“John? It’s two A.M.?”
Alt-Tab! She glowered in the doorway, arms folded.
“I was j-just…”
“Porn.” Her scowl deepened, storm warning now level five.
You have no choice. Throw yourself on the mercy of the court!
Alt-Tab. “A cruise site?”
“Happy anniversary.”
Bessie ambled at a clop while I waved at the state fair spectators. She bolted in terror at a loud noise and I fought for control. When the carriage overturned, I ended in the hospital. Velocity doesn’t hurt.
It’s the sudden stop.
The protein on the reception plate wriggled its tiny legs when Carl probed it experimentally with a fork. He discreetly shifted the course aside and covered it with a napkin. Suspect cartes du jour are a frequent defect at interplanetary ambassador receptions.
He kicks and fights from the moment the door opens. Despite promising calm, Bobby Jack “Mad Dog” Jones panics and deputies leap to subdue him brutally and strap him into the chair.
The lights dim briefly when Warden Justice pulls the switch.
I fail sneaking in.
“You’re late,” she observes. Reclined in the armchair, she stops my heart with two chilled words. She arches a mordant eyebrow, and raises one foot to instruct me.
“Beseech my forgiveness by cleaning my boots. Use your tongue.”
Please tell me, why do you insist on analyzing a dead relationship? Is it easier to get over if you have a clear villain to hate? Does it help?
I see her to escape the monotony of unimaginative, passive sex with you.
The two biker behemoths rolled around on the floor, punching and gouging, while the waitress cowered.
What I found under the bar decided which team to back.
On the cell phone, I dialed 911 and [send]. I tossed the shotgun to her.
Being stranded annoyed the crew of the Purulent Carbuncle.
“Mister Muttonhead! Where has our longboat, and our rum, gone?”
“Out to sea, sir,” the designated scapegoat stammered while scrutinizing the horizon.
“Why?”
“Sir, I’ve deduced three causes; poorly secured, tide, and current.”
I am a subtle and silent harbinger of Death. You wouldn’t suspect it, meeting me. A meek and academic little man in a standard issue lab coat, shuffling down the hospital corridors completely unnoticed. Hand delivering oncology lab reports that extinguish lives.
“Ugh,” she said, “I’m sorry, doctor. Your stench is horrible.”
It’s an experimental matter transmission system. An object is broken down into atoms and reassembled at the destination booth.
I shouldn’t have left my ferret out to play around the transmission booth.
ParkInkSpot 