The writer went back to work, and quickly churned out a new novel.
He presented it to the agent, who said, “Hate the title.”
“Read it anyway.”
Later, the dazed agent called, “I’ll get all your work published. Just send it in.”
The writer thanked the hypnotic power of words.
His Oedipus complex had become manifest, causing him to kill his father, and plan to rape his mother.
But his mother had died years before; her death caused his psychological problems.
Still, he found a time machine, and accomplished his goal.
Then he realized when and how he would die.
When you get your dead whale, you’ll find it hard to move around.
You can try getting help from friends, or you can hire.
You can get a crane.
You can manipulate gravity fields.
You can use magic.
You can pray.
There must be fifty ways to heave your blubber.
“Your prayer has been heard; your wish may now be fulfilled. But you must now choose your Champion to face The Challenge. Who will you pick?”
“What are my choices?”
“The world’s strongest. mightiest man, the world’s smartest man, or Sister Mary-Hortense, of Jesus-Our-Savior-From-On-High.”
“I choose Nun of the Above.”
Two enemy pilots crashed onto an uninhabited planet while engaged.
They gradually learned to trust each other, and became good friends.
The alien pilot told the human he was pregnant (don’t ask) then died.
The human’s bittersweet joy at this event was interrupted when thousands of baby aliens devoured him.
“I don’t take orders from bricks,” I say.
“What?” she asks me.
“Nothing. Are you ready to go?”
“Aren’t you gonna do something about that window?”
“What if it rains?”
“Then I’ll take a shower.”
“What if a bird flies in? What then?”
“Not for the bird.”
The lady got back up, wiped the blood off her cheek, giving me a dirty look throughout.
I feigned interest in the brick, examining it while trying to avoid laughing.
I was surprised when I found an actual message on the projectile, in crayon:
“If you help her, you’re dead!”
The window behind me shatters, and I duck, narrowly avoiding a pavement stone.
Third time this month. I’m not surprised. With my phone disconnected, it’s the second best way to send me a message.
The dame didn’t react quickly enough, though. Now she’s got a blackeye.
“Duck,” I say, smiling.
It’s sunny outside, but I’ve got the blinds closed. I like shadow.
This dame doesn’t. Keeps trying to see my face better. But she’ll hire me regardless.
Someone’s trying to kill her husband, and she’s trying to see if I’ll react to her cleavage.
I open the blinds a bit.
“When the aliens came–”
“You start all your stories with that.”
He disregarded the rude interruption.
“When the alie–”
“Why won’t you tell a different story?”
“Because it’s a defining moment in our history. It changed things forever.”
“History is no excuse for lack of imagination.”