A kitten lounged in the sun.
“It’s a kitty cat!” said a little boy. “Can I keep him?”
Mommy smiled. “He’s ours, you know. We got him yesterday!”
“Can we call him Stanley Cup?”
“Yesterday you named him Winnie the Pooh,” said mommy patiently.
“But now I’m more growed up!”
He told her, “I need you like I need a slap in the face.”
She gasped and slapped him.
“Thank you,” he said, wincing slightly. “I did something weird to my jaw the other day and I think you knocked it back into place.”
Theirs was an atypical love affair.
“I missed the train again,” whined Alyssa over the phone to Gunther, her unsympathetic pet gorilla.
Gunther said, “Suck it up, princess,” but it was in sign language, so Alyssa didn’t see.
“Thanks for listening, hun,” said Alyssa. “See you tonight!”
As usual, Gunther spent the day plotting his escape.
Garth banged his shin against the coffee table and swore loudly.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” said his friend.
“My mother’s dead,” said Garth.
“But if she were alive, would you still kiss her… with… your mouth…”
A few awkward moments passed.
“I probably would,” said Garth.
When Buster the puppy wasn’t sleeping, he was eating. When he wasn’t eating, he was playing. When he wasn’t playing, he was either sleeping or eating. He didn’t have a very complicated life, well, except on Thursdays, which was when he genetically engineered his super soldiers in the laundry room.
This story was based on a title suggested by @StoicRomance.
“I’m sinking in the quicksand! Toss me a vine!”
“There aren’t any long enough to reach!”
“What about that one? It’s, like, seven feet long!”
She leapt for the vine, but there were too many walnuts on the ground, and she tripped on them.
His last words: “Worst. Vacation. Ever.”
This story was based on the following tweetful of suggestions from @KingKool: “Too many walnuts! The worst vacation! Seven feet long! Rapidly sinking in quicksand! Etc.”
“Finally!” complained Fluffy the cat in the softly exasperated voice of a young mother. “The kittens are down for nap time. All they ever do is eat, sleep, and whine!”
Mittens, her husband, mewed appreciatively. “What should we do with our free time?”
“Grab a snack and get some shuteye.”
Martin was my worst friend. You know how some people say they have a “best” friend? Martin was the opposite of that. Like, if “BFF” means “Best Friends Forever”, then I’d call Martin my “WFFA”: Worst Friend For Always. That’s how much I didn’t like him.
Couldn’t really say why.
Everyone was avoiding Martina like the plague. (Well, to be fair, they only avoided her “like the plague” because she had the Plague and was quarantined, but they did it very rudely!)
Martina stewed in resentment until she became an evil villain. Then she died. Of the Plague, of course.
“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.