“That’s twenty pounds, thank ye sir,” burbled the bumpy-faced imp of a man behind the counter.
“Twenty pounds?” protested the customer. “For some hole-ridden leather that hardly deserves to be called a boot?”
The shop assistant slammed and locked the door.
“Twenty pounds,” the imp cackled, “in currency or flesh.”
This story was based on a title suggested by @HBird_James.
“Catrina,” said Professor Brownhair, “you’ve been marking students’ papers with blue ink. What is the meaning of this!?”
“Red is so… angry,” said Catrina.
Professor Brownhair proffered a photograph of a winged child holding a pickaxe. “They mine the red ink,” he intoned. “Save the cherubs’ jobs, Catrina. Save them!“
He lived inside his phone, drifting from app to app and nesting in the dim recesses of the End Call button.
He’d been there since the rotary days. The passing years had drastically reduced his living space.
He had no idea how he’d fit his mattress into a Bluetooth headset.
The day Tom was born, his father wore a high hat.
As a two-year-old, Tom loved taking a ride on his mother’s knee.
When he was four, he watched his brother catch rabbits in a snare.
At six, a pony gave him a nasty kick.
Naturally, Tom became a cowboy.
I know, I know, explaining jokes isn’t funny, but… form your own conclusions.
Fred was a frustrated fool.
“I’ve been trying and trying for hours,” he sighed helplessly, “but I just can’t push this nail through this two-by-four. Do you think I’m doing it wrong?”
He looked over to his companion, MC Hammer, who prepared himself for the fulfillment of his life’s purpose.
This story is based on a title suggested by @danzama.
We bumped one another in the mall.
“Well excuse me,” she pouted.
But I didn’t. Her tone, her look, and her behaviour were a sad excuse for civility, so I excused myself from the situation.
Satisfied, I proceeded to the next entry in my Word-Practice Dictionary: excycloduction would be harder.
It had been a fantastic idea, in theory.
For months they had lived together in harmony, sharing a common home and a common purpose.
Then the new litterbox arrived. From that day forward, it was every cat for himself.
Except when they were puppeteering Obama. They still did that together.
“Our customer service is our greatest asset!” Rosco explained to the customer.
“That’s sort of a… strange slogan for a toilet paper wholesaler,” the woman suggested hesitantly.
“We don’t wipe your bottoms for you or anything,” Rosco clarified.
She looked relieved.
He added, “But we do offer complimentary instructional videoconferencing!”
“Hello, my friend!” twinkled Sir William Glowingsmile. “How are we this fine evening?”
Captain Scowlyface glared at the pompous fancypants so sourly that Glowingsmile turned around and took a swig of mouthwash.
“I see,” Sir William continued. “And your wife?”
Captain Scowlyface frowned so menacingly that Glowingsmile’s toupee fell off.
“Tonight we shall incur the esteem of our ancestors!” bellowed King Tawnyfeathers as his eager army growled in anticipation.
But his heart wasn’t in this fight. He wished he were lying in his garden, gazing at the clouds, interred in the earth he had cultivated.
Ah, to be a potato…
This story was based on a title suggestion by Claire Martin via Facebook.