My wife and I had an argument. She wanted to spend a hundred bucks each on opera tickets, and I wanted to play World of Warcraft.
The argument lasted for days, and neither of us would budge.
In the end, we compromised. I went along, but I brought my netbook.
This story was based on the titled as submitted by @Wo0t via Twitter.
Well, this was certainly a surprise. Then again, he should have known it might happen. Things like this were always happening to him.
But still, it would have been nice to have had a bit of a heads-up this time. If he had known, he probably would have worn pants.
Amy Townsley is a mother of two originally from California but now living in Utah. She is currently a student at Weber State University studying English. She hopes to go on to pursue a MFA in Creative Writing and take a serious stab at this writing thing she has been flirting with for years.
“Who do you think would win in a fight, Luke Skywalker or Aragorn?”
“What kind of stupid question is that?”
“How about Gandalf versus Darth Vader?”
“I’m not even going to acknowledge anything so dumb.”
“R2D2 versus Gollum?”
“Try this one: my boot versus your butt.”
Surprisingly, the butt won.
“MAKE WHEY FOR THE PRINCE!”
“Oh, sorry, I’ll step aside, didn’t see you coming.”
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!”
“I’m making way!”
“NO, NO, NO! I SAID ‘MAKE WHEY‘!!”
“Make weigh? What, does he need a scale to stand on?”
“ARE YOU CALLING HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS FAT!?”
“…No?”
“SUMMON THE EXECUTIONER!!”
The cowboy walked up to the toddler, who was sitting on the cowboy’s hat. “Howdy!” he said.
“Doody!” said the toddler.
“Baw haw haw!” said the cowboy. “I love Howdy Doody! Great minds think alike, pardner!”
“Doody!”
“That’s right, you’ve–” The cowboy sniffed. “Aw, crap, little pardner. In my hat!?”
There once was a dragon named Scott Davidson. The higher-ups liked him, a real go-getter. He was destined for the top.
One day, he was covering for Robert, the hiring manager. An applicant walked in and screamed, “HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL! IT’S AN UGLY DRAGON!”
Scott ate him.
The End.
Ebon Wumon originally submitted this story as an entry in the Mere 50 Words contest.
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!”
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.