Sergeant Trite of the Cliché Squad
"Never fear, Trite is here!" boomed out a familiar and hearty voice. "Better late than never, you know."
Tag: Crime
A Plea From the Chair You Put Your Stuff On
The purpose of the chair is to hold the Butt. This has been the truth for eons, before you were born and before I was purchased from the local IKEA.
Hostage Emails From My Brother’s Kidnappers
I want to complement the kidnappers’ willingness to take down all of Larry’s dictation. That’s very considerate for kidnappers. He’s lucky.
Contents of a Magician’s Pockets As Documented When Turning Himself In for Manslaughter
1 red/purple/blue/yellow/green/white/orange/red/blue scarf, nearly 30 feet long, covered in blood, possibly used as a tourniquet.
The Most Heartwarming Stories of Late Capitalism This Week
When a teen in New Mexico had trouble concentrating in class due to hunger, her teachers managed to buy her six months’ worth of Adderall! Wow!
A Heartfelt Thank-You to the Robocall That Told Me About the Outstanding Warrant for My Arrest
Now that I’m safely in hiding and have murdered more people, I wanted to thank you, the robot who is responsible for me still being on the streets.
Confessions of Clark: Excerpts from the Diary of a Middle-Aged Superman
Lois has been distant ever since we found out my sperm could kill her. She keeps making snide comments about how Batman wouldn't have this problem.
False Starts to My New Noir Novel
Mother slapped me. She was a former NYPD detective, eighty-eight years old and in the early stages of dementia.
My Ninja Turtle Jokes Aren’t Getting the Right Laugh
Let’s acknowledge that I’m the only person in this company with a catchphrase. The comedic effect of “cowabunga, dude!” is enhanced by repetition.
I Thought I Loved Derrick to the Moon and Back, But We Still Have 318,000 Miles Left in This Voyage and I Think I Might Kill Him
I thought space was going to be the most romantic time of our 10-month relationship. That’s why I got three new rompers and a bikini wax.
A Response to Allegations of Cookie Stealing in the Post-Truth Era
The crumbs on my face, the milk mustache, the hand entirely within the cookie jar—these are all circumstantial and prove nothing. NO COOKIE!
St. Peter Will Not Let Me Into Heaven Unless I Admit That My 11th Grade Girlfriend Broke Up With Me, And Not the Other Way Around (Untrue)
There’s no way I could have been dumped. I was in the prime of my life—I had a t-shirt for every major beer brand and I drove a Pontiac Grand Am.