“How is that safe?”
“Oh, it really isn’t.”
Author: John Rhea
John is a storyteller with design and development skills. He designs and builds websites at https://johnrhea.com, counts his words carefully at https://8wordstories.com and helps you kill zombies while learning web development right here at the Undead Institute.
He lives near Charlottesville, VA with his wife, Carrielyn, and, like, a lot of kids (eight at last count) plus more pets than is wise to enumerate. If you see him and he’s both awake and properly dressed, you know he’s having a good day.
“What more do you want?”
“Pasta-filled swimming pool.”
The robot butler served his master with arsenic.
He loved her only for her cooking skills.
She loved him because he didn’t love her.
He smiled wide and stepped into the void.
His pants turned out smarter than he was.
They couldn’t decide who to blame. Chose him.
The intergalactic convention almost exclusively featured reality stars.
Unfortunately, the 33rd amendment was itself a pun.
The 32nd Amendment finally outlawed making terrible puns.
Major Malarky was both a hero and villain.
The teenage mutant ninja sting rays couldn’t stand.
The child screamed all night to bait monsters.
Her presence in the bed gave him nightmares.
His absence from the bed gave her nightmares.
Assassins struck at the height of his joy.
The aliens decloaked ships while the humans gossiped.
The liger was as confused as the mule.
She loved him more than her upper hand.