My heart burns with the fire of creation and unless it is quenched it will scorch the earth; I am a god maker and in my heart a new mythos is born today.
It was the usual cliched Bollywood plot: boy meets girl; girl ignores boy; boy follows his heart and girl into countryside; bandits attack girl; girl conjures Cthuhlu; spontaneous singing; Cthulhlu eats bandits, boy, and girl; ends with a dance number.
She learned many things that day, not the least of which were the price of 1000 marbles and the weight of a hundred bags of sawdust.
This is more uncomfortable than that time the door-to-door Wikipedia researcher came by the house and asked me to cross reference the leftist politics of suspected bisexual Burt Lancaster with the left-facing blowhole of the Physeter macrocephalus.
The man who loved rhyming was in luck
Whenever his wife saw a duck
“Hey, it’s really no crime
To rhyme words all the time,
Particularly when it leads to a coffee shop.”
Mr. and Mrs. Moss lived like two different plotlines in the same novel.
While I was trying not to grind my teeth into powder as I read the pathetic excuses my students call resumes, I noticed the girl next to me was reading an “urban erotic” novel (I didn’t even know this was a genre until I read the back bookflap) entitled “Thong on Fire” with the blurb on the front proclaiming “If you get thrown in the snake pit, you better learn how to wriggle!”
Schrödinger’s cat argued with Einstein about the nature of justice saying that in our legal system it’s not about the truth but about the plausibility of one story over another, but although Einstein appreciated the cat’s logic – possibly even agreeing - he still refused to lend him the bail money.
The syllable scheme
of the haiku makes a poor
sugar substitute.
One of the many differences between my dog and John Lennon is that my dog says he would never hump Yoko’s leg.
Science made us lovers.
Jerry thought he’d got off lightly when the judge sentenced him to a slappin’ for his crimes - but only because he’d never had one - and the judge was satisfied because he’d seen the rehabilitative results of the Justice Trout before, and so it was one of those rare days in the judicial system when, for just a little while, all the fish won.
While he never stays as long as long as he used to, his visits still occur at random intervals during which he strolls along the line of my mental vending machines, already knowing what buttons to push and always with exact change.
When Peter woke up and discovered that the Queen’s new recycling plan involved converting trash into dream form and storing it in the heads of everyone who’d ever imagined walking naked through Trafalgar Square, he knew he was in serious trouble.
“Lord Connection” was hosted by born-again game show angel Chuck Woolery, while Gene Rayburn dominated the airwaves in Hell with “Match Game 666”, but nothing could touch the Neilsen ratings of “Wheel of Karma”.
Dr. Leo couldn’t believe he’d miscalculated the spin rate of his newly developed, personal bullet rocket, but Big Billy’s chaffed nipples clearly disproved the math.
Ira Goldman, the wild west’s first gynecologist, rode into town on a horse with funny stirrups.
His bigotry had reached such a crescendo that he even began showing pride in his lactose intolerance.
If while on a nature hike with your newborn you make the mistake of setting your baby down amongst the moose calves, don’t panic, because finding your own baby is easy as long as you stay calm and remember that the musky scent of the moose calf is slightly stronger than that of the newborn human baby.
His Porsche wrapped around a tree, his girl flung into the arms of another man, Kierkegaard grew melancholy.
After he’d finished philosophizing for the day, Soren K. liked to race around town in his convertible, pulling up beside attractive women and telling them, “Hey, baby, it’s subjectively true that you’d like to make a leap of faith on in here to sit beside me.”
Much to Kierkegaard’s surprise, the gods showed up every Tuesday morning to sit on his porch and whittle time.
Minimalist Jones owned quite a few hats, which hung from the hooks in his hall,
Each to be worn for special occasions, his collection not excessive at all -
The bowler, for instance, he wore only for courting, the Panama went well with white slacks,
The boater for singing, the Shtreimel for fun, the pork pie for playing his sax,
A busby or garrison for special parades, a sombrero for eating burritos,
A deerstalker for times of inclement weather and a burqa for fighting mosquitoes;
And down near the end was a cabbage-tree hat, that sat all alone on a shelf,
“That one,” he’d say, “is a one of a kind - a gift I received from an elf.”
All watched over by billionaires of loving grace, Henry emptied the change from his underwear drawer and went grocery shopping.
Doyle studied the angel feather sticking out of his bran muffin, unsure of who to sue.
Sneaking up on an egret is always tough work, and it will take a diligent nature enthusiast many attempts before he has plucked enough feathers for a decent hat.
Henry was surprised to learn that Heaven had no recycling program, at least not in the traditional sense, and that everyone just threw their trash over the edge, where it would fall down to Earth and turn into people.
After running over Odin’s toes with the mower, Jorgyn, Norse Goddess of Failing Light and Things Fall Apart, caught a train into the city, all the while trying hard not to think about how unfortunate the whole business was, especially the uncut grass.
When Nola told the ducks they could move in until after the bird flu epidemic had passed, she had no way of knowing just how much time they would spend in the bathroom.
Minimalist Jones liked jam in the morning
But would only toast one side of his bread,
Then he’d wash it all down, not with coffee or juice,
But a glass of plain water instead.
Yet another day was ruined because of the duck’s stubborn refusal to stop quacking down the chimney.
Bob eyed the creature of habit, unsure of his next move.
“You’re out of your ever-lovin’ mind,” Bob told his wife, “if you think I can remember the first girl I ever kissed; hell, I don’t even remember the last one.”
Little is known about the vegan dinosaurs, other then they were fast runners with low self-esteem.