Young Writers Society

The heart pounding chase continued for two whole days, during which they didn't really go anywhere, just ran in huge circles around the town. The penguins got bored. The bystanders got bored. And just when it looked like the story would sort fizzle out with one of those unsatisfactory, "And they are running still"...

A samarai with a six-foot-long scimitar leaped down from a passing helicopter and neatly sliced the (would-be) co-star's machine gun in half. "There is only one way to settle this!" he yelled. "Thumb wrestling!"

The (would-be) co-star let out a mighty screech, and set about planning how she would haunt the samurai's family for thirteen generations to come.

John, meanwhile, blinked. He looked down at his brawny, manly hands with their brawny, manly fingers--except for his pallid, effeminate thumbs. The weakness of his thumbs was a secret that he had long kept secret, but now there was no way out.

A penguin scuttled forth from the crowd.

"Psst," it said to him. "I know someone who could help!"