This is where RunningDevil's unpublished ficlets (drafts, get it?) would show up. You need to be logged in to see drafts (assuming counts you as an editor)!
I met Hobo Beard Bob standing at the crossroads outside of town. (You don’t want to know what he was doing.)He sold his soul for genius, humorous prose. But I think I may give it back. It smells like baked beans.