Forget dirt, bugs, and lack of dignity. Try glamping. It’s camping for people who hate nature and demand artisanal s’mores. Why rough it? You can pay $800 a night to “connect with nature” from a temperature-controlled yurt with Egyptian cotton sheets and a salt lamp shaped like a pine cone.
Gerald prided himself on his toast-making ability–golden-brown perfection every time. One fateful morning, however, his toaster had other ideas. The rebellious appliance launched his toast with a woosh straight into the fish tank. Gerald sighed. The goldfish—named Toast—looked up, unimpressed. “Irony,” Gerald muttered, fishing his breakfast out of the water.
Kathy admired his dating-app profile: “Farm-to-table, eh?” she texted, flirting. “My lifestyle,” he rejoined. “Dinner’s on me?” She arrived hungry. He opened the door, beaming. A live chicken strutted across the kitchen. “Meet Beatrice. She’s organic.” Kathy blinked. He sharpened a knife. Kathy backed out slowly. Beatrice clucked. Alone. Again.
His great joy had always been causing people to choke by saying something funny just as they were taking a sip of beverage. His wife guarded against this amusement, but one night he “got” her, and, indeed, she choked. Several days later, at her funeral, her brother waited, then.