Tag: silly

Dragonhunters

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A team of dragonhunters came to town the other day.
They’d heard that we held a lottery every year to choose a human sacrifice for the dragon that lives in the forest.
Truth is, we do it to figure out who gets stuck giving the dragon his annual scrubdown.
If you think the dragon stinks, you should smell the soap we use. Only a wizard can understand how the two produce “clean dragon” instead of “deadly, toxic stench.”
We’ll let the dragon finish these clowns off.
I just hope I don’t get stuck washing their corpses out of his scales.

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.

Dangerous Catch

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We haul in the nets and dump out our catch.
As usual, it’s mostly guitars. Piles and piles of acoustics, with a few electrics here and there.
In the middle of the pile rests one shiny tuba.
Dead or alive, we throw it all back.
“No banjoes,” growls the captain. “Still no banjoes.”
He clomps back into the wheelhouse to light his pipe and scowl for the rest of the trip.
As we prepare the nets for another try, I hear the siren from the Coast Guard.
They’re going to harass us about not having tuba-excluding devices on our nets.

iSleep

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You can purchase dreams through iTunes now.
Just sync up your pillow through the wireless base station, take the iSleep pills, and in twenty minutes you’ll be asleep and ready to dream the dreams you’ve bought for the night.
One night only, unlike Blockbuster’s dreaming service that gives you five nights.
As if you’d want to dream the same thing five nights in a row.
If you think they’re too expensive, well, Microsoft is still working on their own strategy. And Google’s working on a free service, but it’s sponsored with ads.
Or, you can dream your own pathetic dreams.

Tickler

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Little Jimmy liked to tickle people. He loved to hear laughter.
He got so good at it, he could find the ticklish spots on all people who claimed not to be ticklish at all.
Folks got to know him well. So much so, all he had to do was wiggle his fingers and you’d feel them on your body, tickling you. Five, six, ten feet away – you could feel it.
Maybe he could too?
Jimmy’s last tickle victim was a toaster. He used a metal fork to do the deed.
I wonder… right before he was electrocuted, did it tickle?

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.

Wrong Number

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She told me her number at a party, but I couldn’t remember the last number.
So, I dialed all of the numbers in the series.
One was a computer or a fax. So was two, five, seven, and eight.
Three and four were not in service.
Six could have been her. It was a generic pager number, so I gave it my number.
Nine was a kid’s personal line.
Zero was a hardware store. She said she was an art dealer, so that couldn’t have been her Must be the pager.
Unless, of course, she’s a robot with a modem.

Happy Pirate Day

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Jimmy’s turning seven. I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, and he said he wanted a clown at his party.
I couldn’t find a birthday clown, so I settled for a birthday pirate.
Snarling and growling, his peg leg was caught in a gopher hole in the lawn.
Then he ran the piñata through with his cutlass.
Just when you thought it couldn’t be any more of a disaster, the hook on his hand kept popping the balloon animals.
Oh, and he threatened to keel-haul the birthday boy.
The kids loved it. Now they all want birthday pirates.

Play Presidents

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Let’s go play with our Presidents in the sand box!
Bring all your Presidents! We’ll drive them all over and build castles and stuff!
The girls, they play tea party with their Presidents and dress them up in dresses and girly stuff.
Ewwwwwwww.
We’re boys. We’ll play football and baseball and have jousting tournaments and hunt dragons and…
Oh no. The sun’s going down. Our mothers will call us in for dinner soon. We don’t want to be late for dinner.
You take your Presidents and I’ll take mine and we’ll meet back up here tomorrow to play, okay?
Bye.