Top 10 stories
Ominous, dark clouds hung low over the elementary school. The storm was rapidly approaching this New Jersey Township. | Mrs. Milleson crowded the students into the gym and tried to stay calm. "The pillow ball game must go on!" she announced. | "But I hate pillow ball!" Whitney McWhinerson whined. "Whitney, just because you lost your eye in a game of pillow ball doesn't mean you're able to get out of it." Mrs. Milleson said. | "Besides, you still have another good one." Just then, Carrie let loose with a thunderous blow, knocking Whitney's other, good eye clean out of its socket. "Son of a..." Whitney started, but Mrs. Milleson cut her off. "Whitney! Pick up that eye!" | "I can't see it!" Whitney moaned, scrabbling on the gym floor for for her eye. "Whitney's eye has gone bye-bye!" Carrie chanted as she lobbed her pillow ball at Whitney's leg. It his Whitney's thigh and sheared off a large chunk of meat.
The sunlight cast a sullen, orange glow over the slimy, cast-iron gates that guarded the entrance to the cemetery. A peculiar man, topped with a frayed bowler hat stepped among the withered leaves dancing in the chill November breeze. | As he slipped among the pitted gravestones, he trailed his fingers across their tops as if they were his old friends. As he did so, he hummed a sad little tune, the words to which had been long-forgotten by all but the oldest of madmen. | He seemed to be searching amongst the stones for a particular name. Soon he paused, mid hum, and fell to his knees. "Alas!" he exclaimed. But his voice echoed in the sun-dappled field. | Strange, he thought, to hear an echo in a wide-open field. No... not an echo. They were mocking him again. He stood, turned in a circle, shouting | obscenities at the ravens whose derisive cawing had followed him ever since Marianne breathed her last in his arms. From the corner of his eye, he saw something black streak skywards, accompanied by the dull rustling of wings.
The woman was middle-aged and dowdy, but she slept in silk sheets. She had one pet, a black and white mouse with kind, vulnerable eyes. She carried the red box of pet food over to his cage, and that's when she realised he was dead. | She immediately realized she could sell the red box of mouse food for a tidy profit. | It was a practically full box of VerminYumz, after all. Were she to glue the perforated flap closed carefully, nobody would be able to tell it had been open. She looked once last time at her tiny friend, then laughed nervously. | "My poor little mousy, we've been one soul for so long...and now...", then she grabbed the silver spoon and | impulsively shoveled some of the pet food into her mouth. Closing the box carefully again, she crunched on the dry hard bits. The carcass was still there when she locked the front door. Time to make a killing.
Why did Jenny always make announcements like that to him? | Because she knew that she would catch him speechless... | But this time, Larry was resolved to stay calm. "Sure I'd love to go skydiving with you, Jenny," he said with a smile. "It'll be just like the tilt-a-whirl at the county fair." The next thing Larry remembered, he was plummeting through the air. | His immediate fear turned quickly to bliss, as his wide eyes took in the most incredible view he had ever seen. However, as floated through the air, he heard a loud noise that interrupted his dreamy state. | It was, of course, a Boeing 757 headed straight towards him. Fortunately, just in time, the Boeing experienced critical engine failure and plummeted to the ground, killing 325 people but leaving Larry unharmed. "Damn," he thought, "that was close."
The Dalek had never been in a Jewish deli before. | A kindly old man with a black hat and a beard stood behind the counter. "Hello friend, can I recommend the matzo ball soup today?" "A MATZO BALL IS NO MATCH FOR A DALEK. EXTERMINATE!" "Oh are you an exterminator? We have a bit of a roach problem." | "NO. WE HAVE A BIT OF A *HUMAN* PROBLEM! EXTERMINATE!" The Dalek began indiscriminately firing its weapon, killing several patrons of the deli and completely ruining a perfectly good schnitzel. | The old man put his hands on his hips and glared sternly: "You should be ashamed of yourself! What would your mother say? What sort of guest would treat a host like this? I'm shvitizing from serving people all day and you come and ruin a good kugel!" | "I. HAVE. NO. MOTHER." the Dalek said, lowering its eyepiece sadly. "Oh you poor thing!" exclaimed the storekeeper. "Here I am scolding you while you simply searching for love. Stay here with me." Turned out that Dalek could make a damn fine knish.
