Abe spent a lot of time in the White House Telegraph Office during the war, waiting for news and casualty figures. But as the war progressed, the delays mysteriously increased.
“Are the rebels damaging transmission lines?” asked Abe.
“No, sir,” said the operator. “It’s these damned advertisements for canned pork products tying things up.”
“Pork products?” asked the president.
“Yes,” said the operator. “If only there was a name for them.”
“Well, let me know when offers come through to thicken my penis,” said Abe. “It’s certainly long enough to reach the ground by now.”
“Aye, sir,” said the operator.
“NEXT!” shouted a voice.
Arthur spat out the coin and handed it to the robed specter on the shore.
“Where’s your boat?” he asked.
“Repairs,” growled the ferryless ferryman. “Leaky hull.”
“So how do I get cross?” asked Arthur.
“Hop on,” said the ferryman, pointing to a catapult.
Arthur smirked. “Is it safe?”
“You’re already dead,” said the ferryman, shrugging. “What do you care?”
Arthur climbed on the catapult, and the ferryman grinned.
The ferryman pulled the lever, and Arthur was flung screaming into the gloomy mist.
“Replace me with a toll bridge, will they?” he grumbled. “NEXT!”
Bubba stepped back from the finished structure and wiped his brow with his cap.
“Nice outhouse,” said Cletus. “Purty, too.”
“Thanks,” said Bubba. “No damn tornado’s gonna knock this sucker down. I used rock-solid stone.”
“What’s with them statues on top?” asked Cletus.
“Gargoyles,” said Bubba. “Looked sorta like that Notre Dame church, so I reckoned that it needed some gargoyles.”
“Mind if I try it out?” asked Cletus.
“Go right ahead,” said Bubba.
Cletus walked up to the outhouse, and then walked all the way around it.
“Where’s the door?” asked Cletus.
“Door?” said Bubba.
Cletus laughed. Bubba didn’t.
Around here, a crash in the middle of the night is usually a cat or my wife.
I roll over. She’s still asleep. And all three cats are on the bed.
I pull my gun from the nightstand, flick off the safety, and walk down the hall.
I see a shadow. It moves, and I empty the clip.
A body falls.
I reach for the light switch, flip it on, and discover I’ve just blown away Jesus Christ.
“Maybe they’ll blame Texans this time?” I grumble.
“Not a chance, Christ Killer,” says my wife. “Nice grouping, though.”
I don’t remember dreams. I wish I could, but I can’t.
You see, Symantec was beta-testing a firewall product, and I fell asleep with my face on the keyboard. Somehow, my brain downloaded the firewall, and I blocked my dreams out with an iptables rule.
Oh, they’re still there. Just blocked.
So I called Symantec, and forty minutes later I’m talking to some Indian:
“How am be helping you?” he says.
“I firewalled my brain,” I said. “I’m blocking my dreams now.”
“My dreams dot com?” he asks. “Dot net? Dot org?”
In the end, I was told to reboot.
Prometheus looked down Olympus and smirked.
“Those people look really cold,” he grumbled. “I guess I’d better help them.”
Apollo’s chariot set the torch ablaze. Prometheus then cradled it as he stumbled down to the valley.
“Behold!” he shouted to a passing human.
“What’s that?” asked the human. “Is it magic?”
“It’s fire,” said Prometheus, passing him the torch. “See?”
“Ah,” said the human.
He shrugged, stuffed the torch in his mouth, and screamed in agony.
“At least he didn’t shove it up his ass like the last one,” Prometheus sighed as he climbed back up Olympus for more fire.
One upon a time, there was a blind man who needed a job.
So, Major League Baseball hired him and dressed him in a black shirt and pads.
“When you hear the announcer say Greg Maddux is pitching, call strikes,” said the league official. “And when you hear that Andy Pettitte is pitching, call balls”
“What if someone hits the ball?” said the umpire.
“Just listen to the crowd and you’ll figure out of it’s foul, a popout, or a home run,” said the league official.
And the Cubs lived happily ever after, even though they didn’t fucking deserve it.
“Honestly, I have no idea what this means,” said Foster, running the tickertape through his hands. “I just like the feel of the paper and I look good doing it.”
“How about a graph?” said Duke. He flicked on the overhead projector light, and a black line wiggled down… down… down…
“We’re broke!” screamed Foster.
“No we’re not,” said Duke.
“The market’s crashed!” yelled Foster. “It’s all over!”
Foster jumped out the window, pulling a tickertape trail all the way down.
Duke looked up at the graph and said “oops.”
He reached for the transparency and flipped it back around.
School was done, and it was time to go home.
Sam and Joe dropped off their bags, took off their masks, and went back to Old Man Jasper’s.
The trees groaned in the breeze.
“I don’t like this,” said Sam. “Let’s go.”
“He gave out crappy candy,” said Joe. “He has to pay for it.”
Joe tossed a roll of toilet paper over a tree branch.
“See?” said Joe.
Suddenly, the tree reached down and hauled Joe up by the leg.
“HELP!” Sam screamed. “HELP!”
The tree shook him like a ragdoll.
The old man looked out the window, laughing.
Abe woke up, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the words written in blood on the ceiling:
A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF CANNOT STAND
Abe leaned over and shook his wife.
“Wake up! Wake up!”
“What is it, Abe?” asked Mary Todd. “The words again?”
“Yes!” shouted Abe. “Look at them! Omens!”
Mary Todd looked up.
“I know what you’re up to,” she said. “We’re not putting a mirror up there.”
She rolled over and went back to sleep.
Abe, on the other hand, stared at the words until the blood began to rain down from the ceiling.