Giant crabs have been sighted in the San Francisco Bay area, attacking people and damaging vehicles and buildings.
Experts have found that the crabs avoid areas where their natural predator, the flounder, can be seen.
If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flounders in your hair.
The squiggles had to be an alien message. He looked again, hoping to see some overall pattern… For weeks, he’d found these squiggles that no human hands could have made on his papers. He left, frustrated.
A spider fell into his ink, then walked around the blank sheets of paper.
Run.
Run.
Run.
Stop.
Pant.
Breathe.
Scream.
Run.
Run.
Run.
Stop.
Door!
Open.
Light!
Burns!
See.
People.
Frozen.
Confused…
Touch.
Hard?
Yes.
Statues.
Impressed.
Look.
Movement!
Run.
Catch!
Kid?
Midget?
Leprechaun?
Goblin!
Icky…
Bitten!
Scream!
Pain.
Disappeared.
Where?
Door.
Slam!
Lock.
Walk.
Open?
Locked.
Numbness…
Slowing…
Immobile.
Stuck!
Statue.
“Prepare to meet your maker, scum!”
“Ah, no imagination, so you go with a classic.”
“Shut up!”
“Who sent you to kill me?”
“I’m not saying.”
“You’ll shoot me in a minute, so why do you care?”
“Rick Grimes sent me.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“WHAT?”
“Grimes doesn’t pay.”
Waiting in line at one of those alcoholic beverage-tasting events.
He was telling one of his jokes:
“…and then she says, ‘I don’t know why you’re bending over, but I can’t wait to find out!’”
“Meh.”
“Not funny?”
“The punch line is too long. Let’s switch to the beer line.”
Some people like to pinch themselves. Others like to cut themselves.
He liked to burn himself. Especially when he would get a nice, large, juicy boil.
Like this one, a real beauty.
“I can’t wait for this one to pop!”
But it just wouldn’t pop.
A watched boil never pops.
When she reached the age of eighteen, Penny shaved her head.
“Shave it all off,” she told her surprised hairdresser.
As Penny walked out of the salon, she was attacked by a gang of thugs who thought she was from a rival gang.
A Penny shaved is a Penny mourned.
You are in a featureless room, where the walls, floor and ceiling are white. There is light in the room, but you can’t figure out where it’s coming from. You are facing North.
>Look down
You look down. Hey, you can’t see your body! You’re dead! You win! Congratulations!
Score:1
Computers pre-programmed to slingshot around the Sun to reach relativistic speeds, his journey seems to take only months, while decades elapse on Earth. His destination: the closest Earth-like extra-solar planet. After five subjective months, his ship wakes him.
Destination reached! It looks like…
Earth?
Buggy software leads to pointless round-trip.
I kept telling him to write more simply, that it would lead to his readers actually being able to understand his stories, and maybe even liking them, for a change, but the man just wouldn’t listen and kept on writing one long run-on sentence, somehow afraid to reach the perio–