Why did it always rain the days that he forgot his umbrella? Micah sighed as he sidestepped another leaf-filled puddle. Water was seeping into the hems of his pants, and his socks started to squish in his sneakers. Linda wouldn't have noticed except | that small squishing noise was enough to rouse the dragon guarding the cave. The young thieves tried to hide behind a pile of rocks, but the black, scaly monstrosity noticed them and began to charge. | "Quick" she yelled, "take off your shoes." Micah quickly pulled them off and hurled them as far away as possible. The dragon was momentarily distracted by the squishing, rain-sodden pair, allowing Micah and Linda to eat the | small squirrels inside the cave. Unfortunately | squirrels and dragons have a mythical partnership, forged in times Micah and Linda could not have even imagined. This led to their perpetual imprisonment in this netherworld, shoeless and hungry for all eternity.
Disney World was not the place for a balding, overweight man in his mid-thirties with a handful of leaflets on the Reformed Church of the Holy Shark, and, clearly, the approaching guards had the same feeling. This was going to end poorly. | One of the more experienced guards, slightly chubby himself, stepped forward to confront the heavy-set man. "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to come with us. You are bothering the other visitors and scaring the children." | "Aw hell no!", waddled the man, crushing everything in his path as he steamrolled in the other direction, jiggling like the gelatinous mass that he was. Suddenly, he stopped. "What's this?", he asked to himself, leaning down, looking upon the | severed arm of a fellow patron. The arm clung posthumously to a glazed abortion of a donut; it was Krispy Kreme. Ignoring the sole vivacious, fleshy arm that remained in the Escher-esque ground, he guzzled the Krispy Kreme, and the microbes advanced. | He thought to himself, in aimless conjecture; maybe i should open up a Krispy Kreme! All i would need is a couple of arms a day. I'll always take up the offers of those who desire to "lend a hand". | Slowly, carefully, he swallowed, savoring each sweltering saliva sorbet of the sugary salutatory to his stomach. After this succession of savory secessions, he satisfactorily snogged the still spigot of Sprite subsequent to his eating of donuts. S.
I had never climbed a mountain quite that big before. The sun was just about to rise, and I was nearing exhausting. John had told me that | there was a chest of gold buried at the summit of Mt. Precipice. But at that point I would have traded it all for my warm bed at home. "Just four more miles to go," I told myself. Suddenly, with a loud crack, the icy ground began caving in around me. | Struggling for purchase and facing almost certain death, I suddenly remembered the words of my life-long mentor Shin-Hao Tsu: "Look not within yourself for the butterfly, but rather within the butterfly for yourself." | Shoot, I realized: that has absolutely no application here. That was my last thought before I | starting falling, stomach in mouth, hands flailing. Just as my life began to flash before my eyes, I was shocked back into consciousness. I had hit solid ground. Without opening my eyes, I wiggled my toes. "I'm not paralyzed!" However,
One of these days I'll get it to work, muttered Wolfgang under his breath. | He had been fiddling with the gears, tweaking the circuits, and running tests for years in his basement laboratory, but it never performed as he had hoped it would. | And now, with the King expecting a grand birthday present, we feared for his | cruel streak to emerge should the machine not function flawlessly. Wolfgang searched in vain around his shop for the single, critical component he knew would bring his tireless work of the last four years to fruition. Wolfgang hollered, "Franziska!" | Franziska, always cheerful, hopped in pleasantly. "What do I do?" the anguished Wolfgang cried. "Did you plug it in?" she asked.
The letters were still faintly visible on the old oak. Henry ran his hand across the etchings and smiled. He couldn't believe it had been ten years since he had come back to the old farm. | Henry was a mosquito (with hands). The ugliest of the brood, with a long protruding snout the size of Madagascar. Or at least that's what the other mosquitoes said. Henry didn't mind, he could suck a pint of blood/minute from over 3 yards away. | Henry snapped a few photos of the etchings and then returned to the farm house to sift through his old documents. After several hours, he finally found the evidence he was looking for. Henry wasn't a mosquito after all. He was something far greater. | Or so he thought. He stepped (with feet) into the cold and realized Autumn had come. Alas, Henry's open-circulatory system was no match for 45 degree weather. Kablooey! His gigantic snout, followed by his once impressive bod, did a literal nose-dive. | And so it came to pass that the last and greatest descendant of Jesus Christ met his demise.