A future full of idiots.

Human ant farm; all put to work doing meaningless tasks to keep us busy.

Stop leaving your skin flakes in my pod. I had to get it sanitized just to get the bitch-stink off.

He would pick up the phone randomly and report into it, convinced that his phone was bugged and that aliens were taking notes. It was up to him to explain humanity to them and he wanted to do the job right. Each night he would take careful notes and then put them in the trash can out front for them to collect.

We all know about the missing sock phenomenon but what about all those lost sunglasses? There is SOMETHING going on there.

Annoying co-workers are still annoying even if they bring in muffins.

Linear engines are not the same thing as linear endings.

Sedona is just a large communications satellite for the sun.

Eh yea they say, but not today.

One day we'll all be living and sleeping in storage containers that get shuffled around.

Evidence of angelic sock monkeys?!?!

Why would one use burnt out light bulbs to decorate their house? I don't care if they're spray painted different colours, that's just strange.

Guests don't usually need a dresser.

Cops that sit at a table in a bar screaming accusations at everyone that walks by.
"Yea it was YOU wasn't it? You've got that look about you and I just bet it was. GET OVER HERE AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"

There were plans in his head for a spaceship. The aliens left them in there.

You can conserve energy by not talking so loud.

The spaceship crew consisted of a plant, a rather large goose, and a fridge. The map was lost while on their way to Mars and they don't want to stop to ask for directions. The goose is named Albert. The plant is named Rose but isn't a rose. There are leftovers in the fridge named Salad. They asked some spacebirds for help eventually but they were rude and would only flap their wings at them. They need to find somewhere to put their shoes for a while and give them a chance to update their journals. Albert wants to take photos and sight-see. Rose has straps around her pot to keep her from falling or floating away. They wigglecize to keep fit and race each other around the ship. Fuzzy slippers keep their feet warm and the floors clean.

Never trust a man with a beard.
A beard? Why not?
It's creepy.
Santa has a beard.
Santa is creepy.
You think Santa is creepy?
He sits kids on his lap, insists they be "good" and then leaves them gifts late at night. That's creepy.
I guess so. You honestly don't trust anyone with a beard?
There are some rare occasions where a nicely trimmed beard is acceptable and uncreepy on someone but that's quite rare.
You're messed up.
At least I don't have a beard.

Wooden ducks see ALL our faults. We must rebel and burn them where they live. Or better yet, we can stop producing them.

Characters need a setting.

Pigtails should NOT be worn in public by women over the age of 20.

You're chasing the dream that will never come true. It's a DREAM and dreams aren't REAL.

The world's biggest morons have managed to obtain internet accounts and post hourly about shit they know nothing about.

Every talk show host should be called Bob.

Who said short stories have to make sense? They just have to be stories that are short.

After sorting out the destruction, the traffic was down to one lane. It was a slow drive home made slower by the wailing of the passenger, a man rescued from the mess. It's not my fault he had no money for an ambulance or surgery, and I need a new liver. If he's not a match, then I'll grind him up, compost him and have him nurture my balcony herb garden.

Lightning looks like tree branches and veins.

"I communicate through my art." she says simply, as if that's all that needs to be said. The canvas hangs in front of us and I stare at it and try not to look unimpressed.
"Well?" She says as she pulls the cigarette from her sour little mouth. "How many do you want?"
It's canvas with paint, dirt and glue smeared on it. "I haven't seen enough yet. Are there others?"
"Yes." She sighs and then stomps further into the room. "Follow."
It's taking everything in me not to burst out into laughter. She's lucky I've got a sense of humour or she'd be on the ground sobbing from my telling just what I really think of her so called art. Five destroyed canvases later and the humour has passed.
"Well?" She half-whines at me.
"Well I have to go now."
"How many do you want?"
"None." I say and head for the door.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" She complains, following me. "You fucker, these will be worth millions one day!"
As I drive home, I give my friend a call and tell him that if he's going to fuck crazy artists, at least find one with some talent.

AGAIN. The word had been scrawled across his wall in what looked like blood. It wasn’t blood though, real blood did not stink like expired raspberry jam. This was not going to be a good day.

“Morning Ralph, how was your weekend?”
Jim is leaning into my office, smiling at me. “Alright. You?”
Each breath wasted on this meaningless conversation.
“Pretty good, got the shed installed.”
“Good job.” It takes everything in me not to scream. I don’t care about his shed.
“Well, see you later then.”
I nod. This small talk is killing us all.
My life has been CC’d to death.

I hate all my friends. This became apparent to me as John was flipping through his holiday photos. We were on what seemed like the millionth photo when I really began to feel abused. I didn’t want to look at his bullshit photos and pretend I gave a flying fuck about him and his so called vacation in Florida. Each photo made me hate him more, and as he described the exact scene in the photo to me each time, all I could think of was how much I wanted to shove the photos down his throat and watch him choke on his own memories. Not just him even, everyone. I’m fed up of everyone I know and I’m especially fed up with my friends. In fact, I hate my friends most of all. Is it me? Am I the bad person for all this? All these pretend friends around me are focused on themselves. They should be focused on me at least part of the time. I pretend to give a shit about their stupid lives; can’t they at least do the same for me? When it’s my turn to smile and nod, I do it. Do they? No. They stare blankly at me. It’s not that difficult to simply pretend. You bastards, I hate you all.

“Oh darling, you knew this would never last.”
How cruel to hear these words out loud, to have to face the truth.
“You’re mad if you thought any differently.”
Smoke in the air between us, hovering above the table where we sat.
A sigh escapes me, shifting the smoke back into his face. “Don’t call me darling.”
It’s been a long day here in hell and a lifetime of vacation is only moments away.

If there are things going faster than the speed of light, we can't see them.

Beer is for those who leer,
They stumble and smear,
No matter straight or queer,
Makes you run over some deer,
The meaning isn't quite clear,
So they end must be near,
Go cry in the dark with fear,
It's okay you poor dear.

He hit the neighbours dog by accident while backing up but no one saw him do it. So he dumped the body at the side of the road a few streets over. The neighbours eventually found the dog and were sad. He tried not to think about it whenever he saw their little boy. He's more careful when he backs up now; it'd be harder to get away with dumping the boy's body.

I refer you to online sources, which can be changed at any time.

The few can't control the many when the many aren't stupid.

Is computer use changing the way we think?

Monkey recovery program. SIGN UP HERE.

There should be a type of moss in a can that you can spray on graffitied rock which, after being on for a year or two, can be scraped off and all the graffiti is eaten away.

You don't have to be a happy winner, it just usually happens that way.