AND THENNNNN?, AND THENNNNNN?.....
This thread is great!
Keep it up, guys! I haven't laughed this hard in days!
<snort>
You guys are wonderful...I can't write as badly as any of you, so I'm just reading along...
Tico, I really think the one that ended, "like the cheap whore that she was," is the very worst of all. Brilliant.
I can write every bit as badly as they can.
(Only when I'm trying to write well, though.
)
I thought about mentioning the same thing about myself, Eva!
'TH E MORNING SUN ROSE OVER THE EAST SIDE OF THE SANDIAS, LOOKING LIKE THE LIGHT FROM ONE OF THOSE
HEAT LAMPS THAT THEY USE TO KEEP YOUR BARBEQUED CHICKEN HOT IN THE SUPERMARKET DELI .dESPITE BEING BATHED BY THE BENEFICIAL RAYS OF FIRST SUN, JUNIORS CAR WOULDNT START BECAUSE HED RUN IT OUT OF OIL YESTERDAY ON HIS WAY TO ACQUIRE THEBAGFUL OF GUNS.
It was always there, like a brown spot in the underwear, only not so noticeable, a fly in the ointment of happiness. Not until Clydie, our daughter went off to study at Yale did we begin to recognize the fact it rode like a burr working its way under a saddle. Adelle and I were unhappy with one another! No one could see that cow on the tracks, until the train of reality ran smack into it. And then were left with the head splitting schism of that pending separation of affection. What will we do now?
I are a serous arthur, arthur.
That was brilliant, edgar!
I am still debating whether I should congratulate you or vomit, though.
I think I will accept that as a compliment. Thanks.
This is the story of my urethra...
Urethra Franklin, the singing . . .
It was 11:17, precisely, when old Doc Smither died. Yes, he died, and it wasn't until 11:24 that I realized he had been my old man. There had always been something about him, true, but I had chalked it up to our being of almost the same race and nearly having the same accents. But there it was, in the dead silence between us, that I learned he was really a short man, as I removed his elevator shoes in delicious anticipation of necrophilia that now, I know, was really a bit of incestuous necrophilic longing. I wanted Doc and, I like to think, his corpse wanted me, too.
You are born to write novels, jespah.
She would be shot, edgar, and rightly so.
That was truly foul, jes.
I looked up from my newly-acquired specimen of flutteris Andeinsis, to note that three burly men, wearing US Navy Seal uniforms, and one of whom I recognized as former Joint Chiefs of Staff chairman Tige Baxter, burst unceremoniously into my office/laboratory. "Professor Jet Armstrong, I presume?" Baxter said to me, handing me a dossier marked 'maximum top secret.' I knew I had just been summoned for another world-saving mission as....Jet Armstrong, Combat Lepidopterist!
The signal came at the appointed time. Two short dots and one long dash. Well, to be honest, the dash had a bit of flickering at the end which, as anyone who knows morse code will know, shouldn't happen. Either the messenger had a faulty bulb in his torch, or he had been taught morse code by someone with a stutter. Smythe was not aware of anyone back at HQ with a stutter. He also knew that all standard issue bulbs were checked regularly for faults. The message therefore, spelt danger, even though technically, two short dots and one long dash was actually the letter "u".
It wasn't the volume of passing turd that concerned Johan, it was the quality. When he started his job as a New York sewer scraper back in 1953, turds were fibrous and less greasy, which made his job of scraping a lot easier than it had been over the past ten years. Johan put it down to the trend towards fast food consumption, and was glad he had only two weeks left to his retirement.
