got to stop him!” With that, Julia Child’s ghost sped to earth, wine bottle in hand. When she found the guy with his head in the oven, he turned to face the ghost and freaked. “You

the channels desperately looking for a reason not to be scared silly about returning to Earth to save its people. News? Forget it! Talent programs? Ew! Murder Mysteries? Bleah!

en. But speaking of ipecac, my trained crow brought me a VHS tape of some randomly recorded episodes of Taxi. Closer inspection revealed a rare pre-internet YouTube Poop, focusing

No, I must refute this, as the very nature of a little rubber cap might be that it bounced out the bedroom window and down seven floors to the sidewalk below, where it was picked

but a brief vacation upwards from the seventh circle of Heck that is their lives. It's not even Purgatory. That lasts longer. It's a rip-off, too, because you can still see fragmen

the killer baby's mind. Maya needed to send her waking self a message: Kill the Baby Killer. She hoped she wouldn't misinterpret the message carved into her skin. Peeling a lemon,

"Plus, it freshens the air with that burning children's flesh aroma," said Grandma, just before Junior threw her wig in the fire and went to get the Neosporin. "Stop arguing!" said

-um of the mind through the loading dock, where I could pay minimum wage to have them hauled in by the ton. That way I would have to do no work and could bask in my genius without

-and-after shots went viral. BEFORE: Me lying on the bathroom floor selling Buicks at a party. AFTER: Me driving a Buick through Cancun with a parrot on one shoulder and Charo on

party anyway, on the Good Ship Google, and everyone wore little pink furry suits and shouted "In Your Face!" as the Apple Smart Car sat revving furiously on the shore. Pinky McFurr

passionate toaster oven salesperson. Yonnie kept his Amish clothes and beard, seeming to improve his sales numbers with their charm. The unfortunate yam incident far behind him now

playing at the Royal Theatre, so Sven and I decided to take a break from the mystery of the floating Roman Numerals so that we could snark at the play's overly self-conscious plot.

The WompMonster's latest creation was little Christmas-themed elf booties for dogs. He'd had great success on Etsy and knew it was time to move to a brick and mortar storefront.

in line on China's chopping block. What could he, a bag boy from Tulsa, without having memorized the positions of imaginary lines he never drove across on his 15-minute commute, do

The sphinx replied, "What flavor is so amazing that it could make you fall in love with the very next person you beheld?" I thought for a moment. "Chocolate halvah?" I guessed. The

asked, hoping to distract Hermes from his harpies. She turned away from him when he refused, but could hear their wings and bosoms flapping wildly around the temple. Her headache

Was technically made from orange peel. Something about them orange girls was very aPEELing. They decided to hold a contest to see who could woo her. Polly and Jims first task was

fresh, cold melon. Ahhhh. That was so good I have decided not to commit seppuku, even though I all ready have the Allen key, which would have probably hurt more. I'll just jump out

s from her chin wart surgically removed, and donated them to The Society for Fewer Bald People. He admored his new head of hair, little knowing it was from Ms. Stinkpuckler's wart.

"Me hungry," said the amphibioid with sarcastic loudness, pointing with it's claw to its scaly abdomen, "We want eat you. You die. Me eat. Got it?" "Didn't you come in peace? I ask