The gunshot rang through the crowded auditorium.
The bumbling magician’s assistant had shot him in the head, shattering the pane of glass placed between them, yet the magician was unhurt.
He didn’t know what to do next. Nobody would believe he’d really caught the bullet after he accidentally swallowed it.
This is the fifth in a series of five stories submitted by King Kool.
The bumbling magician’s new assistant scoured the city for a pair of fake legs for the classic “sawing a woman in half” trick. She compared mannequins’ legs to her own until she found a match.
Unfortunately, the magician hadn’t mentioned that he’d really wanted to saw her in half vertically.
This is the fourth in a series of five stories submitted by King Kool.
The bumbling magician waved his wand in a small circle. The unmistakable yet intangible power sent a tingle through his tendons.
He brought the wand above his head as Zeus held his lightning bolt.
With an incantation, something appeared in a smoke cloud: the keys he’d locked in his car.
This is the third in a series of five stories submitted by King Kool.
The bumbling magician bought a larger cage for his fat white rabbit. Its obesity meant it no longer fit inside the magician’s top hat and couldn’t perform.
Only when the magician noticed significant weight loss in his other white rabbit did he realize he was feeding one of them twice.
This is the second in a series of five stories submitted by King Kool.
The bumbling magician submitted a job listing.
WANTED: Magician’s Assistant to fill recently vacated position. Female in twenties with magical or theatrical background preferred.
Must be punctual, dedicated, and comfortable with provocative outfits, late nights and knife-throwing tricks.
Knowledge of first aid and experience removing stains from satin a plus.
This is the first in a series of five stories submitted by King Kool.
She was a couch lump.
All day, she did nothing but sit and squint blankly at walls, as if trying to see one of those three-dimensional image things with the weird patterns that you have to look cross-eyed at.
After her parents kicked her out, she stared at trees instead.
“What’s our special tonight?”
“Soup.”
“What kind?”
“Borscht.”
“…Is that soup, or stew?”
“It’s soup.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah I’m sure. It’s under ‘Soups’ in the cook book.”
“What cook book?”
“This red one with the gold filigree.”
“That’s not a cook book. That’s an encyclopedia.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“My bad.”
It was 9:30 AM in the third grade classroom, and Miss Flannerty was nowhere to be seen.
Billy and Bobby and Suzie wondered if she was sick or sleeping or dead.
Then the class telephone rang.
It was Miss Flannerty. “All-day recess!” she said. “And for homework, learn to spell ‘hangover’!”
Popular opinion held that a plant would be the next entity to achieve sentience but, surprisingly, it was a plastic that broke the barrier.
Soon, a rapidly proliferating breed of newly emotional and very apologetic dishes and jugs swept the markets, resulting in a lot of crying over spilled milk.
“We’re off to see the wizard!
The Wonderful Wizard of Schnoz!”
The producer cocks an eyebrow. “Are you serious? Who do you think you are, Mel Brooks? Because only he could get away with such a lazy parody.”
“I’m not Mel Brooks,” says the writer. “My name is Nel Crooks!”