“Why aren’t the llamas spitting?” pouted Rosie.
“Well they don’t spit all the time, honey,” explained Dad.
“But I wanna see ’em spit!”
“Sorry, dear,” said Dad. “Maybe next time.”
But the damage was done. It would take little Rosie twenty-three years to overcome today’s shattering of her expectoration expectations.
This story was based on a suggestion from @MisterFiendZero, who sent in the title as a story prompt via Twitter.
“Watch closely, folks! I’m about to make this volunteer completely disappear!”
It happened with a flash and a bang. The volunteer was nowhere to be seen.
After the show, the magician found the volunteer under the stage. As planned, the fireworks had perfectly disguised the gunshot.
This never got old.
This story was based on a suggestion from @danzama.
Husband arrives home having forgotten a significant anniversary.
Wife greets him, expecting dinner, flowers, cards, anything.
Husband apologizes, profusely. Wife demands recompense: “Something in the driveway tomorrow that goes zero to 215 fast.”
Next morning she discovers a small flat package. Imagine her surprise at a new set of bathroom scales!
Don Crawford was told this story by a Wendy’s employee and decided to convert it to 50 words and relay it to all of you!
“Hey!” someone shouted from behind her.
Mary turned to look. An elderly gentleman was rubbing his throat confusedly.
“Ow!” cried someone else, rubbing the back of their head.
A hand suddenly covered her eyes; a pen was at her throat. “Gotcha, honey.”
Having a commando for a husband was… exciting?
All was still in Buckingham Palace. Not even the royal mice were stirring, despite the delicious royal peanut butter that had been slathered on the royal mouse traps to stop them from stealing the Queen’s royal hair ties.
They’re learning, thought the Royal Hair Tie Protector to himself. The fiends.
@Zutzy responded to my call for three nouns to base a story on with “peanut butter,” “hair tie”, and “Buckingham Palace.”
It was a Thursday.
On Thursdays, Prysanthemum the Pug went to the baths from two to four o’clock. That made for prime adventuring time for his Doghouse, Dot. Glory, honour, excitement, fortune, and renown lay just over the horizon!
But first, Dot had to overcome one minor obstacle: voluntary movement.
Once upon a time, the beautiful princess journeyed to the Moon.
It was cold there. Not even the Moon Badgers were warm.
Even after the princess skinned three Moon Badgers and made a coat, she was still cold. So she set her spaceship on fire, and everyone was warm together.
Kittens! Kittens everywhere!
It was terrifying. Mortifying. A nightmare.
She stifled a scream. Then she stifled a yawn.
The warm, cuddly kitten bodies, like a soft, purring blanket, lulled her, despite her best efforts, off to sleep. And as she slept, she dreamed about the tigers that ate her mom.
It was comfortable in his bed, so he decided to stay there.
It was still comfortable the next day, because it was so soft.
It was still comfortable the next week, because it was so warm.
It was still comfortable the next month, because he couldn’t feel anything at all.
Crankfurt the Crocodile was a very good wallower. Sometimes he wallowed in the mud. Sometimes he wallowed in the swamp. Sometimes he even wallowed in the dust.
At the Mammal Wallowing Championships, Crankfurt was disqualified because of his decidedly non-mammalian crocodility. That was where he learned to wallow in despair.