&mdash; Hey Brenda how&rsquo;s it&mdash; jesus christ dude!
&mdash; Ha ha fooled ya. Don&rsquo;t I look just like her?
&mdash; You&rsquo;re wearing her skin.
&mdash; Yeah I decided to go all out this year.
&mdash; Take that off. Where is Brenda?
&mdash; Relax dude she&rsquo;s fine. It&rsquo;s just a joke.
&mdash; I don&rsquo;t get the joke.
&mdash; Isn&rsquo;t there a whole saying about &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t judge a man until you&rsquo;ve walked to moons in his skin?&rdquo;
&mdash; Yeah but&mdash; wait, no pretty sure it was moccasins.
&mdash; That can&rsquo;t be right.
&mdash; Yeah it&rsquo;s walk two moons in his moccasins. How does that make less sense than skin?
&mdash; Oh jeez you&rsquo;re right. Man, I feel pretty dumb now.
&mdash; Yeah please take off Brenda&rsquo;s skin.
&mdash;&nbsp;Well I&rsquo;m gonna leave it on for tonight since it&rsquo;s my costume. But man do I feel dumb.

— Hey Brenda how’s it— jesus christ dude!
— Ha ha fooled ya. Don’t I look just like her?
— You’re ...

Costume Party

&ndash; Looks like your baby came out of the eugenics machine beautifully.
&ndash; Doctor, that is a white, blonde, blue eyed baby. How could it possibly be mine?
&ndash; That&rsquo;s what the instructions said. Was that not in your order?
&ndash; No! That doesn&rsquo;t make any sense. Why would I ask for that?
&ndash; I don&rsquo;t know! I just assumed you wanted&hellip; you know&hellip;
&ndash; Excuse me?
&ndash; Oh my god, I really messed up. Does this make me racist?
&ndash; Yes it makes you super racist!
&ndash; Jesus, I&rsquo;m so sorry. I don&rsquo;t even know what to do with this baby now.
&ndash; &hellip;Does it still bounce?
&ndash; It is the bounciest baby we have ever made.
&ndash; Why don&rsquo;t I go ahead and take that baby then.
&ndash; Really?
&ndash; But that doesn&rsquo;t mean I don&rsquo;t think this whole situation is super fucked up!
&ndash; Of course, of course. My apologies again. I think I&rsquo;ve learned an important lesson today.
&ndash; Cool. If anyone needs us, we&rsquo;ll be on the roof.

– Looks like your baby came out of the eugenics machine beautifully.
– Doctor, that is a white, blo...

Eugenics

A cop&rsquo;s #1 belief: I&rsquo;m not gonna be the jerkoff that shoots his own partner. I live and breathe this mantra, and I repeated it before, during, and after shooting my five partners. Accidents happen, but the Chief isn&rsquo;t so understanding, so for my next assignment he gave me Joe, a partner made of wood.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; What bothered me about Joe was not that he was made of wood, but that he was a newbie, fresh out of the academy. The academy doesn&rsquo;t teach anything worth a damn these days, especially not how to evade bullets, as my five pardoned felonies have shown me. Also Joe was made of spruce, the meekest of woods.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Our first night on the job we got an easy call: routine gang shooting. I got one hand on the wheel, one hand on my radio, one hand on my gun, bada-bing bada-boom before you know it I&rsquo;ve shot Joe 36 times. And what did this maverick do but survive all of that and then flop out of the cruiser, his spruce frame knocking out every gang member as he fell. That&rsquo;s when I knew that we&rsquo;d make a good pair and that the municipality shouldn&rsquo;t let me still have a gun.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The crimewave goes down and concussions go up. I get a custom ejector seat installed in our cruiser, so Joe can smack into ne&rsquo;er-do-wells and enforce the law. It&rsquo;s basically a baby seat covered in sawdust with a big spring under it &ndash; my design. Joe&rsquo;s wooden torso gets covered in all sorts of medals &ndash; they really detract from his gunshot wounds. He&rsquo;s gonna make a great wooden detective, maybe even chief.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; So pretty soon the Mrs. wants to meet Joe. He comes over, brings us a lovely casserole, but the wife isn&rsquo;t expecting him to be made of wood. She loses it, screaming and running around everywhere. I shoot a look at her and some bullets at Joe. We take our meal outside, without her. Nobody disrespects him while I&rsquo;m around and under federal scrutiny.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I ask to meet Joe&rsquo;s family &ndash; turns out he&rsquo;s got none. He doesn&rsquo;t even have a home, just spends his nights alternating between a security guard and a mannequin at this one clothing store. I try to comfort him, show him that his partner is all the family he needs. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s alright that you don&rsquo;t have a family,&rdquo; I tell him. &ldquo;I probably would&rsquo;ve shot them anyway.&rdquo;

