February 2009
25 posts
They don’t call me Pizazz Flashburger for nothing. Especially not after I paid everybody $5 to call me Pizazz Flashburger.
These were some bad blind dates. Neither they nor their tiny little guide dogs were particularly delicious.
The Forces of Darkness growled. “Now, honey, we have guests.” “Yes, mumsy,” they mumbled.
“Shut up,” said Jesus. “Now, Jesus—” “Shut up. You’re not my real dad, JOSEPH.” Joseph Hamilton, age 12, sighed and wished he didn’t have to deliver newspapers to this household.
Jeff wished in his heart of hearts that he had not grown three extra hearts.
We thought the glitter would just fall off, and we thought we could find our children, but it just grew and grew.
“Frank…” “My name’s not Frank,” said Mr. Lee. “Frank Lee, I don’t give a damn.”
“Play it again, Sam,” said Jeff to composer John Cage, who just stared at him for four minutes, give or take.
The song “Hallelujah” is the touching morality parable of what happens to you when you spy on your neighbor roof-bathing, pervert.
Unaware of his lifelong disability with wheaty words, Jeff shined his blacklight on the hotel bed and announced on live TV that there was semolina everywhere.
Anything Jeff did would be a drop in the bucket, said the ransom letter written in Jeff’s blood.
“Let me put some fire in your spire,” she purred to Jeff. Jeff smiled, agreed, and went home to find his castle in flames.
We knew the celebrity impersonations contest had gone too far when we started unearthing Florence Nightingale’s corpse.
As the caped guest grabbed Diane’s arm and twisted it into a giraffe, Jeff wished that he had not invited Funny Bone the Felon.
It was a knife fight, and they were fighting over the ice-cream scoop.
As we dodged the ventricle grenades and the pit-pat of coronary gunfire, we could only wish we had seen the heart attack coming.
“I don’t think we can use this,” Jeff said as we stood around the pro-life rally poster “Are You Sure It’s Not Just Gas?”
Jeff microwaved the plot without removing the aluminum foil; the fire destroyed his house, but the denouement destroyed his credibility.
“The shampoo mines are nearly depleted, milady.” Rapunzel cruelly laughed and ordered the children to squeeze harder.
Loving you is easy because you’re promiscuous.
“I want you inside me,” said Dan to his insulin shot.
The oncology ward clown made tumor balloons for everybody until one of them metastasized and turned Billy into a condom.
“I told you I needed clothes.” RIP, 1890-2009, Fuzzy Wuzzy.
It was a weird movie, Pus in Boots.
It was dark, and we hadn’t paid the bills.