Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The Initiation of the Termination (the beginning of the end) / Duke Roundhouse

Soundly overmatched, the terminator lies on a metal grate, face down, badly damaged, reaching for its sawed off shotgun. The technologically superior T-1000 calmly picks up a metal pole, drives it into the terminator’s back, and twists the pole back and forth in a manner one can only assume would wreak maximum possible damage. The terminator reaches back in a futile attempt to stop the attack, metal screeches, the pole passes through the terminator’s solar plexus thereby impaling it on the metal grate walk-way and little lightening bolts shoot amongst and across its leather clad body. The terminator ceases to struggle and goes limp, only inches away from the sawed-off shotgun. It’s exposed mechanical eye, once glowing red, slowly dims and turns off. The T-1000, having disposed of its opponent, leaves to complete its mission: locate and terminate John Conner.

Moments later the terminator’s eye once again begins to glow. The machine is not destroyed. . ____________________________

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Saturday, February 20, 2010

Guess this terrible profession / Coddle Poppers

I spend an inordinate amount of time inches away from a beautiful woman I'm secretly in love with.

I have to listen to the same fucking song 50 times a day.

This woman doesn't love me back but she always smiles at me which makes it easy to think I still have a chance.

I'm cold mostly all of the time.

I'm really good at spinning and gliding fast.

I touch this same woman's butt and crotch area repeatedly whenever the aforementioned song is played but not in a sexual way.

I sometimes dress up like a stereotypical indian with tight pants when there are a lot of people watching me.

I'm judged all the time.

If I'm not extra careful at any point I could easily fall and really hurt myself.

I don't know how to do any real cool jumps or anything.

I am an Olympic ice dancer.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Several people trying to look like an elephant / Barney Pildegrass

Note: The following takes place in a world free from social graces, self consciousness, regularly scheduled meals, and deadlines. In short, a world much different than ours. In long, people in this world barter ideas for goods and services in lieu of any form of currency. They keep detailed records of bowel movements and record them in pocket-sized journals that they customarily share when meeting each other for the first time. In this world glass has yet to be invented. The concept of personal hygiene exists but it focuses on body parts from the waist down rather than the waist up. As a result no one in this world has ever heard of the word "hairdo". Also birthday's are a much bigger deal here. Pretty much everybody has their birthday written down all over the place (did I mention that in this world people have terrible long term memory? No? Sorry, they do). Since people are always forgetting their birthdays they often jot it down on white boards in their offices, write it in their grocery lists, in their bowel movement journals, spray paint it as graffiti in their own homes, and sometimes tattoo the date on their forearms. Since there are no windows (see above concerning glass) it's commonplace for people to paint elaborate scenes on walls, doors, and buildings. Oftentimes these scenes depict what very well may be going on on the other side of the wall or door which makes it all the more puzzling that no one has figured out how to make glass. I mean they have radios and damns and nuclear weapons and have figured out the assembly line and all that - why no glass? It's odd. But I digress. . . In the scene below several people from this world are attempting to make themselves look like an elephant by contorting their bodies and such. This type of thing wouldn't be all that strange to encounter in this world as the person to look the most like an elephant would have a pretty good idea on their hands which could be exchanged for a decent meal or a ride to the airport.


Narl: Not bad but your feet are too close together.

Toon: How about this?

Narl: Better but still not doing it for me.

Deppi: Have you considered using a fake leg?

Toon: The thought crossed my mind but I thought the whole purpose was to was to attempt to look like an elephant without the use of a costume or other props.

Klux: I don't know. I think certain inanimate objects could be used as long they were used in an abstract way with a creative spirit and didn't include pieces from an actual elephant or elephant costume.

Firl: Hey guys! Look at me! Check this out!

Deppi: No Firl. You're doing it all wrong. That's how we were all doing it yesterday but it looks more like an elephant if you use your left arm as a trunk like this. The way you're doing it you look more like an anteater. It's missing a certain 'regalness' that the elephant undoubtedly exudes.

Firl: So you mean like this then.

Narl: No Firl. You're legs are crossed and they shouldn't be.

Klux: Fucking Firl.

Toon: If I use my right arm for a little support I can stick out my butt out like this and provide the illusion of a powerful hindquarters while maintaining the the whole truck idea with my left arm.

Klux: Tilt your head a bit and stick out your tongue. Might even look like tusks.

Toon: (tongue sticking out) Wike Dis?

Deppi: Wow!

Narl: Ho - ly Shit.

Klux: If you squint a little that could almost pass for a bonafide elephant!

Firl: Hold on let me try. . .

Deppi: Again, Firl, not even close.

Klux: It's settled then. I think inventing glass is a super idea. Thanks Toon!

And just like that, this different world became just a little less different.

Friday, February 5, 2010

13 punchlines I've heard where I missed the setup / Hilda Offshoot

. . . Well if you would've looked in the freezer you could have saved us both!

. . . Now that's what I call a baker's dozen, cousin!

. . . Was that an echo or is God mocking you?

. . . If I would've known you were a midget I would have ordered half.

. . . It was a ball park figure, not Paul Bark's african american friend.

. . . I'd answer the door if I didn't have to touch that damn knob.

. . . That explains why the sheets are made of meat.

. . . If that's a tumor then call me Cancer Jones!

. . . Oh shit! We left Tina in the Dairy Queen!

. . . Nope. Pretty sure they're all dead.

. . . Rob Lowe Job

. . . I'm sorry. I was told there'd be popsicle trousers.

. . . three boob Charlie.

. . . He may be Chinese but he sure as hell ain't from China!

. . . More like the opposite of James Van Der Beek.

Monday, February 1, 2010

A last minute prophesy / Ned Den

It started out as just an every day excursion, a quick trip to the neighborhood ATM to get some cash. About a half block away from the bank he suddenly got the feeling that something big was about to happen, as if his own fate were reaching down and shaking him awake from his day-to-day stupor through life. His senses were suddenly heightened and he became aware of each step he took, the significant event only a few moments, a few feet, away. Each passerby seemed to do so in slow motion, oblivious to his fast approaching wonderment. Suddenly he could hear far off birds chirping, make out every word of surrounding cell phone chatter, and was cognizant of the sound of tires crunching the gravel on the street. It was seconds away now. He took in a breath through his nose knowing it might be his last as the man he knew. Nothing would ever be the same.

And then it happened.

There, exiting the bank, walking in the opposite direction, was none other than Steve Buscemi.