Stormy Weather

"Man, it's really coming down out there," he said, peering through the office window. "Look at that rape! ...I mean, rain." He turned around to see if anyone had noticed, but no one was paying attention. Damn, he thought. This new Awkward Segue Amendment to the Sexual Predator Awareness Non-Disclosure Act was going to make things more difficult than he'd thought.

Eggs

"I'll take my eggs over-easy!" he cheerfully shouted. What they said was true, she realized - he was terrible at talking dirty.

The Birds and the Bees

"It's time to have the talk, son," Mom said to me one sunny autumn evening. "You see, when a man and a woman love each other very much..."

"Hold on," I interrupted. "If it's evening, why's it sunny out?"

"Oh God," Mom responded. "They're here."

Darn Sandwich

"Darn Sandwich!" he cried, and cried, and cried, until his eyes ran dry like Phoenix. He whipped the sandwich down onto the table, innards spewing in all directions but one - southwest. There lied the treasure, he knew.

Exiting the Subway, he crossed traffic ever so dangerously so as to proceed in the direction of treasure. Many comical things happened as he crossed the road, like tripping.

He had to make some money! Being a hip hop superstar, it was all about the Benjamins with Slappy J (his street name). After a poor investment*, he was down on his luck and needed some of the ollllld greeeeeen demon.

That's why he took up treasure hunting. Well, southwesternly he persevered until he found religion. Then he took a wife and had a family with her.

And that was the real treasure, after all.

The end.

*IN REAL ESTATE

Bald

Gary was bald, and he knew it, but he had made purchase of an elaborate assortment of hats every week graced by the presence of Tanya, his love blossom, which marked a decade by a Brit's timepiece. And Gary was a Brit if there ever was one. Thus many hats did he own, inspired by his attempts to impress the local haberdasher's daughter.

She was a beauty, a lit Christmas tree light on a strand of dull bulbs, a perfectly yellow banana on a bunch of brown nasties, a trail of fresh butter on an otherwise trailless mat. But he owned not a hat with which to impress her, yet he knew that she had been raised to respect hats above all else, being the daughter of a haberdasher. And not just any haberdasher, but the greatest haberdasher in these great hills of England, the famous Hatty Johnson, who could craft a stylish piece of scalp fashion using only one piece of yellow yarn weighing less than an ounce, a twig and his Bible if he had to - and had to he did once, during the great hat drought of 1912, a hat drought that almost scalded the union like the hand of a careless fry cook, and which would have bested all if not for Hatty Johnson's ingenuity. His talent saved a nation, and that nation was in his debt. Decades from the day peasants would still speak his name as the protagonist of many seemingly exaggerated yet perfectly honest tales of wit and wisdom - and wonderment. So it was not without trepidation that Gary approached his task of impressing the beauty that sprang from that hero's seed like a spring from an old mattress wedged between two musclemen having a tiff, the beauty Tanya Gwendolyn Johnson. Since she entered his life through his retinas one fine day strolling past the quay in May he knew that one thing he had to have was her above all other things. So he bought hats from all the finest haberdashers - save for Hatty Johnson, for he knew that if she found him to not be a hat connoisseur from the start, his hatless legacy would besmirch his chances at winning her love. A hat a week he ordered, and finally, when he possessed enough to make himself out to be a hat-wielding gentleman and champion, he entered old Hatty's haberdashery, wherein Tanya Gwendolyn wooed the entirety of commerce with her clerkdom.

"I'd like to purchase a hat, for my scalp doth yearn," announced Gary, flinging the door open with a golden and white cane that he possessed for impressing sexy ladies.
Tanya looked up from her hat-knitting at the hat-counter next to the hat-cash register. "Why sir, you're known around town to be quite the hat connoisseur as it stands. What makes you come here?"
"My dear hat clerk lady, I find myself in need of a hat and that is that. I know my collection is impressive, but, like the captain of a lost ship, it always wants mo(o)r(e)." He chuckled at his own pun, a chuckling that turned to tittering and finally a mighty chortle he let bellow out of him like a marauding horde of bandits entering a tightly defended castle via battering ram.
"Well, sir," she said, "if you're quite done chortling, I'm afraid you're going to have to leave." No longer did she hide her once-hidden scorn, a scorn she hid from him like a mother hiding eggs for her child on Easter morn or during an egg famine. Her scorn unhidden, he hid from the scorn, but briefly, as he knew that to hide from something, something albeit once hidden yet now unhidden, would unhide his cowardice, which he hid as he unhid himself to face the once hidden scorn of Tanya, who intimated no future hiding of said scorn, now no longer hidden. "You've been gallivanting around in the hats of my father's competitors, sticking your nose up at our quaint yet famous haberdashery like so much rubbish. Well, you're not welcome here. Take your cane and oust yourself from my sight-orbs."
Gary was speechless. His plan had backfired so badly that he felt his back might actually be on fire. He poured the glass of water the he had been holding onto his shoulders just to make sure. The water was cold, and he shivered.
"I see that you shiver. Are you a man?" Tanya demanded.
Upright became Gary's back and he faced her like a tall skyscraper faces an average-sized building. "Madame, I want you for a wife. I only bought these hats to not look the hatless fool. From now on I will only buy hats from your father. Please, be my wife."
"You'll buy no hats from my father - as to charge his son-in-law would be blasphemous. Welcome to my arms," she said, taking him into her arms. Soon they were wed and had a lustful and joyous marriage.

But now that Gary was balding, he feared for his marital security. He was hideous! Scanning his scalp in the mirror, picking at it with the digits of his best hand, he threw up all over the place. Scooping the vomit into one of his countless hats, which he then deposited into one of the countless hatboxes, which he stacked in the pile of hatboxes specifically for hats with vomit in them, he sighed. "Well, at least I can passably hide my infirmity with this enviable collection of hats." He picked up a hat and, wincing as he did so, placed it atop his red, wounded scalp, worn down by years of continuous taking off and replacing of hats, the skin now a mere flap, blood often soaking through the haberdash. "Woe is me!"

To be continued...?

SHOULD I DO THIS

Should Zach Kaplan have a blog?