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.
“Quick, write something, anything!”
“But I’m tapped-out! I don’t have one original word left in me. My mind’s a total blank, and he knows it.”
“You can do it. You have to. He’s got only five pages left. When he finishes the last page, we’re dead.”
“Better dead than derivative.”
When the aliens came, we weren’t ready for them
They came as friends, but we took them for conquerors
They wanted to share their culture and science
We thought they were trying to assimilate us
So we attacked.
And they left.
And now we’re all alone.
Quarantined civilization.
Xenophobic doom.
And there you have it (for now.) To emphasize the fact that the song is in three parts, the recording will be made up of three distinct-sounding parts. Each of the three 50-word segments has its own rhythm, and they will be linked with something special (which I haven’t devised yet…)
Now, in order to catch up to the back-log, I still owe you another story. This will come later tonight.
By 2052, an economic process that had been going on for centuries suddenly reversed.
Before, the middle class had been shrinking, mostly increasing the ranks of the poor. Now, the middle-class is growing. Very few poor or rich are left.
Charity now has a new meaning:
Four give, and four get.
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.