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My wife's parents sat at the dinner table.

  • My wife's parents sat at the dinner table. They judge everything I do. The green beans were tepid, the butter cold, but they liked the meatloaf. I said, "You should it's your daugh
  • ... " then nothing; the power of speech left me. I was struck permanently dumb on the spot. Needless to say, my inlaws enjoyed my company much more from that day on, but my wife
  • could hardly stand me. We were never what you would call close. Rather, we were business partners who happened to share the same room. Yes, I loved her, but she
  • spurned my advances. The romantic gestures, the flowers, dioramas of bedrooms with little models of her sleeping in the beds, never quite had the effect I'd hoped for. Regardless
  • of the massive
  • blackhole that was pulling large sections of the den. The lazy-boy imploded in a spastic sucking flash. His collection of beer cans orbited in cosmic rush. "Cleaning," he thought,
  • "is made so very much easier with a black hole generating particle collider, although it's rather indiscriminate in sucking up everything and not just dirt and trash." His den was
  • filled with hookers. They misinterpreted his references to black holes and sucking, which annoyed the physicist within him, but someone had to clean up the mess he had made while
  • choosing to write on the whiteboard using ox blood. "What an awful idea that was!", thought Petruccio to himself. "I guess this means I should never
  • consume food from McDonalds again." As it turns out Maccers was closed later that year due to a powerful hallucinogen found in Big Mac's. The end

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