The only thing worse than waking up dead

The only thing worse than waking up dead in the morning is

waking up with him. He was the impossible to resist douchebag with a golden smile. She was unaware that mutation involved pheromones and "fancy a shag" wasn't the most romantic

turd that had fallen out of his mouth. She wrenched upward. The meat hook caught him in the groin. She attached that to her horse's halter. She pulled out a carrot peeler and ran

him through. He hadn't realized a carrot peeler could be wielded like that. She cracked her whip and the horse took off, plunging the hook deeper into his groin and tearing his

35000-word treatise (a rough draft written in red ink), into two pieces. Of course, each piece still weighed 7lbs and as each was still tied to the hook in his groin, it finally

dawned on him that his editor was serious about his deadline. If he finished his novella he wouldn't be able to stand or crawl. He better get this over with quick or he will starve

his 15 kids, wife, mules. All as stubborn as him. The title was stomping him. a fresh brewed drink sat by the Smith-Corona typewriter. Ahh, inspiration bubbled out of the top and

grabbed him by the throat. You WILLwrite me into this one, promise! The sudsy grip of inspiration prevented him from answering, and so he typed onto the page, "

I grab you and I squeeze you and I squeeze you and I grab you with a squeezy squeezy squeezy and a grab grab grab". His assailant was unimpressed with the nonsensical baby talk so

he gave him a polite slap in the face and told him to hand in his resignation notice at the end of the work day.