1. I was shopping carrots for a pot roast when the Martians landed,
crushing three of my prize-winning peonies.  I stormed outside to meet 
them, kitchen knife in hand.  Their blood was deep blue.

2. Bruton Snuff worked in a children's plastic toy factory, to which
he bicycled each morning from his flat eight blocks away.	He was 39
years old. His job was to check and assure that the plastic toys were 
safe for children to play with.  One morning, Mr. Snuff fell asleep at 
his conveyor belt, having stayed awake the night previous preparing for 
a tax audit. Three defective plastic toys were released for sale into 
the public.  Three children: Birdie Vangriff of Cliffview, 2 years of 
age; Clark Rotunda of Bristol, 7 1/2; and Embley Spelvin of 
Wainscotting, 5 years; having purchased the aforementioned toys, 
quickly expired as a result.

3. When I was 3, I ran into a rack holding socks at a department store 
and a metal rod went up my nasal cavity and almost sliced into my 
retina. Overall, I was unharmed, but it gave me a black eye and none of 
the other kids would play with me.

4. As I began typing up a letter to my secretary, Margot, requesting
her resignation being that I have been recently dissatisfied with her
professional performance, I pondered whether she might be the type to
take revenge upon her enemies by gassing their places of residence 
whilst they sleep.

5. One day I was walking in the park when suddenly I realized it had
been blown into non-existence by atomic nuclear weapons of mass
destruction.  So I got some ice cream instead.

7. I learned to dance the electric slide by watching my mother, with
whom I currently reside, while she practiced for her aerobics class. 
Apparently the dance was part of the regiment for her course as was the 
Hustle, and the Mashed Potato, both of which are known widely for the 
anaerobic workout they provide.  In my spare time, I've worked on a 
similar routine, perfecting not only the dances I got from my mother, 
but many others including the Macarena, the Foxtrot, and the 
Charleston, the steps of which I got from the internet.  It is 
unfortunate that my chronic epilepsy prevents me from ever
breaking my moves in on an actual dance floor. You know because of the
flashing lights and whatnot.  However, I do sometimes eat at a
pizzeria that used to be a disco in the 70's.

8. I was working the usual shift at my place of employment, Franny's,
where I had worked as a bartender for the past year and a half.  It was
around eleven when three gentle men walked in together.  I said to 
them, "what'll it be, boys?"  The first man said "I'll have a gin
martini," and the second followed, " I'll have a vodka martini."  And 
the third guy had an epileptic fit and swallowed his tongue.

9. In years past, I've had my share of women.  I used to be quite the
letch I must admit.  I would womanize and fool around and the ladies 
would line up at my door I kid you not.  But ever since I shot my 
girlfriend in the face for talking too much all the time and got sent 
to jail for five life sentences, I've suffered a significant lack of 
serious female companionship.

11.   After the movie I was at a loss for what we should do next,
until finally Rachelle suggested we go knife some cops.  I agreed.

12.  As I was preparing a cinnamon raison bagel for this morning's
preliminary sessional mastication, I was transported to an alternate
dimension.  A dimension  devoid of Philadelphia cream cheese.

13.  I glanced at the position of the sun on the horizon and
estimated it was approximately 5:45.  I stated this to Beverly, but she 
simply pretended not to hear and continued flirting shamelessly with 
the fixture guy, Ryan. I polished off the remaining brandy in my glass 
and threw it overboard.  "I think we're done for today, Ryan.  You can 
go home now."

14.   As my enemy lay strewn upon the concrete drawing his last
breath, I whispered, "I'm a winner."

15.   Bradley's eyes were swollen red.	Earlier that day Roger, his
most dear friend, had been made into a pie by the neighborhood 
gang/cult.

16.  I was so tired.  I had no reason to be but the fact remains.  I
felt like slipping away into a cavern of some sort, preferably one of
great depth and without too much light.  During recent hours, this 
feeling has remained constant and unwavering.  I made an attempt to do 
some reading but to no avail.	I think maybe I have some sort of 
psychological disorder.  Nothing that medicine could be prescribed to 
remedy, but still significant enough to warrant complaints.  
Frequently, I debate to myself over which method of suicide would be 
the most efficient, whether it be a bullet to the head, pills, jumping 
from a building, walking out in front of traffic, hanging, the slitting 
of wrists, suffocation, drowning, defenestration, putting my
head in an oven, drinking chemicals or poison, burning myself alive
like those monks, being impaled, breathing carbon monoxide, hra kiri, 
or explosives.  So, I drank some bleach.

17.   My sweetheart sat there quietly sucking on spoonfuls of rice
pudding and fidgeting with her handbag, and suddenly as I watched her, 
a harsh spell of loathing overcame me, and I recalled all the miseries 
of childhood. "Sheila," I said, "I'm really not sure about all of
this."  Then, I think she countered with something in the same vein as 
"What are you talking about, Hansen?" but I didn't quite follow through 
all the rice pudding.  

18.   While paying my respects to the gravestone of my late great
grandmother, I happened to notice another man grieving over a memorial
epitaph for someone named "Eloise."	It read, "Slipped silently and 
calmly into the night-black sea of doubt; gone but not forgotten." 
From what I gathered, this was his wife, and in addition must have only 
recently passed. I could tell by the fact that the earth in the ground 
had been freshly dug, and the wear upon the stone was minimal.  The man 
was emotionally devastated; he could barely stand up being so consumed 
with tears.  I couldn't bear to stand watching him in this condition.  
I slowly and solemnly approached Edward, as I later found out his name 
to be while watching a television homicide report the next day, and 
while he was on his knees, clutching the ground, I swiftly put him out 
of his misery, so to speak, with a firm blow to the base of his 
quivering skull, followed by several other unyielding kicks to his left 
temple.  I didn't stop until I was confident that poor Edward was 
reunited with his sweet Eloise.