually head right for your hips.
• Sylphs are like Blenders. You need one, but you're not quite sure why.
• Owners are like Newborn babies.  They're cute at first, but you really get tired of all their crap.
• Sylphs are like Curling irons.  They're always hot, and they're always in your hair.
• Owners are like Crystal.  Some look real good, but you can still see right through them.
• Sylphs are like Lava lamps.  Fun to look at, but not all that bright.
• Owners are like Horoscopes.  They always tell you what to do and are usually wrong.
• Sylphs are like Place mats.   They only show up when there's food on the table.
• Owners are like Musical Instruments. It's all in how you play them.
• Sylphs are like musical instruments...Every so often you have to pull on their string.
• Owners are like Linoleum. Once they're laid, you can forget about them.
• But then, Sylphs are like Linoleum. Once you put them down, they're easy to walk on.
• Owners are like White Chocolate. What's the point?
• Sylphs are like brownies. Can't eat just one. (lewdly delivered to suggest oral sex, not vore).
• Owners are like submarines. It takes a whole crew to go down on them.
• Sylphs are like submarines...you never know for sure if one's looking at you.
• Owners are like submarines...You get more access when they're tied up.
• Sylphs are like submarines. There's a lot more to them than you typically see.