I'm chugging away on a "secret project" involving a man who wears his dead wife's teeth as a necklace. Don't worry--he didn't kill her. More later. Promise.
The second is a short story (on which I should slap "The End" today) called "Crushing on Mr. Nose":
Before first hour on the second day of school, Mr. Lutz picked his nose in the darkened office at the back of the classroom. Mandi Ferris and Libby Jenkins watched the whole, ugly affair. A new teacher at South, Lutz wore an ill-fitting button-down shirt—which did not flatter his bulging midsection—and brown plastic rimmed glasses which Mandi was sure, absolutely positive, her grandfather had donated in the cardboard box marked “charity” at the optometrist’s office. Lutz’s skin rivaled a potato worm in paleness—white and soft looking like the underbelly of a catfish Libby’s uncle made her touch during a camping trip when she was five. Her uncle was a freak that way.
Mr. Lutz was a freak in a different way.
“The worst part, absolute worst,” Libby said, scowling as though she’d eaten a fistful of raw lemon grass, “Is that the weird bastard lives across the alley from me.”
Mandi’s pug nose wrinkled. “Oh. My God. He’s probably some kind of perv. Probably watches you in the shower. Lutz butts. Let’s call him Mr. Nose.”
Try to get that image out of your head, eh? Libby certainly can't. (She even starts to scribble "Libby Lutz" in the margins of her notebook...WTF, right?)