There are enchiladas in my socks
Om [1] or about January 26 of this year, enchiladas materialized in my socks. Nobody was more surprised than me.
The dangers of irradiated stuffing
The radiation burns were a tell, she was from beyond the wastelands. With murder in her eyes and an eyeball on her fork, she lunged at the half cat, half man basking in the morning suns. Barely a sound and the neck was broken, a squirt of blood as the left jugular vein depressurized, a fitting end to that snarky little shit. Now all that was left to do was parallel park the recliner and check in with the Minister.
The bear wasn't tackled until well after the festivities, contrary to what Marxist-Leninists will tell you. Apologies... well, it was too late for apologies. They'd had their chances to reinvent the wheel, and like a curry donut hurtling towards Mercury at thousands of kilometers per hour, and let it slip, like some rickshaw salesman's dowry for some dude named Pedro.
The zero sum vulpine event
Only one recorded event in the history of physics of a fox relocating itself victually was recorded, and this by a genuflecting hieromonk with bromodrosis. It jumps into the blue ring, and falls from the yellow ring, with little remorse.