I’ve been told millions of times that my smile is beautiful, but a little forced. Your smile would be forced too if you’d been stuck in a painting for five hundred years listening to people critique you.
There are some ideas that should stop at the stage called “That might be funny.” On the bright side, my health insurance is really friendly, the junkyard paid us a couple hundred bucks, and we found an exotic shelter that was willing to take the sugar glider.
Kelly was my girlfriend at the time and she tried to shock me one day by showing me that she had shaved her head. I just laughed because I knew I had a far better shock waiting for her in my backyard where I kept the dead bodies of all the people I had murdered.
The writer wrote a two-sentence story not worth writing. You read the writer’s writing and wondered why he’d written the thing that we wrote.
The pitcher threw, the batter swung clumsily, and the bat flew from the player’s inept hands and soared across the crowded stadium at frightening speed.
The spinning rod flew into the stands and the panicked spectators rushed for safety, except for Jim, who looked up from his new video game three seconds too late to see the flying bat moving towards him and at that moment Jim painfully discovered that the new IPad 2 does not make a good shield against fast-moving projectiles.
“I’m not eating this jiggly junk,” Jen said pushing the large chilly bowl of quivering blue gelatin away from her.
“Good, cause I’m late for a hot date,” the blue gelatin said before hopping from the bowl.
“What happened to all your leads in the Belltower-Bandit case?” asked a snarky young reporter.
The surly cop replied, “When I get a hunch back, I’ll let you know.”
what do the Gods ask?
how the hell would i know?
“For the absolutely last time, will you stop playing with that chainsaw!”
“Sorry”, replied Pinocchio.
The flight seemed to take forever and one of the chicks was getting quite annoyed.
Finally, after 20 hours of flying south, the ducks arrived safe and tired in their nest.
She complained to me that her pants made her look fat; I told her it’s not the pants’ fault. The police never did find all of me.
A dog barking at thunder: no greater courage.
I bought a horse after she left me for the cowboy who tucked his shirt into his underwear. I hide my humiliation under holster and spurs.
The cacophony created by the amateur guitarist’s amplifier reached the ears of Flufn’Stuff – who was daydreaming on the balcony of the third-story building next door – and threatened to throw her into a misanthropic rage. Having witnessed Flufn’Stuff’s last rage Kaylee, her minion, took matters into her own hands and saved the neighbor’s life by covertly micturating on the outdoor fuse box, shutting off their power.