Superman walked north for miles and miles until he was far from civilization.
Pulling out the green glowing kryptonite crystal, he hurled it as far as he could.
It landed in the middle of Santa ‘s North Pole workshop village.
“What’s this?” said Santa, as the crystal melted through the snow.
A massive earthquake rumbled the village, spears of ice piercing every building.
Countless elves and reindeer were killed and maimed, toys scattered across the tundra as the Fortress of Solitude formed itself.
Santa rebuilt his workshop five miles away and put Superman on his naughty list in indelible ink.
When Santa wasn’t flying around the world delivering toys, he was flying around and banging expensive hookers.
“Wow!” they’d say, seeing the world rush by. “This is great!”
Some of them wanted to drink champagne, others wanted to do lines of coke.
“Do what you want,” growled Santa. “As long as you do me.”
And they did.
After zooming around skyscrapers and under bridges and through the Grand Canyon, Santa would fly out to the deep ocean and push the hooker out of his sleigh so he didn’t have to pay them or take them off of his naughty list.
Every year at the Santa Convention, the “Real Santa” delivers the keynote address.
It’s usually just the winner of The Best Santa Claus Contest giving advice on how to be a great Santa, or about some special Santa Moment he’d had.
But one year, it was the actual Santa Claus up there.
The real goddamned Santa.
He rambled for an hour about how cold it is up at The North Pole. And Reindeer.
“I eat a lot of reindeer meat,” he growled. “Elves taste lousy.”
Nobody believed that he was the real deal, and he was never invited back again.
Sally was born on Christmas, so she felt like she was cheated out of two days of presents.
She never had a big birthday party because all of her friends were out celebrating Christmas.
“We’re Jewish, Sally,” said her mother. “We don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“But my friends do,” said Sally. “So they can’t come to a party. I’m stuck here with you and dad, and it sucks.”
Sally’s parents sent her to her room without dinner.
They’d forgotten to get a cake, Sally’s mom was a lousy baker, and, anyway, all of the stores were closed for Christmas, so there.
The bigger the ads for Black Friday, the lamer the deals, and the bigger the fights over them.
It used to be a shopping rush for the first sales of the holidays.
Now, places mark up their prices or delay their discounts until the Friday after Thanksgiving.
Then came pre-Black Friday discounts, previews, early access, and so on.
A constant state of war erupted in the mall.
Meanwhile, employees snatched up the three laptops that were on sale, hidden under the counter while they kept telling customers: “Sorry, but we’re all out. Would you like to buy something else instead?”
Doctor Odd always makes the right decision.
He also makes the wrong decisions.
He makes every decision imaginable, then he observes the consequences of each decision from his quantum state time displacement chair.
Once he determines the decision with best result, he stays in that timeline.
What happens to the other suboptimal timelines?
The Doctor Odd in those timelines try to shift quantum states into the “good” decision universe.
Because of a near-infinite number of quantum state universes, the “good” universe is overwhelmed quickly.
This is why Doctor Odd destroys the other universes, and his unlucky dopplegangers stranded in them.
Home is where the heart is, but what if you’re Barney Clark, the first long-term human recipient of a mechanical heart pump?
Is it where your excised dead organ has been stored, awaiting your demise so you can be buried with it?
Or is it where your mechanical heart resides, in your chest.
Because if you look at the schematics of the Jarvik-7 model of mechanical heart, you’ll see a set of short cables and tubes connected to a base station.
Barney wasn’t going anywhere far any time soon.
Until, of course, he died, and then went to the cemetery.
When you want an apology from someone, you can ask, but it’s easier to extract an apology with a professional-grade extraction tool.
Then, you can test how genuine that apology is with rigorous scientific tests.
If the apology is genuine, you can bottle it and store it on your shelf, or put it in your trophy case.
If the apology is disingenuine, then you need to use your apology extraction tool with more force, skill, or finesse.
Brandish your tool menacingly. Shake it in their face. Cackle a bit. Maybe lunge at them once or twice.
You’ll get your apology.
I have post-its on my monitors like Leonard Shelby in Memento has tattoos.
Keep it brief.
Nobody wants your ideas.
I’ll get back to you on that.
Do not trust.
Make a list and stick to it.
Don’t take the bait.
It’s only a job.
Not my problem.
Go ask the boss.
They’re not your friends.
Years of fighting, years of abuse.
Years of being put down.
These are the scars across my career.
These are the echoes in my head.
These are the warning signs on the barrier that keep me from jumping over the edge and into oblivion.
Fendy Sound is dangerous waters, piloted by brave ferryboat captains, who charged a fortune for a crossing.
So, Fendy Island built a bridge to the mainland
The town celebrated their new permanent connection to the rest of the country.
Except Mungo Dirge, Captain of the Ferryboat Guild.
“The bridge toll is less than ours!” complained the ferryboat pilots. “We’re ruined!”
“Fill the Elissa with dynamite, sail her over to the main pile, and set her ablaze,” he ordered. “We’ll have our business back.”
So, they loaded up the Elissa with dynamite.
Which exploded at the docks, annihilating the other ferryboats.