Even under the artificial light of the bookstore

Even under the artificial light of the bookstore her angelic glow radiated. I had to force myself not to stare at her as she repeatedly pulled books down from the shelf, carefully

yet methodically. I started to walk out and thought, This is my chance! C'mon, just strike a conversation, you wimp! "Bet that job is a Neverending Story, eh?" Ugh. Idiot.

But the anonymous, androgynous person whose identity I'd totally forgotten by that point turned to me and said "What a fascinatingly witty thing to say! I loved that movie!"

I didn't answer because I then was distracted by the black mole on his (or her) chin. It was shaped like South America. I always wanted to go to South America, especially Brazil.

The mole on my patient's face slowly drifted out of focus as I heard a steel drum softly play "The Girl from Ipanema." Two weeks of rest and relax... The nurse slapped my face.

With her inner thigh. That might not mean much to you, but jeepers, the Nurse had like double thigh meat, so it really packed a wallop. Well, there I was was, seeing stars with gar

had just been hit on the head with a large mallet held by someone off stage. The stunned celebs were usually unable to twitter, what with the birds twittering about their brows,

The tweets that resulted were substantially less intelligible than those the previous day. Cheap labor was blamed for the loss of optimism among the stunned celebs. More suicides

meant that at a certain point the density of the celebrity suicides would become such that none of them were discovered to be news worthy. When would that happen or if it had where