Tag: cliche

What do we charge?

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What do we charge for a love potion?
Only ten bucks. They’re pretty cheap and easy to make, when you think about it.
Heck, the bottle costs more than the ingredients, which are just rainwater and a little salt.
This is why we try to have you drink these things in the store, or we ask that you bring the empty bottle when you want the antidote.
Why do we charge a thousand bucks for the antidote when the love potion costs only ten?
Because we can.
And based on how desperate people are, they’ll drink it out of anything.

Batsignal

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I think we need to talk about the Batsignal again, Gordon.
There’s the issue with what merits a Batsignal.
Two Face threatening to blow up a building is a Yes.
Goons robbing a bank is a No. You have SWAT for that, right?
Your crazy daughter Barbara wanting me to read a bedtime story is a Hell No.
And I can’t see it during the day. The Joker and Penguin have changed their capering schedules.
Can’t you just SMS my BatPhone, dude?
Now nod your head like you understand what I said or I’m throwing you off the fucking roof.

Organized

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I refuse to be a part of any organized religion.
So, I’ve joined a highly-disorganized church.
I’m not sure of the name of it. The signs all say different things.
One sign suggests that it’s a military research facility. Perhaps at one time it was, but I have yet to have someone from the military research me during a service.
Pews are scattered about, there’s no telling what kind of book you’ll read from.
I’ve got a phonebook this week.
There is no choir. People sing when they want to, what they want to.
I said “asylum,” right?
Church?
Oops.

Shoulders

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Most people have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, giving them advice as they go through their lives.
I have two angels on my shoulders. No devil.
All I get is good advice and admonishment when I don’t follow it.
If I have two angels on my shoulders, is someone out there with two devils on theirs?
Instead of getting a constant stream of goodness, they’re under the influence of evil.
That’s why I kidnapped you. You look like a two-devil person to me.
The angels are telling me not to shoot you.
I disagree.

The Last Piece Of Pie

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I take the pie out of the oven and put it out on the counter to cool.
Everybody is so polite here, so nobody’s willing to take the last piece of pie.
Or the second-to-last piece of pie.
Same with the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth-to-last pieces of pie.
In fact, nobody’s willing to take a piece of pie at all.
Just to start the process will cause that last-piece-of-pie situation to come about.
So it sits on the counter for days.
Spoils, covered with mold, and completely inedible.
(Nobody’s willing to be the one to throw it out, either.)

The Mummy Train

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Mark Twain used to joke that the wrappings for mummies were used in pulp for newspapers and their bodies burned to run trains.
But neither was true.
Instead, mummies were employed by the newspapers in the printing presses, shambling around the massive rollers.
If one got caught up in the machinery and torn to bits, who cared, right? They were already dead, their families long gone.
Letting them don engineer caps and run trains, well, that was a lot more dangerous. Mummy brakemen tended to ignore warning signals, and only so many accidents were tolerated before they all were retired.

Child Actors

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The problem with child actors is that they eventually group up.
But if a series is popular, you want it to go on forever.
Recasting the parts is risky. Even with surgery, no two kids are alike.
We’ve tried cloning, but DNA only goes so far. The clones can be just as different as a surgically-altered double.
Computer-generated actors provide a consistent look and sound, but they’re horribly expensive to create and maintain. And they’re not as expressive as real humans.
Growth-suppression hormones are the answer. Freeze them at the age you want.
Kids love candy, you know.
Drugged candy.

Footprints

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Footprints in and of themselves aren’t terribly interesting.
But when you take them in context, that’s when my curiosity is piqued.
Walking to the edge of the roof…
Walking straight into a wall…
Walking in a perfect circle without beginning or end…
And then there’s the depth, which tells you how much the person weighs.
Or is carrying. A body, for instance.
There’s shoe tread, all sorts of factors there.
There’s nothing unusual about my footsteps.
Well, besides the fact that I’ve got flat feet, but that’s no crime.
What? The fact that they’re bloody?
I can explain that. Really.

The Ants

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All day long, Jimmy would burn ants with a magnifying glass, grinning madly.
He did this for weeks on end, until the ants all vanished.
Did he burn them all?
Hardly.
At night, the ants went into the tool shed, gathering up metal and lawn care chemicals.
With tiny ant hammers and anvils, they pounded and shaped until, at last, they were ready.
The sun woke Jimmy up, and he dressed quickly to go out to play.
As he stared at the anthill, it erupted into a deadly green cloud.
The ants on the roof wove their antenna with joy.

Do you believe in magic?

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How does that old song go? “Do you believe in magic in a young girl’s eye?”
I sure do. Which is why so many girls in this village have eyepatches and I’m still healthy after ninety years on the throne.
They make the most potent longevity potions.
I’ve warned the royal magician to be fair about his harvesting of eyes, though.
Visit each girl only once, and pay twenty gold coins. No sense in getting a reputation for miserliness and unnecessary cruelty.
And, despite my desire to live forever, I’d rather not be king in the valley of the blind.