The Abnormal Goodnight

Posted on June 20, 2019 by sungmokoo

Another day in the suburbs, a different kind of perverse.

All evening, things were off at the Wagonsworth household. Hal got home at 6:07 instead of 6:01. Maxine served dinner at 6:20 instead of 6:22. It was Wednesday and instead of the traditional hump day lemon garlic chicken on a bed of overcooked rice, it was a turkey casserole. These breaks of habit went on all evening. Instead of Fox® News, ESPN®. All the while, not one word was exchanged. This was highly unusual in comparison to their constant bickering.

It was midnight. They were in bed eight minutes later than usual. They kissed goodnight like rehearsed robots. Hal rolled on his side to turn off the dusty Hello Kitty™ lamp beside the bed. He broke the silence to say what he had said every night since they got married. “I love you. See you tomorrow, unless I die in my sleep.”

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The Hardest Part

Posted on June 17, 2019 by sungmokoo

What happened? A) The cat smothered and ate a newborn. B) The end result of a lame magic trick C) This is an alternate universe where cats sleep in cribs or D) The cat was bored.

I thought this would be the easiest part. Shooting a defenseless baby in the head should be a no-brainer. Yet, here I stand, gun pressed against the forehead of baby Hitler. To be clear, it was Adolf Hitler, that evil tyrant with a distinctive mustache.

Who knew that time travel could be so simple? Thanks to the help of YouTube® and the mere purchase of three alarm clocks and a flux capacitor, time travel was a cinch.

Yeah, I know, killing baby Hitler is trite and all, but if you ever have access to a time machine, and you want to do the right thing, this is it.

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For Dread Is The Color That My Baby Wore

Posted on June 16, 2019 by sungmokoo

“Haw haw,” guffawed Nelson Muntz without any regard for the dignity of the very obese lard ass Homer Simpson had become. Bullying is unwanted, aggressive behavior, yet obesity, when not an active disease, is excessive. In a world where bullying is increasing at the same rate of obesity, there’s a lot of confrontations to be had on the horizon. Source.

“Get me my lasagna pants,” Eddie exclaimed from his bedroom. For the sake of clarity, his room was a sty and he was fourteen-years-old. His voice rippled throughout the house systematically, down the hallway, down the stairs, through the living room, until it reached the kitchen, where Janice, Eddie’s eldest sister, shivered before dropping a glass of pulpier than needed to be orange juice. It looked like tiny goldfish in an orange sea filled with shards of glass.

It was fortunate for Mother, who was ascending the stairs, she was not holding something, for she would have surely dropped it. She tightened her grip on the stair railing, her eyes filled with panic.

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That One Day, Maybe It Was A Tuesday

Posted on June 13, 2019 by sungmokoo

Small towns are awesome and charming until you have a craving for samosas.

The people of Rural Rock still talk about that one summer day when Jamworth “Bucktooth” Johnson rolled into town on a keg of beer. It was a sight to behold, here he come down the street kicking up all kinds of dust and what not wearing nothing but a smile and his big dick flopping around and to and fro like some elephant who ain’t give a shit.

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