Tag: cliche

How Many Angels?

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The Boss shouted “LUMEN FIT!” and there was light.
After some flickering the light went out again.
The Boss cursed up a blue streak.
“SCALAE FIT!” shouted The Boss, and a ladder appeared.
Three angels grabbed it and went up to the light.
One went up the ladder to grab it and two more turned the ladder to unscrew it from its socket.
A fourth pulled a spare out of inventory, swapped lights with the other angels, and they screwed the new one in.
The Boss smiled. It was much more efficient than needing six angels and a dinner table.

Sippycup

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“The optimist believes that the glass is half full,” said the teacher. “And the pessimist believes that the glass is half empty?”
FrankJ banged his sippy-cup on his tray. “Frank want more juice!” he cried.
The teacher stared at the student with disgust. “What are you? Three?”
“Actually, I’m in twenty-nine,” said Frank. “And I just wrote a book, too. Now, where’s my juice?”
“Can’t you get your own juice?” asked the teacher.
“That’s usually what Sarah does,” said Frank. “But she’s mad at me. Juice!”
The teacher sighed and poured more juice, pondering a new job soon.

Warp Factor Zero

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Bones rattled around the Infirmary until Jim came down and opened the door.
“Have you figured out what the problem is?” said Jim, looking down at Spock, who was laying on an examination table.
“It’s his damn green Vulcan blood,” growled Bones. “I don’t know whether he’s got a nosebleed or a runny nose.”
“It’s just a runny nose,” said Spock matter-of-factly.
“Then why were you shrieking for a tissue and pinching your nose?” said Bones.
“It’s… the… Vulcan Nose Grip,” said Spock. “Simple logic.”
Jim laughed, and Bones punched him in the nose.
“Now that’s a nosebleed,” said Bones.

The Scurvy Dog

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“Stowaway! Stowaway!”
“Grab the landlubber!” shouted the Captain. “Make him walk the plank!”
The crew grabbed the man and the First Mate slid the plank out, but it fell overboard and floated away.
“Well, shiver me timbers,” said the Captain, “What will we make him walk now?”
“We could make him walk the dog,” said the First Mate.
“Yarr,” said the Captain, releasing the stowaway and handing him a plastic bag. “Be sure to pick up all the dog crap.”
“Why?” asked the stowaway.
“We don’t want this to turn into a poop deck, you see,” said the First Mate.

Happy Coup Year

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I gotta tell you, it’s good to be king.
Man, what a party last night. Whole country was out saying goodbye to the old year and ringing in the new year.
Of course, those party-pooper rebels had to shoot up the decorations and my security guards.
Why do people insist on firing guns on New Years? Don’t they know that people get hurt that way?
It didn’t last long. My troops overwhelmed the guerrillas and they’re now in jail.
All I need to do is…
Ha ha ha… caught myself dating a death warrant with 2006.
Happy New Year, everyone.

Airport 2006

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We’re still not sure why, but the investigation concluded that the airport manager secretly replaced the supply of de-icing agent at Jefferson County Airport with Folger’s Crystals.
It didn’t take long to find out what would happen. Two executive jets froze up and crashed, and a third barely managed to get back on the ground.
The airport manager stuck a microphone in the pilot’s face. “Did you know that I substituted your de-icing agent with Folger’s Instant Crystals? Could you tell the difference?”
He’s in an insane asylum now, receiving plenty of medication.
And no instant coffee whatsoever, thank goodness.

Christmas Trolls

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The day after Christmas, Santa’s elves partied and celebrated another year’s work finished.
On the other side of the North Pole, Santa’s trolls were dealing with returns, damaged toys, injury claims, technical support, and instruction booklets in the wrong language.
“Fucking elves!” growled the Head Troll. “Those twerps get the credit for shipping crap, but we’re the ones having to clean up after them.”
“Let’s strike,” said a few of the trolls, and they grumbled agreement.
At first sign of revolt, Santa stomped into the Troll Barn with a bullwhip and a bullhorn.
“Back to work, you sonsabitches!” he shouted.

They’re Driving Me Nuts

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Steve never made appointments. He just showed up at the doctor’s, barged past the receptionist, and walked into the examination room.
If it was occupied, he’d tell the patient to leave.
He was Steve, damnit it!
Dr. Parker sighed. “Well, you sure have a lot of balls showing up here like that.”
“Very funny,” said Steve, dropping his pants. “All I want to keep is two. Just two.”
“I told you before, I’d have to remove them all,” said the doctor. “But I could give you a pair of brass ones.”
Steve said no, and felt the sling cinch tighter.

And then there were seven

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I looked up from the battered, scratched pass to look again at her garishly made-up face.
“National Spiritual Advisor?” I asked.
After several checks, National Spiritual Advisor Melinda Gauche’s security pass was stamped VALID.
She smiled. “Ronnie was so nice to indulge his Nancy,” said Gauche, adjusting her veils.
“Follow me,” I said, leading the jangling mysticist down the hall.
When she entered the room and laid her charts on the table, the discussions stopped.
“What’s wrong, Spooky?” asked the President.
“I can’t chart it,” said Gauche. “Uranus is missing.”
I swear, the president turned to the Surgeon General first.

From the future’s footlights a dim bulb sputters

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I went into the archives, pulled the tapes, and threw them in my satchel.
With the originals gone, people would have to rely on the edited copies that had spread throughout the world over the years.
Then, I went into the labs, stepped into the Epimetheus Booth, and removed the handset.
“Number, please?” said a voice.
“July 20,” I said. “1969.”
“Thank you,” said the voice, and I heard the connection tones.
I pulled the slip of paper in my pocket, but I’d stuck my gum in it earlier.
It covered the “a” in “One small step for a man.”