February 29

An alarm clock beeped an irritating string of beeps as Hot dog man climbed lazily out of the frying pan. He cast one glance at the framed photo on his nightstand and immediately thought of her. He couldn't live without her. To think about it, they were made for each other. A visit would have to be arranged so he could hold her hand and profess his love. Later that day, Hot Dog man held Lady Mustard's hand as they strode casually down the street. Day dreams relentlessly showered his thoughts  as they continued their walk. Oh, how he loved her fresh taste, colour, vibrancy, and most importantly, their amazing taste when combined. They were the perfect match. He was with Lady Mustard through a marriage arranged by his father Gusto, the human eater. Gusto had raised him in a grill after he had been born at the hot dog factory and now he was one day old. A stone pebble bounced and vibrated in their path, a shadow loomed overhead, and before they knew it, Hot Dog man and Lady Mustard were snatched up in Gusto's chubby hands. Lady Mustard was smeared on top of him as he continued to daydream about her. Those red lips and red body, how he loved ketchup more than he hated mustard. The next minute, Hot dog man was dead while his wife stood weeping yellow tears.