by and share some loaded nachos, and if one of us can't make it, the doppelganger takes their place for them and reports back. Playing DND had really opened up our horizons, and

there for every unimportant crisis that never directly affected you that you could possibly envision, should you have an all-powerful imagination machine sitting upon your head.

week-old ham. Bob thought it was stupid to care about such a thing. Yeah it's an old, boring concept, but so is everything else humans do. In protest, he

There lived a wolf name Gregor who was a painter by trade. I say "once upon a time", because there is yet to be another wolf named Gregor who's a painter by trade. But hey, maybe

ge just to attend to the towel boy's funeral. "You're having an open casket?" he shouted. "He was hit by a train! The funeral home's gonna smell like stroganoff!"

and resulting in 4chan, where the definition of "freedom of speech" means referring to everyone and everything by the f word. No, not "fuck". The worse one.

But the police, they assume everyone's bad. Except one time I heard the sirens and the car pulled up. "Yes, we're the police. The Polish Ice department. Is the heat insufferable?

Well the crowd did NOT go for that, and Smokey the Bear was helped to his feet by Gentle Ben, and the two mauled the attacker to fucking death like an Alaskan canuck to a salmon.

Merlin, knowing the old coot of a wizard had forgotten his underpants again. Nobody liked Merlin. He wasn't even a real cambion. Now take Cambert, from Cambridge. He invented the

and I mean that in the most figurative of ways. Funny, I'd never heard of the country of Japan before. Where was I? Right, so I was heading into the post office when all this

One part boysenberry, three parts wine, four parts anti-depressants. The next recipe in the Mother's Recipe™ recipe book was for Homemade Prozac. Twelve parts wine, one part fudge.

dead things he made dead with a snap of the neck. But no, everyone wanted to label him a murderer and a killer. But that wasn't how Cork wanted to identify. He liked licking corks.

group therapy. There they met a Gen-Xer and his dad. The Xer says, "Dad, I'm in puppy love." "That's great, son!" says the dad. "With an actual puppy," said the son. "Get my gun,"

the piss; though not as much as naming him Herman, which the mother had begged for. So wee Hercules went through life, unable to impregnate himself like a third-gen hornless goat.

A third even less familiar man's voice spoke: "Ooblah-dee, ooblah-dah, that's a big bra! How the fuck does it stay on? Why, why, did my dog have to die?" The second man told him to

e and into the baptismal font which, like the public pool, was full of urine. Then the best man got loose and ate all the little communion wafers (the Jeez-its), and the bride ate

but to little avail. It wasn't that the director didn't find their act convincing, it was just that he was an asshole. Kind of like an actor. "No, no, you fucking fuckwits! Why

Xenophobic xats xylphoned xantham xebecs, yet yellow yaks yeeted yerts yesterday; zoological zeotropes zoomed zero zeppelins. 1 1derful 1nesday, 2tsi 2ootled 2ogether 2 2nics.

He pulled out the cannon and blew himself up. The audience gave the maestro a posthumous standing ovation. Yo man pass that fat spliff. That's not a spliff that's a doobie, dumbass

pecked at some bird seed and forgot everything that was happening in the cosmos for the rest of the day. Anubis was busy with funerary rites. Sobek was retired. Sekmet was free,