Red Lobster®, the Pauly Shore of fine dining, is surprisingly the fifth most popular place to make a wedding proposal.
Stella Odawella’s squinted her eyes with great scrutiny, which made her sturdy mustache wiggle as she asked him again, “Did you sleep with her?”
Barry DeHatchett snorted, and looked around the Red Lobster®. He was pleasantly shocked to see that, indeed, he had slept with her, as well as every woman in here. He casually took a sip of water as he ran through a list of lies. His shaking hands betrayed him.
There’s nothing like the concert experience. Actually, there is, public transportation during rush hour, minus the loud music.
As Horace Face made his way through the crowd, barely holding on to three beers in wax-coated paper cups, his knees buckled. Beer sloshed all over him. He had never experienced such a sensation before. He did not like it one bit. He recovered as if nothing happened, so he proceeded.
“Watch me as I pull a rabbit out of this wolf,” were the last words the amateur magician crane said.
Pleasant Valley was not living up to its name. If one didn’t know better, one would think they were in Moroseville, or worse, Cleveland. The problem was, Princess Pringle was in a deep, deep funk, thus too, was every citizen of Pleasant Valley.
Dogbot or Robo-Dog?
In the last surviving beach in a not too distant future, a dog dropped a tattered Frisbee® at the feet of the rusty old robot. The sea air was not good for the robot’s surface. The dog was dripping wet, and out of breath. For clarity’s sake, the dog will here forth be referenced as Panty.
Panty was of an awkward breed, the boxshund, a horrific beast with the face of a boxer and the body of a dachshund. It hyperventilated heavily, making it look like a brown hot dog inflating and deflating in a microwave oven on the verge of bursting. Also, its tongue was hanging out of the side of its mouth. It decided this would be the best time to shake off the excess water. Satisfied, it lifted its back leg and peed all over the robot.