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Flish recounted the horrors of his visit to the Western Sugar factory as Morbo frenetically sketched out the details (pausing only to wipe the sweat from his brow and roll his eyes).
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Morbo's job as a verbal sketch artist for terrified 7-year-olds who see imaginary eyes under floorboards was just not paying the rent; he decided to include 6 and 8-year-olds as well.
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After the first incident, the local Chinese restaurant took care to advise their menu-toting marketers to ignore Morbo's door.
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Tragedy struck the menu-toters community today, when a local forgot he had armed his land-mines.
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Through the smoke wafting through his front yard, the eyebrowless Morbo delivered his interview to the local news station.
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The disgruntled SWAT sergeant grumbled to himself as the panel van rumbled through the night on his squad's mission-- for the 3rd time in 2 months, they were going to deal with some jerk named "Morbo!"--this time, Morbo would pay, he vowed.
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Flish, swaddled in teflon and kevlar, chose to nap and cuddle his diary on the way to the SWAT team's raid on the nefarious Western Sugar factory.
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He was the sort of guy who's fortune cookie's were almost always blank. (I actually got a blank fortune cookie once. My future wasn't.)
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Bored with Summer reruns, childless, and beyond draft age, Bob had finally reached a place in his life where he felt he could really get behind a good war.
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Dan strove hard to be one of the good guys, despite his occupation as goon, hit man, and mafia weasel. He tipped well.
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I wouldn't come right out and say that Bob was a bloodsucker, but he was known to sleep with a measure of his native soil.
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Whenever Gloria entered a room, the ambient temperature would drop several degrees and everything would shift a millimeter or two in a counter-clockwise direction around her.
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Sara was a rare instance of that classy, etiquette school-type dame who would go out of her way to say a few kind words to a stranger even when she was heartbroken.
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The other nurses nudged each other as Nurse Marie began scrutinizing the patient's chart because they all knew she would instantly see the glaring lab and dosage errors, and that she would soon give the snotty young intern his comeuppance; she had been known to change med students minds with a single, well-placed hmmph!?
Sara, your mother sounds like the kind of nurse we all pray we get. May le bon Dieu look over her always.
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Despite the often pitiful pleas of horrified bystanders, Bob would often belt out the Ethel Merman show-tune standard "III love a parade!" in an off-key falsetto while waiting in line.
Possibly inspired by Ben Stiller in Permanent Midnight
[ July 19, 2003, 04:37 PM: Message edited by: the Professor ]
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Bob cherished those special moments when people would laugh nervously at his jokes and show genuine relief when he left the room.
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Nathan was like a steak drowned in BBQ sauce; he had an excellent flavor all to himself, but no one would ever know because of all that sauce.
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Nathan was like the perfect steak served up to vegisaurs, rare and juicy but doused in sauce or ignored altogether.
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Some girls are the kind of girl that comes along once in a million years. Annie was more like the kind of girl that comes along every fortnight, but she was still pretty spunky.
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In the great book of Life, Bob was entered in the margin with a notation reading "dies while doing the dishes after everyone else adjourns to the living room to play parlor games."
quote: He was the sort of guy who's fortune cookie's were almost always blank. (I actually got a blank fortune cookie once. My future wasn't.)
Really Dan_raven? You're supposed to add "in between the sheets" to all fortunes. "You have no future. . ." jk couldn't resist
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Jill was the kind of girl that would run through life wearing 6 inch platform sandals, and it was only a matter of time before she missed a step and fell into some cowpies.
[ July 25, 2003, 01:14 PM: Message edited by: Nick ]
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Bob was forever detecting strange unpleasant odors and mentioning them to any who would listen.
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Save for his penchant for digging holes and then living in them, Bob was generally considered "marriage material."
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Abby shot like a rocket from the starting blocks, unless she was occupied by butterflies on the sidelines.
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Bob dedicated his later years to making urban legends come true for an unlucky few teenagers who were out late at night doing things they weren't supposed to do.
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Morbo=the Professor![[Cool]](cool.gif)
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That one made me smile.