A cop’s #1 belief: I’m not gonna be the jerkoff that shoots his own partner. I live and breathe this...

New Partner

Here are some things that might happen when I am born.
&mdash; The doctor accidentally gives my parents the placenta and throws me away. My parents raise the placenta for 4-5 years before they realize their mistake. However upon meeting me they immediately give me up for adoption due to my cystic fibrosis.
&mdash; The doctor thinks I am conjoined twins but really my penis is just an exact body double of me. The doctor separates us, leaving me incapable of ever having sex. However my penis-double-of-me has his own penis, and he regularly picks up girls to have sex with them (which I cannot do). He is six inches tall. Despite all this, we grow up together and are very close friends, until years later he commits an unforgivable but unrelated betrayal.
&mdash; After I am born, they put me in the hospital nursery. The nursery is too crowded and I end up rolling over and kissing a baby of the same gender, which is gay.
&mdash; The soft spot on the top of my head never closes but instead grows even more pronounced. The schoolyard kids compete to throw candies into it and when it rains I have to repeatedly thrust my head downwards to empty it out. If I forget to do this the birds will bathe in it. I am allergic to birds, as they cause me to grow a scalp rash that is even more enticing to birds.
&mdash; I come out shriveled and raisin-sized. Little do my parents know, all they need to do is put me in water for an hour and I will grow back to normal. They eventually figure this out but I am 17 years old and have already missed out on critical social skills.
&mdash; As I am born, my dog tries to run away but he has no legs and he&rsquo;s just sitting in my yard.

Here are some things that might happen when I am born.
— The doctor accidentally gives my parents t...

My Birth

Who am I? I&rsquo;m the guy who sits in the bar all day and waits for some tall dark and handsome hero to come along, so that I can offer some guidance with my tootle-lootin dialect. I&rsquo;m the booter-tooter man. At least that&rsquo;s what all the fellers down here at the bar in Tomaloke, New Mexico call me. A real ham is what I am.
Yessir, you would know me by my short stature, graying hair and missing jomper-chompers. When anyone of interest rides into town they usually come plop their hind-legs about four seats down from me at the bar. This is the perfect distance for me to look over with my glass eyes and ask them what in the hell a stranger is doing in these parts.
These heroes turn to me and usually say something witty (one just threw up on himself), then call me &ldquo;old-timer&rdquo; and take a drink from their whiskey. Now this really tickles something inside of me (not sure if it&rsquo;s sexual or not). I tell them about all the kidnappings of pretty girls that been happenin round the town lately. Or the pass just out of town where old five-legged Sam uses his five legs to rob you of your valuables. Or any sorts of bruh-haha (if you don&rsquo;t know what that means you can go on and piss up your plumpie).
These stories aren&rsquo;t true, I just love tellin em&rsquo;. I&rsquo;m just an old coot who plays his part in something greater than me. These strangers usually get in a real fuss about these kidnapped girls and start riding off into the nearest sunset. But never in the sunset that leads to five-legged Sam. Nope seems like every one of these damn heroes wants to go rescue some fair maiden. I just don&rsquo;t get it. Five legged Sam is a real problem around these parts accounting of his seven appendages, but none of these strong-jawed strangers will get within a mile of him.

