The origin of the name of the city of Braintree is lost in time, but historians believe that it comes from “Branoc’s Tree.”
Branoc was a farmer who lived in a massive treehouse, so massive that his whole family and all of his cousins and neighbors lived in it, too.
In the center of this massive tree was a glowing, pulsating brain, which acted as mayor, judge, and object of worship.
Wait… did you mean Braintree in England or in Massachusetts?
Massachusetts? Shit.
Those jerks just stole the name from those freaks up in the tree.
Stupid thieving colonist bastards.
Tag: silly
Smuggle
I like to shoplift.
No, I’m not poor. I can afford this stuff easily.
I shoplift for sport. For the thrill. For the challenge.
The problem is, it takes bigger and tougher challenges to get that same thrill.
Once, I’d be on cloud nine after smuggling a candy bar or a nudie magazine out of a convenience store.
Now, I’ve got that shoplifting jones on my back five seconds after I pull the three Weber charcoal grills out of my pants.
It’s not grand theft auto if I smuggle a car out of the dealership in my pants, is it?
The Master
I am the Dungeon Master.
I hide behind a screen and roll dice to determine your fate.
I have a module behind the screen which has a map and encounters in it.
I read a manual full of monsters that want to kill and eat you.
I can’t let you see any of these because you aren’t allowed to.
You are players. Not Dungeon Masters.
You’re supposed to go on adventures, not run adventures.
Stop trying to peek at my map. Make your own with your pencils and graph paper.
Your mom made Pizza Rolls?
Okay, maybe one little peek.
Wishing
When you wish upon a star, you really shouldn’t be standing in the middle of a busy freeway.
Especially if you’re wishing for something like “First star I see tonight, get me the fuck off of this busy freeway right now!”
You’d be better off running as fast as you can to the side of the road. And not wearing black, because you’ll get hit no matter what.
No, that doesn’t mean you should quickly wish for reflective clothing, either.
In fact, forget about the wishes, and forget about the freeway.
How about we just play some Ping Pong, okay?
The Cowardly Little Phone
The toaster, radio, lamp, electric blanket, and vacuum left the cabin to seek out their long-lost owner.
The rest of the furniture stayed behind and waited.
Some of the furniture had an excuse not to join the expedition. The television’s tube was too fragile, and the bed was too large to fit out the door.
The telephone had no excuse. It was small, agile, and light.
But after years of constant ringing, it was finally free of the headaches, and it didn’t want that pain ever again.
That’s why it refused to call in the first place.
Silence was golden.
Air Message
I like to leave messages on the air sickness bags on airplanes.
Messages like PRIZE INSIDE! and CONTENTS SOLD BY WEIGHT, NOT VOLUME!
But my favorite message of all is 100% RECYCLED.
I rarely need the bags myself… because I’ve already thrown up in the bathroom at the airport.
I thought about signing my work, but security is nuts on airplanes these days.
What I do is a harmless and innocent kind of weird, but all too easily misunderstood.
I’d hate to get detained and interrogated.
It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it.
Where’s that bag?
Fly? No.
I don’t like to fly.
I used to not mind it at all, but now, I can’t stand it.
I tried hypnotherapy, virtual simulations, and all kinds of drugs and New Age crap.
None of it works. It only seems to make things worse.
So, I stopped flying.
And then I realized that I like where I live. It’s a really nice city, with a seaside resort a short train ride away.
Except that I now don’t like to ride that train.
Or in a bus.
Or car.
I’ll just sit here at home.
It’s quiet. And safe.
(I hope.)
Chicken Legs
For many years, Baba Yaga’s hut walked around on a pair of gigantic chicken legs.
But a harsh winter forced her to cook and eat one of the legs.
Instead of walking around smoothly on two legs, the hut hopped and wobbled on its single leg. Everything inside the hut was knocked around, and anything fragile was smashed to bits.
The old witch was forced to cook and eat the other leg.
Since she couldn’t find any more chicken legs, she bought a Winnebago.
Not as terrifying-looking as a magical chicken leg hut, but you should see how she drives!
The Wrong Watson
James Watson was a diligent lab assistant, but his boss liked to smoke opium. Instead of inventing the telephone, he’d get stoned and pretend to be Sherlock Holmes.
“The game is afoot!” shouted Alexander Graham Bell into the receiver.
Watson walked down the hall and into Bell’s office. “What did you say?” he said.
Bell would laugh, pick up the violin, and play.
Badly.
Later, Bell shouted “Does LeStrade have another case for us?” into the receiver.
“Yes,” shouted Watson back. “It’s the case of Shut The Fuck Up And Invent The Telephone.”
Bell smiled, and then invented the bitchslap.
The Devil’s Cock
Once, I knew a guy with a small penis.
Really small.
So, he prays and prays for a bigger penis, but God doesn’t answer, God doesn’t listen.
But me, I do.
“Gimme your soul, and I’ll give you a huge cock,” I said.
No, he didn’t fall for the giant chicken trick. Few guys do anymore. Instead, he worded his request carefully, eleven inches long.
I wrote up the contract, he signed it, and I fixed him up.
Eleven inches long.
And four inches thick.
It takes so much blood, the guy blacks out every time he gets a hard-on.