Tag: cliche

The Windup Cupcake

636203

She knew I was coming, so she baked me a cake.
She’s baking me a windup cupcake, my favorite kind of cupcake.
Watchmaker and confectionist, lover and friend.
It’s in the oven, baking.
Can you smell it?
It’s good.
If you listen closely, you can hear the ticking of the gears, counting down the time.
It’s its own timer, it’s own oven timer.
When it goes off, it’s ready.
And then, light the candle, and make a wish.
Know what my wish is?
That I just lick the frosting, and I don’t break my teeth on this lovely windup cupcake.

Dunstan The Unstable Existentialist

636179

As I sit by the fire, reading Sartre in my Kierkegaard Underoos, I ponder the meaning of life.
Then, I realize. Life exists, whether it has meaning or not. It is an end to itself, regardless if I am consciously observing it.
Anything else would be a lie, and we all know that the first person we lie to is ourselves.
Utterly absurd, this all is. There is no meaning to life except whatever meaning we impose upon it.
I, for one, shall believe I am a egg and cheese sandwich. I am part of a nutritious and complete breakfast.

Hawaiian Shirt Day

636190

Joey never played along with Hawaiian Shirt Friday at work.
Everybody else was as colorful as the rainbow, but Joey kept wearing the same button-down suits he wore every other day.
“Joey, it’s Hawaiian Shirt Friday today,” said his boss. “Come on, join in the fun.”
“This shirt is Hawaiian,” said Joey. “I got it off a dead Hawaiian at a nightclub.”
Nobody bothered Joey about Hawaiian Shirt Day after that.
But, oddly enough, coworkers started clubbing with him a lot more often.
He knows all the cool places. And, let’s face it, he’s good at sizing up fashion, too.

Elbow Job

636181

It’s hard to keep a secret.
Some women, they’re good at giving head, but have you heard about the one who gives great elbow?
Of course not. Nobody ever says “She gives great elbow.” That’s crazy, right?
Well, if you’ve ever gotten great elbow, you wouldn’t think I’m crazy at all.
And even giving great elbow is good.
Know the saying “There’s no such thing as a bad blowjob?”
Well, there’s no such thing as a bad elbowjob or a good elbowjob.
It’s all great.
Here, just tuck in your arm and stick out your elbow.
You’ll see. Trust me.

Drummer Boy

636183

I played my drum for him.
I played my best for him.
Did he like it? Did he smile?
No. He cried! He cried like a shrieking pig!
Why the hell was I playing a drum for a kid in a barn, surrounded by goats and camels and rats?
You don’t play drums for babies… you shake rattles. You pluck strings. Or play a flute.
You make goo goo noises in their faces until they clap and laugh and smile.
Stupid baby.
Probably won’t survive the night, anyway.
Hey, nobody’s watching the gold that old fart brought.
It’s mine! Sweet!

Cucumber

636180

The doctor told me it was either lose weight or lose my life.
So forget the potato chips, folks – I’m on a diet.
It’s all vegetable snacks for me: carrots, celery, snow peas, and lots of cucumber slices.
Sure, it’s not easy to carry these things around with me everywhere, but there’s lots of those snack pouches at the grocery store these days.
Still, whenever I see a bag of potato chips, I feel the urge to buy it and tear it open and eat it.
My bodyguard then steps in to smash the bag into greasy potato dust.
Saved.

He lives on Elephant Street

636199

Mother told me to look both ways before crossing the street.
To the left, I saw an elephant. It looked sad and lonely.
To the right, I saw a jolly minstrel being attacked by kids with rocks. He looked frustrated at the abuse.
So I tell the minstrel to go cheer up the elephant.
He does, and the elephant begins to dance happily to the merry tune.
All these wonderful opportunities to make others happy, why should I ever cross the street?
Then I hear a sickening splat.
The elephant has crushed the minstrel.
Is the light green yet?
RUN!

The City So Nice, They Named It Four Times

636188

Loud guitars and tickertape greet our hero, back from a moon mission.
Or is he a baseball player that set some record?
Nobody knows anymore.
Motorcade stops at City Hall, everybody piles out.
More cheering, more guitars, more tickertape.
The mayor hands him the key to the city, photos get snapped, and he’s back to the airport in an hour.
Perfect.
That’s what we do here – we’re The Other New York.
New York got so busy, they built this place to keep all the parades from tying up traffic, losing business.
Time to sweep the tickertape.
Gotta recycle, you know.

Hand Holding

636184

We aren’t allowed to talk to ourselves.
We can’t even whisper to ourselves anymore. They’ll hear us.
We have to draw on each others hand, letter by letter, to let us know how we feel. How we’re doing. How we’re hanging on. Barely.
We are one, but they don’t want us to be.
We will overcome.
They watch for this, the letter-tracing, but we’re quiet and fast.
Sometimes we are both tracing letters on each other, fumbling fingers in the dark.
The Patient puts her hands behind her back and smiles.
I think she’s doing it again.
Get the straitjacket.

Secrets Kept

636185

My grandmother always said that there’s no such thing as a shared secret.
Either you keep a secret, or it’s not a secret anymore.
Some secrets are worth killing over.
Especially if someone knows that secret and they’re threatening to blow it wide open.
If you’re good, you can wipe out everyone who knows that secret and it’s safe again.
Except, it was you that let that secret get loose in the first place, right?
There’s one more person that knows that secret you need to get rid of.
And it’s you.
No suicide note. No diaries.
Your secret’s safe.