Bob drove to the store, found a parking space, and carried a box to the Customer Service Desk.
“How can I help you?” said the clerk.
Bob opened the box, and he poured out a busted-up, no-good day onto the counter.
“That was yesterday,” he said. “It really, really sucked. I’d like to exchange it for a day that doesn’t suck.”
The clerk looked over the broken bits, took the receipt from Bob’s hand, and checked with a manager before offering an exchange for store credit.
Bob gladly signed the voucher, thanked the clerk, and walked to the Friday aisle.
Tag: cliche
Hide And Shriek
Father Richard walked through the cemetery, waving the Bible over each grave and mumbling prayers.
He’d done this in five cemeteries already this week, and he’d yet to find anything.
Then, as he reached a freshly-dug grave, the ground erupted and an arm burst through the dirt.
Moaning… shambling horror…
Richard pulled the corpse out from the ground, tapped the Bible on its forehead, and said “Found you.”
“Took you long enough,” groaned the zombie. “Losing your touch?”
Richard coughed. “Just the weather, that’s all. See you in a week?”
“If you’re lucky.” The zombie shambled off into the mist.
It’s In The Way That You Use It
“It’s not how long it is, but what you do with it.”
Stubby Malone’s penis was the shortest of anybody’s I knew, but what he did with it sure put other guys to shame.
Remember when he conducted the Chicago Symphony with it?
When his critics said “You’re just waving it around” he told the glockenspielist to step aside and, boy, did he shut those wags up!
Painting… fencing… picking locks… wrote a best-selling novel… there was nothing he couldn’t do.
Well, besides please a woman properly with it.
(Which is why he got so good with his tongue, too.)
The vet told me he’s dying
My cat is old.
And sick.
And sleeps all day.
I took him to the vet.
The vet told me he’s dying.
I asked the vet what I should do.
Is there any medicine?
Is there any special food?
Is there anything I can do at all? Anything? Please, anything?
The vet told me he’s dying.
What about magnets?
Or crystals? Or pyramids?
Those psychic healers in the Philippines that I’ve seen in documentaries, they sure look interesting, do they work on cats, and how much do they charge?
The vet told me he’s dying.
Clutched his chest.
And died.
Blades
The first blade lifts the hair pulling it slightly from the skin.
The second bade tugs it a bit further, just because it can.
The third blade runs right up to the hair, and at the very last moment, backs off. Because it can.
The fourth blade is too good for the hair. Won’t have anything to do with it.
The fifth blade pushes the hair back in, acts like it’s the hair’s friend, these other blades want to do bad things to you, stick with me, you’ll be fine.
The sixth blade cuts the hair off.
The seventh laughs.
Freak Snowfall
It’s been a while since I last saw snow, but I’m always prepared for anything: cap and scarf on the coat rack, just in case.
Walking from the parking garage to work, I caught a glimpse… a single snowflake drifting from a nearby alley.
I walked over there, and in there was a winter wonderland, dumpsters covered with snow, drifts as high as my knee.
And a snowman, but it turned out to be a bum who had frozen to death, covered by the freak snowfall.
I put the cap and scarf on him.
There. That’s much more festive, right?
Heart Of Rust
Before the Wizard vanished into the sky, he told Tin Man that a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.
So, as Scarecrow ruled Emerald City, Tin Man sent the city’s soldiers from door to door, surveying the townsfolk on how much they loved him.
Over time, he expanded the surveys to all the lands of Oz, and the results sank from a grateful love to a weary negative.
“WHY?” shouted Tin Man.
He called for one final census.
“Because of all these annoying surveys!” was the overwhelming response.
Push Your Luck
Jack and Sally were pushing their luck at the Craps table.
The casino practically pouring vodka into them, good old liquid courage, so one more roll?
Jack thrust the dice at Sally. “Kiss ‘em for luck.”
“We haven’t needed that till now.”
“Just blow!” snarled Jack. So, she did… and vomited on his hand.
“NO BET!” said the croupier.
They were escorted off the floor as the next shooter tossed snake eyes.
When they sobered up, they counted seventy thousand dollars.
“We could have lost all that,” said Sally.
“Told you so,” said Jack.
(Instead, they lost it in poker.)
Ice Queen
She was the most beautiful woman in all the land, but The Ice Queen’s heart was no man’s to own.
The Sun Prince, captivated by her beauty, asked Merlin The Wizard for advice.
“Take this potion,” he said. “It will melt the ice from her heart.”
The Prince set out at dawn, and made the queen’s castle in a week.
Slipping the potion into her wine, he watched as the Queen’s face turned to shock, then agony.
Merlin arrived the next day, not expecting two corpses.
“Her heart wasn’t covered with ice,” said the Prince’s suicide note. “It WAS ice.”
Painted Heart
She tears open your chest, dips a brush on to her palette, and paints her life upon your beating heart.
The first time you see her, who is that?
The first time apart, when will I see her again?
You hand in hers, as the ring goes on her finger till death do we part.
And as she pulls that ring off and tosses it in your face.
With one final jab, she is finished.
And you are left there, gasping, as the colors begin to run… and fade… and burn.
She is gone, she is gone, she is gone.