I see you like the box. Would you like to know what it does?
Press the button once, and the box will buzz.
Press the button two times, and the box plays music.
Press the button three times, and the music stops.
Press the button four times, and the box will sparkle with pretty green lights for five seconds.
Press the button five times, and the box will emit a cloud of lemon-scented steam.
Whatever you do, don’t push and hold the button.
What happens? Well, according to my blueprints, the world ends.
You have yourself a box.
It was a nice day out until the meteors came.
Or maybe they were asteroids. Or comets.
I have no idea. I’m no astronomer.
Big rocks, smashing into the earth. How’s that?
All I know is that one minute it’s nice and sunny, and the next minute I’m holding my hands to my bloody ears, screaming at the sky.
I think I’m screaming, because I can’t hear myself. My throat is raw and I’m shaking.
And then I stop.
If my ears have blown out, then everybody else’s have.
What’s the point of screaming if nobody can hear you?
So people are whining about prisoners getting tortured?
Big freaking deal.
The problem I have with it is that we’re getting bad intelligence out of these scumbags when we torture them.
The best interrogator can get information out of a prisoner without leaving a scratch or the prisoner even knowing that he’s played his whole hand.
But where’s the fun in that? For what they’ve done, some of these bastards deserve to suffer.
Now pass me the cordless drill and the handmirror. This goddamned son of a bitch blew up a convent and I want him to see his spleen.
Before the days of over-the-counter cough syrup and inhalers, people used something called a mustard plaster.
To make them, they’d grind up mustard seed and mix it with flour and water to make a paste. Then they’d put that stinky goop on a towel and hold it to their chests.
The warmth and aroma helped people breathe. Although it did sometimes burn the skin because it was left on too long.
These days it’s pretty rare that someone knows how to make a good mustard plaster.
I know how to make them. Why do you think my breathing’s so clear?
Abe stopped the horse in the middle of the stream and began to cry.
“I want a new horse!” he moped. “This one is tired.”
“That’s not a good idea,” said his wife Mary Todd. “You’re in the middle of a stream.”
“Can I put on new pants, then?” asked Abe.
“Why on earth would you want new pants?” asked Mary Todd. “Did you have some sort of accident?”
“I’d rather not say,” said Abe.
“I’ll find out eventually,” said Mary Todd. “I’m the one who washes them, you know.”
Abe shrugged, smiled, and then ordered the burning of Atlanta.
Ever since he first heard the song, Dr. Odd has been working hard on getting Jesse’s girl for Rick Springfield.
At first, he tried pheromones and hypnosis. That just made her confused and somewhat psychotic.
He considered violently removing Jesse from the picture, but that would just get the girl worried about Jesse.
Finally, he decided cloning was the correct route. Using accelerated growth tanks, he produced a perfect biological replica.
Without any of the emotional or intellectual experience of Jesse’s girl, of course. Her mind was a complete blank.
As for Dr. Odd, well, success hasn’t spoiled him yet.
Have you tried the soup?
Oh. My. God.
This has got to be the best soup in the world.
You haven’t lived until you’ve had this soup.
It’s got noodles. It’s got garlic. It’s got what I think are shallots. Maybe some thinly sliced mushrooms in there, too.
I know what you’re thinking. I’ve gone nuts. Nobody gets this excited over soup.
Well, that’s what I thought. Until I picked up a bowl and a spoon, and I tried it. And then…
Well, you know the rest.
So, are you going to try the soup?
THEN DIE, HEATHEN PIG!