The gun was left in the drawer.
Everyone knew it was there, but no one dared use it.
Each one of them died, one after the other, while the detective tried in vain to puzzle things out.
In the end, he died, too.
And the gun remained in the drawer.
“Life is like a bad video game.”
“There’s no tutorial.”
“It takes a while to figure out, and you never get it completely.”
“A lot of it feels more like work than a game.”
“The balancing is out-of-whack.”
“The graphics are meh.”
“The plot makes no sense…”
“Then, game over.”
“Breakthrough!”
“What?”
“I’ve modified this phone. Its reception circuitry is now temporally out of phase.”
“In English, please.”
“This phone is connected to the future.”
“Oh. How far into the future?”
“I dunno.”
“Guess you’ll have to make a call.”
“You do it.”
“No, you.”
Just then, the phone rang.
“The computer’s frozen, again!”
“What were you doing this time?”
“Not my fault, this time.”
“Well, what were you doing?”
“Just playing a game…”
“How long have you been playing?”
“Four hours.”
“Gotta run the defrost cycle every two hours, or this happens. Now just wait until it thaws out.”
“What’s that smell?”
“That, my good friend, is the smell of fear, amplified a billion-fold.”
“Smells like stale pee.”
“One of the ingredients.”
“Dangerous?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, is it toxic or something?”
“It’s perfectly safe.”
Just then, all predators in a ten-mile radius burst in and ate them.
“This DVD will show us the future!” he said.
“What did you waste your money on, now? Some self-help guru’s prognostications? Some crackpot financial analyst’s get-rich-quick scheme?” she said.
“No, this will be actual footage, from the future! Watch!”
He starts it.
Footage from the lab.
White flash.
Then static.
The killer walked up to his victim from behind, and backstabbed him.
The victim fell, face up, revealing to the killer that he’d actually killed himself.
“Oh, shit!” he thought, looking upon his own, now inert features. “That’s the last time I go back in time!”
How right he was.
The first guy tried to pick up these three girls at a bar by flexing his muscles. They politely declined.
The second guy tried singing. They booed him away.
The third guy simply said, “You girls raise the bar.” And they left with him.
Girls just want to have pun.
She was trimming her herb garden, busily pulling out all the weeds, removing the diseased or dying parts of otherwise viable plants.
Some varieties of herbs she’d planted were proliferating more than expected, stifling others.
That wouldn’t do.
“What’cha doin’ ?” asked her neighbor.
“Oh, right now, I’m just killing thyme.”
After the chlorophyll plague swept through the planet’s vegetation, the few remaining plants and trees became very rare and precious.
But I found a solution. I build concrete gardens. Wood, even dead wood, is scarce. But the rocks needed for concrete are everywhere.
Really wish I had green paint, though.