Posts from October 2009
She ate toast obsessively. Her friends called “Toasty McToaststerstonst,” even though she told them it was completely ridiculous to have that many esses and tees in one word.
For Halloween she dressed up as a piece of bread and some drunk guys stuffed her in a toaster. She got burned.
Tara told Tammy to try to stop telling tall tales. But Tammy bragged about her bossy big brother Ben: he had the hugest, heaviest head. Fortunately, Fred’s freakish feet were far funnier. Larry and Laurie laughed and laughed and laughed, long and loud.
Alice ardently, angrily ate all the alliterators.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the doctor. “You’re dying.”
The words hit me like a boxing glove with a fist inside it swung intentionally towards my head by a professional martial artist.
“What!?” I gasped.
“Only kidding!” he said.
My fist hit him like his words had hit me. But harder.
“You know what’s so great about lunch?”
“Yeah! It’s spelled like ‘launch’ but without the A!”
“That is great, but what’s even greater is that it’s like the contents of the sandwich, and breakfast and supper are the bread! That’s why lunch tastes the best!”
“I hate sandwiches!”
“Me too!”
Ellie wriggled her toes, grinning with grim satisfaction as the joints cracked. She looked down at the delicate, elfin girl nestled underneath the covers beside her.
“Morning,” her husband whispered as he entered the room. “Is she still asleep?”
Ellie nodded, beaming, gently stroking the girl’s sun-dappled cheek. “My baby.”
The ancient bard settled more comfortably into his furs and breathed in deeply. The air held the scent of pine needles, campfire smoke, and eager anticipation.
His audience held their breaths with rapt attention, awaiting the bard’s words of adventure, beauty, and wisdom.
The bard opened his mouth to begin…
@gameking218: “I forgot the Smores,” he said. Everyone up and left.
@VikkieTheMimm: …but alas, he’d lost his voice. Darn that Mage Flu.
I’ll add in responses as I receive them, though I may make some edits of my own before including them.
She was the foxiest lady I ever met.
There was nothing “faux” about the furs she wore. In her mind, “animal cruelty” was a term for describing bear attacks.
I finally asked her to go to dinner with me, but it turned out she was a vegetarian, so I walked.
“I heard on the radio today that statisticians are wealthier, happier, and awesomer than people in other professions.”
“Oh really. Who collected the data? And who published the report?”
“Stats Canada.”
“And you don’t see anything suspicious about that?”
“Nope. Statisticians are great!”
“…Yeah. You’re right.”
“I’m gonna marry one!”
Maurice accidentally sautéed his beloved pet snail. As it fried, it moved in the pan in a strange, almost rythmic pattern.
On the gravestone in the backyard, Maurice wrote, ”He was slow to make friends until he started coming out of his shell, but sadly his hopes were ultimately crushed…”
Jorge was a racist. He hated purple people. He wanted to do mean things to them all.
Jorge was also a mulish ignoramus. He wouldn’t listen to anyone who tried to tell him purple people didn’t exist.
“Fools!” he muttered to himself every night, as he repainted his skin brown.