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the learning laboratory at the end of the universe...


This page is a parking lot.  The sentences and snippets you see here are things that could go farther, if I only had a brain......

If you'd like to add to them or comment on them, click here:


(it's an email link, the light at the end of the tunnel is just for effect)







He woke up under an elm tree.  There was a large smallmouth bass in his pants pocket.

The neighbor's wife didn't wear a bra.  She was very ugly.

She asked herself, "What do I really know".  It was thirty years before she'd thought it through.  By then, she was dead.

He always drank two beers between the sermon and the last gospel, then ran back to the church to take his mom home.

It took half an hour to get him free from the wiring of the Christmas tree lights so we could get the tree off his chest and stand him up again. 

As old Rene said, "cogito ergo sum".  If I don't think, she doesn't exist. Not quadratic, but it will do for the morning.  Another tooth had gotten rotten, so he drank the whiskey and took a nap.

He was relieved when the doctors told him he'd been in a coma for six weeks.  That was probably why he hadn't caught any fish.

She was wearing enough makeup to cover a large dolphin.

When he came up the stairs from the toilet, the bar was closed.

Far from civilization, he realized he had neither clean underwear nor laundry detergent, compounded with diarrhea it presented a problem.

When he woke, the ducks were waddling around the kitchen, the floor of which was deep in their shit.  He would have to go downtown for a coffee.

The old man had been wandering around for weeks, asking people if they could spare a kopeck.  Since no one in our town knew what a kopeck was, he was getting very hungry.

She really couldn't stop farting.  It had to do with her gastric condition, which the doctors couldn't quite cure.  Their circle of friends was getting smaller.


Montag, 31. August 2009

It is very difficult to write short stories when you've confused your fountain pen with a cantalope, but Jack was not a quitter.  He began to write.

Mary was born a slightly different color than her sisters.  She was always thankful for this, but never knew why until the newspaper strike.

There was a small pile of antracite coal in the corner of his bedroom.  It was all he had to remember last Christmas, before his parents ran away from home.

The Atlantic Ocean is much wider than the creek that runs behind the house.  You cannot fish it in waders.

It was a Tuesday like any other Tuesday.  Yesterday had been Monday and he remembered that, but he still looked at the calendar to be sure.  He was getting old.  He would be twent eight before the next time he looked at the calendar to be sure it was not still Tuesday.

The way his grandmother used a vacuum cleaner reminded him of the film "Groundhog Day" without the woodchucks.

Television had been invented before he was born.  He was thiry-two when his father brought their first one home.  They couldn't understand what had happened.  It didn't get the Phil Silvers and Jackie Gleason shows.

At the back of the little candy store on the corner, there was a door that led to an opium den.  It was there he lost the quarter his mother had given him to buy Kotex.

The nun fell down the stairs of the bus, rolled into the middle of the street and was saved from certain death by a German Shepard which began humping her leg.  It was lucky for both of them the truck driver loved dogs.  He was in too much of a hurry to stop for a nun.

He was reading a Bhuddist text in front of the bank building when the robbers came out shooting.  He closed his eyes, and they were gone.  When he opened them again, he seemed to be in the back of a Police car.








copyright 2007: john zavacki (the elder)