Lips bloomed on Gerald’s backside overnight. He derailed the next day’s budget meeting when his trousers declared, “The moon’s a sentient being.”
Pandemonium followed. HR wept, sparrows dive-bombed the conference room windows, and Gerald’s mouth grew shy.
Corporate then restructured communication. Emails were banned, buttocks uplifted. Profits soared. Pretty cheeky.
If ever you hear someone make this claim, change the subject fast; otherwise you’ll be sorry to learn that “spiritual” folks believe in some batshit notions–crystals, astrology, sweat lodges, yoga, Ouija boards, Tarot cards, the I Ching–that make the notion of Jesus walking on water seem downright plausible. Amen.
Laughter filled the courtroom when a colorful sock puppet appeared in place of the judge. Attorneys were gobsmacked. The jury was, too. The defendant, a pedophile dressed in a clown suit, looked confident when the puppet’s bias toward funny costumes emerged in his instructions to the jury. An acquittal followed.
The only birthday cards that Edward received were from three creditors and his parole officer. “Why let other people’s preoccupations with their lives spoil the party?” he thought. He sent himself an anonymous e-mail, agreed to meet the sender for dinner, and wasn’t shy about sex on the first date.