Who am I? I’m the guy who sits in the bar all day and waits for some tall dark and handsome hero to ...

A Man with a Limp and Three Glass Eyes

Chimney sweeping is what I was born to do since I have no arms or legs. Doctors called my missing limbs a pity or a travesty, but my parents called them chimney brush slots. I was put to work immediately.
All the other kids have to use both hands to brush, the suckers. I brush everywhere that I walk or climb or exist. I&rsquo;m the most popular chimney sweep in London &ndash; not only do I have the most brushes, but I do it for free. Partly because of a love of the trade, but mostly because they refuse to pay orphans.
Good sweeping starts with the uniform. I wear only a dirty cap, marking me as a grade-A sweeper and a quadriplegic. Once in the chimney, other kids waste time with two-handed brushing or suffocation. Instead I wriggle upwards while waving my arms and legs and convulsing. I got better than the older kids by studying the inchworm, nature&rsquo;s chimney sweep. I may have the mind of a 9 year old, but I have the lungs of a much unhealthier 9 year old.
My least favorite days are when the constable is about. He&rsquo;s always after us street kids &ndash; not to grope us or anything. That was the last constable. This constable just wants to see us rot in prison. I always rely on my brush-feet to carry me to safety; I don&rsquo;t need to be faster than the constable, I just have to brush faster than the other kids. While I am always the fastest brusher, the other kids can actually run, so I always spend the night in prison. The fluttering of my brushes in my escape attempts leave the cell impeccably clean &ndash; every time.
My brushing skills come from my training. I was dropped into my first chimney as a baby, and whatever chimney-cleaning secrets didn&rsquo;t come naturally to me were very quickly learned as I tumbled down that chimney. This was a rite of passage. What fell into that chimney was a baby, but what emerged was a man, covered in soot. We don&rsquo;t know who that guy was, but I emerged right after him, a limbless baby covered in soot &ndash; and a damn-good sweeper.

Chimney sweeping is what I was born to do since I have no arms or legs. Doctors called my missing li...

Chimney Sweep

After serving as head zookeeper for 25 years and chief hunting assistant during a disastrous week-long rebranding attempt, I was finally hanging up my boots. While my days of curb stomping misbehaving animals were over, my days of reminiscing about the curb stomping had only just begun.
As I walked into the zoo for the very last time, my arrival was met with loud cheers from the gorillas, the sign language equivalent of loud cheers from the more intelligent gorillas, and enthusiastic snaps from the super-intelligent gorilla who dabbled in slam poetry. I felt pretty disappointed because I thought the gorillas might do something special for my last day, rather than just giving me their usual welcome. However, my sour mood didn&rsquo;t last long once I realized that such blatant disrespect warranted at least three curb stompings. The goodbye lunch my coworkers organized also helped.
During the afternoon, I went around to each exhibit one final time, telling the animals what I really thought of them. Since only the good animals were left, I told them that they were all amazing, especially when paired with a full-bodied red. They all howled with laughter because they knew I was just kidding. &ldquo;We would obviously pair better with something more fruity,&rdquo; the super-intelligent gorilla signed sarcastically. Out of all the things I was leaving behind, I would miss our light-hearted banter the second most.
Before the day drew to a close, nostalgia got the better of me and I stopped by the first enclosure I ever cleaned. I remembered fondly how it took all night to get the area spic and span, but even so, throwing that party had been totally worth it. Just to think, if it weren&rsquo;t for those tiger tranquilizers, I would&rsquo;ve had the clarity of mind to just shoot the leopard when it broke free from its chains and started mauling party guests. But thank god I didn&rsquo;t. Otherwise, curb stomping would still be regarded as some deranged thing only real sickos do, instead of the widely accepted zoo-keeping practice it is today.

After serving as head zookeeper for 25 years and chief hunting assistant during a disastrous week-lo...

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