I read through the company-wide email and my hands tremble. Although I recognize the entire middle section as my work, I read it through four more times to be sure. My work has Reginald Douchebag O’Donald’s name on the by-line. Then, I remembered. Our Thursday evening meeting ran long. I’d grown weary of Reginald’s leering and his double entendres, and I was ready to go home. While our team was waiting for our boss to approve a draft, Reginald asked to borrow my laptop for a last minute change to his fantasy football roster; his computer wasn’t connecting to the internet. Sure, I said, and slid the machine across the table hoping this would keep him distracted until the boss returned. How could I have been so naïve? Now he has used my work to get the promotion.

Man walks by carrying a box wrapped in tin foil. It’s impossible to see what’s inside.

S: What if he’s carrying a human head in there?

H: It’s a bunch of butterflies.

S: It’s a gecko.

Lunar Base Commander Raines reporting to Houston. I’m not sure what you witnessed on your end, but we’ve got a bit of an issue up here.

I know this is going to sound fantastical but here goes:

I’m fairly certain that Command Module Pilot Aikman is a werewolf.

Before I departed from the dentist’s office,
the doctor asked me if I wanted to get an imprint
of my teeth to have on file, an impression
as part of their ongoing collection.

Who needs two eyes
when the show is dull
and the right people go?