The Handwriting on the Fourth Wall

Well, it wasn’t the weirdest piece of furniture they’d ever installed. But it was close.

She did her best, but the horrifying image of her parents having kinky sex on the kitchen floor could never be erased from her mind, not completely.

The aprons. Dear God, the aprons.

Priorities.

Her transformation into an anime girl was slow, but inexorable.

But his tennis career, like his career in fashion design, was a flop, and soon everyone was again at the beautiful altar of Venus Williams’ sartorial splendour.

“How dreadfully embarrassing! We wore the same outfit. I suppose I’ll just have to take mine off.”

Only then did she realize that when he’d said his ex was the queen of snakes, he’d meant it literally.

Yes, the Grim Reaper decided. It was a time for a makeover. Something, he thought, in black.

He could always wear the Bermuda shorts underneath.

Thus did the last bucket in the world perish, destroying humankind’s hopes forever.

When he’d used his final wish to ask for the meaning of life, somehow this hadn’t occurred to him.

Suddenly, and for the first time, she regretted the queen’s generosity, and her much-vaunted new title. If only she could be a knight like the boys!  No, she just had to be a dame.

Looking back on it, the first draft of E.T. had been pretty weird too.

Yep. Drugs.

Hungry panther + woman in giraffe bikini = full panther + giraffe bikini

David* delivers a body slam of literally Biblical proportions.

--Tales from the Great Book

Yoga is hard.

But she did. And she went on to make a killing on the stock market, dying rich, old, and in the arms of a Hungarian dancer one-fourth her age.