“Broken or unplayable vinyl records should be recycled.”
“Into what?”
“Well, vinyl is short for polyvinyl chloride, or PVC. They could make shiny, sexy clothes. Wouldn’t you like to get a nice, slick catsuit for your wife to wear?”
“Not sure.”
“Why?”
“My wife already sounds like a broken record…”
“I’m so hungry, right now.”
“Here, have a bowl of this breakfast cereal.”
” ‘Analphabits’? Don’t they mean ‘Alphabits’ ?”
“They’re very similar. But these are all broken up, so they don’t look like actual letters. They’re unreadable.”
“Ah. But the ‘Anal-’ part isn’t very appetizing.”
“Well, they do look like shit.”
Impy the imp (whose parents weren’t very imaginative) was depressed, because he was dying.
He considered throwing himself into the lake of fire, but he was too depressed to do it.
Hell is Hell, as the other imps said.
Things can get pretty bleak when you’re looking at imp-ending death.
Start an eBay-style site where people can sell their souls to the highest bidder.
Major hit.
Banking system collapses when soulless rich bankers buy everything.
World becomes a better place.
“I don’t understand why the team got rid of me.”
“Widegger, you’re an OK outfielder, but you’re too naive.”
“What do you mean? I never renegotiated my contract, and my stats are above average.”
“You haven’t heard what they’re saying? ‘You can catch more flies with money than with Widegger.’”
The writer was busy writing, as always. Couldn’t afford any distraction. Wouldn’t agree to any speaking engagements, as many writers do.
He would receive copies of his books by courier, and these were piled up, all around him.
He was walled-in by his own books.
Not just busy: booked solid!
For the past month, none of the girls on this online dating site had replied.
He was depressed, now. All alone in this basement he hadn’t left for weeks, he lived on a diet of Cheetos and Pepsi.
A freak virus had wiped out humanity, but he still didn’t know.
“There’s nothing I can do now, the puppies will be born sick, and die within minutes.”
My dog would give birth to nine puppies, and he couldn’t do anything.
But I could.
I sent her into the future, where her puppies could be saved.
A bitch in time saves nine.
When he finished writing his autobiography, he realized how much he’d missed in life by concentrating on pure science, so he went back in time to force his past self to enjoy life.
The resulting autobiography was also a disaster — no accomplishments.
On his third try, he became a writer.
Patricia had been plagued by that song all her life. It undermined her reputation at every turn. No one took her seriously.
One day, she decided she’d show them. “Now they’ll have to take me seriously.”
By the time her top came off, everyone was taking her very seriously indeed.