Even at his worst, he was still weird.
His grand scheme sputtered into a forgettable episode.
His betrayal stung her less than he’d hoped.
He brought her home to meet his beagle.
The dogs barked themselves hoarse at the apocalypse.
Eight words is all I’ll need to say…
The fantasy author lived deeply mired in reality
“She’s such a pretty cat.” “Who bites… hard.”
“Stolen cookies don’t equate to Pearl Harbor, Dad.”
“It’s a boy!” “It’s still a diseased rat.”
He swore upon his very living grandmother’s grave.
Thus he outlived his friends, family, and usefulness.
“You thought a jellyfish sandwich would be tasty?”
His overacted death scene went unheard in space.
The rather confused cat barked all night long.
“Zombies’re attacking the building!” “Nope. Just office workers.”
He categorically denied the positive reports about himself.
“I’d like to confess…” “Okay…” “to loving you.”
“I’m sure birds also really hate glass ceilings.”
All the tree wanted was to dance freely.