Green Dawn

"Go on, you'll like it."
 It was growing late when I first met the men before me. Huddled for warmth around the barrel, their faces illuminated in the green glow, they addressed me like MacBeth's three witches. Without witch talk, of course. And now, they were gathered around me, their leader holding out a spoon.
 "Go on." He said again. The green waste on the spoon glittered as a streetlight flickered on and off, and I caught sight of tenticles under sleeve.
 "Yes, you'll like it." Crowed the second.
 "Be like us." The third said, the words rasping from his beak
I took another look at the spoon. Of course, eating nuclear waste has many benefits, but I don't regret my choice. Shoving the mutant leader, I ran home. Behind me, I could hear them chase me in their mutant truck, eventually giving up when they found a midget to feed their radioactive soup to.

Yes, I'm at another bus stop. I don't know where I'm going...

As I waited at the bus stop, I noticed a curious figure approaching. At first, I was drawn to the fact he was 7 foot tall and dressed in a long coat that suggested he would soon flash me. Then, my attention was drawn to the undersized bowler hat perched on his head. Only once I'd studied his tiny head-wear did I become aware of the fact he was, in fact, a giant cockroach.
 "Good morning" He said, "Could you perhaps tell me when the next bus to Ipswich arrives?"
 "Oh... Well, I'm afraid there isn't a direct bus to Ipswich. You'd have to go to the bus depot, I suppose, and get a bus from there. Or a train maybe."
He looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied:
 "Oh, I see. I'm sorry about this, but you know, I'm a giant cockroach. This morning, a mad scientist mutated me and gave me vocal cords. And this garish hat. So you must excuse me not understanding the intricacies of bus travel."
 "Of course. Why do you want to go to Ipswich anyway?"
 "I don't know." He replied, as sadness covered his face.
I couldn't think of a reply, so we stood looking at each other for a few seconds. Eventually, I got embarrassed. When he turned to look at the bus timetable, I squashed him with my shoe.
 It was kinder than letting him go to Ipswich.

Something about tortoises... I dunno, I need to use titles more.

"It's not working"
It wasn't, there was no point in denying it. I was in serious trouble here - debts up to my ears. This race was serious live or die stuff, and this was a serious problem.
Slowly, the first tortoise crossed the finish line. Serious expressions on their faces, another 4 crossed the line in due time. My tortoise however - overly optimistic named El Diablo rápido, it transpired - lay dead at the starting post. Once again, my attempts to rig a race had gone wrong - my using of the old radish trick, steroids, and tranquilizers on the opposition had failed before. This time, however, I had tried mutation. In my mind, a super-mutant tortoise was the ultimate racing animal (and after, I could sell him to the military). Tragically, it transpired that when one dips a tortoise in stolen nuclear waste, it does not grow to huge proportions and become... muscly... (is that the word? You know, a ripped tortoise... Like condoms full of walnuts, in a shell)
In fact, it makes a tortoise die slowly, in a cruel and unnecessary manner. I'm going back to jail. Stealing nuclear waste and torturing animals - as well-intended as these acts may be - is illegal, you see.