by Bill Gusky Chris Curry It’s Spit’s turn. She zips over to a dusty web dangling from the peaky ceiling and, with a winsome glance at Holk, brushes her hairy butt against it until it sticks. Now she’s a tether fly. When she zooms, the web keeps her going in circles. She speeds up until the entire peaky ceiling buzzes. Slow down! You’re making me nauseous! That’s Holk, upside-down on the peaky ceiling, trying to follow Spit’s beautiful zooming face. I won’t I won’t I won’t sh