Tag: cliche

The Landscape Of Dorian Grey

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As we back across Dorian’s perfect lawn, like a plush green carpet, we stop to admire its beauty.
The eternally young monster lay in a pile of dust in his foyer, shown his accursed painting, but outside in the fresh air… the grass… the grass…
“It’s always looked… perfect,” I said. “Too perfect.”
We head back inside, looking for a painting of landscaping.
What depiction of brown, wretched, barren grounds awaits us?
Instead, we come across a painting of a puddle of water, lumps of coal, a rotten carrot.
Well, I guess that explains Dorian making a snowman in July.

Prayers Answered

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The simplest mistakes can have such disastrous consequences.
It’s true that God hears all prayers, but he’s gotten rather sloppy keeping them organized.
Every now and then, someone’s prayer gets answered for a complete stranger.
Maybe you prayed for a cure for your father’s cancer, but you wake up to a brand new bicycle?
That kind of thing.
It’s been happening more and more, which suggests that either God isn’t infallible or that people don’t know what they really want.
I, for one, really like this shiny new bicycle.
Actually, it’s kinda fun to ride to the cemetery with it.

Walking

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The cost of shoes has skyrocketed.
Shoes used to be inexpensive, but they’re become expensive because of greedy speculators and shoe industry executives.
People are being urged to conserve their shoes, but they keep buying socks that wear shoes out quickly, or they insist on walking when they should be driving.
Or riding a bicycle, but bicycles aren’t exactly cheap these days, either. And our infrastructure just isn’t ready for them.
“We’re a walking economy,” says the President. “So we need to reduce our dependency on foreign sources of shoes.”
Lots of talk, but we never truly walk the walk.

Counting Sheep

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Oh, sure, you think those sheep you count to get to sleep are sweet and innocent, but I know better.
It’s a conspiracy. The counting sheep want to take over the world.
I was only pretending to sleep the other night when the sheep came by for me to count. I closed my eyes and made snoring sounds, so the sheep felt comfortable letting their guard down.
They used my bedroom as a staging area for their campaign of global domination, preparing signs that said “Eat Less Mutton” and “If You Eat Us, How Can Perverts Have Sex With Us?”

Tree Crime

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I wanted to arrest that Maple Tree. I really did.
Instead, we took it Downtown for questioning.
Trees aren’t so tough when you get them away from other trees.
Still, it’s hard to pick a tree out of a lineup.
We hadn’t gotten to that point yet, though. The tree’s lawyer showed up, asks if his client has been charged with anything.
No, we say, but we just want a few questions answered.
Lawyer says the interview is over, we can’t charge him with anything, so it’s back to the forest.
I really hate the legal system sometimes, you know?

Book By Its Cover

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My master says not to judge a book by its cover, but it doesn’t take an archmage to realize that his spellbook’s a pretty nasty bit of business.
At first glance, you notice the silver needles along the binding dripping with poison while the dragonhide cover trails wisps of smoke, right?
But how many people would notice the howling bog-wraiths trapped as the bar code on the back?
I mean, who puts bar codes on the back of a spellbook? It’s not you’re going to want to list it on Amazon with an ISBN, right?
Archmages can be weird sometimes.

Platform

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We were standing on the platform, waiting for the subway.
A lot of people were.
She fell on the tracks right before the train came.
“Oh my God!” someone shouted.
But God didn’t save her.
An off-duty cop came forward. He said he’d been bumped from behind, and he knocked her on to the tracks.
They never found the guy who bumped him from behind.
Because there wasn’t anyone to find.
The cop went on extended leave. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
He didn’t spend the money all at once.
“Don’t be conspicuous,” I said. “And we’ll get away with murder.”

Snow Shovel

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I haven’t touched a snow shovel in 18 years.
Sure, I’ve seen snow since then, but I haven’t touched a snow shovel.
They don’t have any snow shovels in the hardware store down the street. I guess there’s more people out there just like me that haven’t touched a snow shovel in a long time.
I looked in a catalog and saw that Restoration Hardware sells snowman kits. So does their local brick and mortar store. Might be worth it as a gag gift, making a snowman out of Crisco or something white and stackable.
Ho ho ho… Merry Criscomas?

You Are What

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As I was growing up, I was always being told that I am what I eat.
So, I would tell all my food that they are what eats them.
There’s not much point to telling a salad that, nor is there a reason to announce this fact to a steak.
One time, I went out for seafood and I chose my own lobster from the tank.
I picked my lobster and then told it that I was going to eat it, I am what I eat, so it was about to be me.
It pinched my nose in its claw.

Making A War

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There’s always that one person at a party, off in the corner, all by themselves.
Fred was holding the string to a red balloon, mumbling “All I need are ninety-eight more and I can start a nuclear war.”
So, we gathered up all the red balloons, but still came up short.
The party store was closed. We couldn’t buy more.
“Maybe if we paint the other ones red? I said.
But nobody had red paint, and the paint store was closed, too.
The next morning, I was drinking my coffee, when I heard the sirens.
Should have gotten a pinata.