"You ate the stopper". "Bob's out collecting

"You ate the stopper". "Bob's out collecting watermelons". His mind was filled with punchlines to dirty jokes he couldn't remember so he tried to recover the jokes with a hypnotist

. Sadly, the hypnotist unlocked the punchlines of puns, "Rudolph the Red, Knows rain dear." "Silly Rabbi, Kicks are for Trids." His sister asked if he was cool. "Hip? No sis."

His sister whipped him in the face with a poison laced scythe. He screamed in agony. His sister hated puns. She was an anti-pun enforcer. Once when her dad drove on Erie drive

and had joked about how 'eerie' it was, he'd really pushed her 'no-pun'-button. She became like a wild animal, a frenzied flurry of nails, teeth and stilletto heels. Dad was shredd

ed into even bloody strips about three centimeters across, which Mom carefully stacked into organized piles, thereby demonstrating to us the importance of keeping things neat.

However, the jam in the fridge had gone bad, resulting in a minor explosion of the sticky not-so-sweet substance that covered the contents of the cool, electronic box. This was not

the first time I had encountered one of the fascinating devices. I inserted myself into one once but the nice men with the badges and the guns said that was a no-no.

They said other things too. Like you can drink, and you can drive, you just can't drink and drive. What kind of sense does that make? I drank and drove and inserted myself into all

the Santa and Easter Bunny mall photos I could stumble upon. Soon half the shopping mall police were on the lookout for me but I was one step ahead, casing new malls for photo ops.

Oooomph! I was tackled from behind by the nurse with the ginormous shoulders. A sharp stab in my thigh and everything began to grow dim. They caught me finally, thank the Lord.