Posts from January 2010
The big grey wolf was very lonely, but its howling scared away all of the other woodland creatures.
One day it came across a chubby little baby bunny, which had gotten lost after a farmer killed its family.
The bunny and the wolf became BFFs. No one got eaten. Yay!
“Which way is the wind blowing now?” sneered the chimney to the weather vane.
The weather vane just waved left and right a little.
The chimney huffed grumpily. “You cost ten bucks at a hardware store, but you act like you’re made of gold!”
It was the height of vanity.
Our Hero stood resolute in the middle of the rain-soaked, corpse-littered asphalt.
Zombie earthworms.
They inched closer, exuding sinister inevitability, crushed, broken, bloated, wasting away, and hungry.
Our Hero calmly set a bowl of oatmeal on the ground, flavouring it with his own blood.
That should keep them. For now.
Valerie the vegan decided to spend a week eating nothing but baby carrots and drinking nothing but water.
After one day she felt funny.
After three days she felt strange.
After five days she felt weird.
After seven days she felt… orange.
That evening, while she was sleeping, she sprouted.
Evan Edgelow punched Timothy Thicke in the face. Hard. “TELL ME WHAT I NEED TO KNOW!” he screamed.
“I don’t know anything!” choked Thicke.
“Just tell me and I’ll stop!” shouted Edgelow. “You have my word!”
“I didn’t take your candy bar!”
“Oh, it’s in my pocket,” said Edgelow. “Sorry.”
Claude and Clod watched as the farmer scraped the floors of the barn with the tractor and pushed the manure into a pit.
“He looks sick,” mooed Claude. “Think his milk has gone sour?”
“Don’t try to assign a cow’s traits to a human,” mooed Clod. “That’s just plain foolishness.”
It was thought that the deaths of the innocent fell on her pale shoulders.
A rudimentary trial was constructed so that the people could determine whether she possessed corrupt power. If she floated when bound, the evil spirits guiding her would be made known.
At least she wasn’t a witch.
“Why do they even have planes that drop salt on the runways?”
“Here in Malaska the airports are unattended. The runways get frozen up and there’s no one to de-ice them, so the planes do it themselves before they land.”
“And we’re hijacking one…”
“Yes. We’re assaulting a salting airplane.”
Jared Brown, secret agent, mouthed a silent “Thank you” to the eccentric elderly gentleman who had insisted he install the high-tech self-deploying winch into the boot of his European sports car, which was currently hanging by said winch, with him inside it, from the ledge of an exceedingly tall cliff.
I chose to use the word “boot” in the British sense, to mean the trunk of a car. Creative license!
“Duck!”
“That’s not a duck; it’s a goose!”
It wasn’t a duck; it was a goose.
“No, I’m using the imperative form of the verb ‘to duck’.”
“Really? That’s one of the most obvious jokes in the world, like saying someone broke the G-string on their guitar.”
“Tee hee. G-string…”