Tag: quote

Wheels on the bus

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The wheels of the bus went round and round.
Right over the skateboarder.
Sure, he had pads and a helmet on, but the bus crushed his chest and killed him.
The pads, helmet, and skateboard gathered dust in the garage until they got sold at a garage sale.
That kid flew out of a half-pipe and was impaled on a fencepost.
Once again, the gear was passed along.
Kid after kid, the bodies started to pile up.
Until a restaurant bought the stuff as wall decoration.
Nobody else got hurt from using it.
But the restaurant burned down, killing ten.

Eat You Up

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“You’re so cute, I could just eat you up,” said Ben to Vicki. “So I will.”
Then he beat her skull in with a hammer.
Not even a scream. One minute, she was staring up at him, and then next she was a bloody heap on the floor.
Ben made the rookie mistake of freezing her before cutting her up. Everybody knows that you should cut up your meat fresh and then freeze it.
Okay, maybe not everybody, but Ben should have done his homework before bashing in Vicki’s brains.
In the end, she was only good for soup stock.

One Blow

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The Angel Gabriel sat on the curb and wept at the destruction and misery he’d witnessed over the centuries.
“It’s all my fault,” he moaned. “If I hadn’t lost my trumpet, I’d have ended this a long time ago.”
He’d backtraced his steps many times, but they all led back to a pub where he’d drunkenly pawned his horn for a bottle of whiskey.
The curb he sat on was in front of the skyscraper built where the pub used to be.
Sighing, Gabriel pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
The skyscraper wobbled, and Reality began to fade.

Not Quite Panning Out

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Peter told Wendy to capture the second star to the right and fly straight on until morning.
Wendy wasn’t good at telling left from right. Instead of Neverland, the kids wound up shooting straight at a gas giant.
John screamed all the way down into the swirling, deadly maelstrom.
Wendy backtracked and tried again, but she miscounted and headed for the fourth star below.
Michael’s corpse can be found on an asteroid, his face frozen forever in horror.
Wendy flew back home and, when cornered, told a cock-and-bull story about kidnappers.
She’d gotten sick of John and Michael’s snoring, anyway.

By The Axe

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Lying under a massive oak, his crushed chest filled with one last gasp of air, Earl remembered what his father told him many years ago.
“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” he said.
“But I don’t use a sword,” said Earl. “I use an axe.”
Earl’s father frowned. “I don’t know how you’ll die,” he said. “Maybe you should switch to a sword?”
“Swords aren’t very good at chopping down trees,” said Earl.
“Then I guess you’ll die by the tree,” said Earl’s father. “Live by the axe, die by the tree.”
“Timber,” whispered Earl, and he died.

Shakesphere

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“All the world’s a stage,” said The Immortal Bard.
Little did he know, a thousand years after he said that a team of astronauts and planetary engineers would transform one of Saturn’s moons into an orbiting open-air theater.
Well, open-space theater. Despite several attempts to enclose the moon with an atmosphere, the semi-permeable membrane bubble kept leaking and bursting under the pressure.
The remote-controlled gargantuan robots were tied to neural pickups in the actors brains.
Someone backstage said “MacBeth” and cursed the production. Next thing we knew the planetoid had shattered.
Thank goodness for armored spacesuits and extra oxygen tanks.

It’s all fun and games until someone loses an I

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Frantic, Marcia followed the paramedics rolling her daughter through the ER into the trauma room.
“I swear, I didn’t know!” shouted Marcia. “Oh, God, can you save her? Please?”
A nurse grabbed Marcia by the shoulder and tried to calm her down.
“How old is she?” asked the nurse.
“Seven,” said Marcia. “She’s turning eight next week. She turns eight next week!”
Marcia babbled and cried some more while the nurse looked at a box in Marcia’s hand.
“SCRABBLE: Ages 8 and up” it said.
The nurse shook her head. Third time this week.
Damn parents, always rushing their kids.

By The Barrel

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“Never pick a fight with someone who buys ink by the barrel,” slurred Mark Twain, staggering drunkenly in the street.
“Certainly, sir,” said the police officer. “But I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“That’s because I buy wine by the barrel,” said Mark Twain, falling flat on his face in the dirt.
The officer dragged Twain back to the hotel lobby, and that’s when the newspaper office exploded.
“Great Scot!” shouted the cop.
“I also buy black powder by the barrel,” mumbled Twain. “That’ll teach the son of a bitch to be late paying me for my articles.”

Argentina

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I told Argentina not to cry for me, but Argentina cries so easily.
Argentina cries during sad movies.
Argentina cries when it stubs its toe.
Argentina cries when it might rain.
Before, it was cute. But now, I’m sick and tired of Argentina crying.
People are staring to stare. They think it’s because of something I’ve done, but it’s really all in Argentina’s head.
“You’re leaving me!” cries Argentina.
“No, I’m just going to the store for some wine,” I say. “Would you like to come along?”
Argentina then cries some more.
I knew I should have stuck with Bolivia.

My Cheese

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Who moved my cheese?
You don’t know?
I’ll tell you who moved my cheese… it was you. You moved my cheese.
Don’t lie to me. Stop lying to me!
Oh, sure, you moved my cheese. But… I don’t know why.
Why did you move my cheese? Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone.
The cheese wasn’t hurting anyone there. It wasn’t bothering anyone. It was fine.
But you moved it. You moved my cheese… somewhere.
Tell me. Where did you move my cheese?
Tell me where you moved my cheese, and I’ll tell you where I threw your elephant.