A.J. Packman

Sorry, my "cherished memories"? Oh, do you mean my chair-ish memories? Like, my memories of things that I thought were chairs, but weren't? Because I've got a lot of those…

(Staring at something, sighing sadly) Nothing's better than this...

I cradle a handful of bullets in my palm, each one a love letter to a distant victim, each one a reminder of the many roles I must play. Lover. Executioner. Mailman.

Now I regrettably live in a prolonged state referred to as "Imbecilic Silence"

I'm very happy to hear it!

Hi,

I hope this email finds you well. It's an email!

Yours,

An Emailer

Killing two birds with one thousand stones (slowly encasing them in a modest tomb)

"You can talk all you want about the niceties of dentistry and everything else, but we live in a world that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power. So if I want my teeth to line my knuckles rather than my gums, I will punch myself in the face until they do."

(Holding up a huge sack emblazoned with an image of a gavel)

CO-PILOT: Hey, look down at that beach! PILOT: What? CO-PILOT: I think someone wrote out "HELP" in stones! PILOT: (Squinting) No, I'm pretty sure that says "HE LP." Like, "That guy? He's an LP. A long-playing record. That's what that guy is. He LP." CO-PILOT: Huh. Maybe. I guess— Oh, hey! Some guy just ran out of the jungle, onto the beach, and he's waving his arms and yelling! PILOT: (Squinting) Yeah, he LP.

"Let me take you, down, cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields."

(Addressing a pile of down, which I wish to take in order to make a well-insulated coat before I travel to the notoriously frigid climes of Strawberry Fields.)

Ah, so it is still the Holocene? I don't think I'll be wearing any funny glasses demarcating a temporal change until we're about to begin another geological epoch (hopefully another one with two O's)

Sure, this isn't regarded as an error today, but in twenty years? You'd better bet it willbe. (NOTE: "willbe" willbe an accepted usage by 2050)

For a while, the bowling ball was the pinnacle of technology, as it contained three holes, and could be stored in a portable hole (a bowling ball bag)

NO NOISE
PLAY IN SILENCE
CREATE MORE SILENCE
AS ONLOOKERS STARE
DISBELIEVING THEIR EYES AND EARS
MOUTHS AGAPE, STILL, SILENT

JAMES BUN wanders aimlessly through the casino, staring at the ceiling, chewing on a plain bun, twirling a pistol. He approaches the table and bumps into the CROUPIER.

CROUPIER
Sir, outside food is not permitted in—

James shoots the croupier in the stomach.

JAMES BUN
I'm James and I like buns.

Rebooting James Bond was too hard, so instead Amazon's going to make James Bun:

INT. CASINO - NIGHT

A boisterous crowd is gathered around a roulette table. An ATTRACTIVE WOMAN, distracted, stares across the room, her mouth agape. She nudges her friend.

ATTRACTIVE WOMAN
Hey, look, it's James Bun.

When I was young, younger than before
I never saw wolfman hanging by the door
And now I'm older, see him face to face
And now I'm older, gotta get up, flee this place

Zero wolf night, shepherds' delight
Thousand wolf morning, shepherds take warning

The Lord provides all that I need. My cup runneth over, and my saucer also runneth over, and He delivers me an abundance of fresh towels to absorb the wet fruits of His generosity.

Drove past a bus that I assume was halfway through displaying a Remembrance Day message on its front LED destination sign, but all I saw was a bus that, instead of showing its route number or route name, just displayed the word "FORGET"

Your kid's eyes called. They need you to pick them up at the library, and then they need you to pick up the rest of your kid, who's been wandering around sightlessly in the ravine behind the library.

A prophet, after preaching every day for thirty years, lay down and died. Three days later, he rose from the dead and in celebration, he and his followers ate and drank and played games long into the night, but the prophet kept losing, and he got so frustrated that he lay down and died again.

To live in a functional commonwealth, one must be governed by an absolute sovereign whose rule enforces the wearing of headphones in public and the making of phones with headphone jacks

(The doctor picks up an apple, visibly distressed.)

—And, uh, what about this? Can you identify this object?

—It's a scootboard. That's what it is.

An Elliott Smith hits Elliotts with a hammer until they somehow get better.

The wings of some butterflies serve as a defence mechanism by mimicking threats, like the eyes of a predator, or the look on a predator's face when it's about to tell a long, boring story about predation that isn't even that interesting to other predators.

People love MDMA because it gives them the euphoric feeling of being a doctor with a Master of Arts degree.

Good drama is all about moderation: reasonable characters with attainable goals and moderate hubris.

Switching over my Halloween lawn decorations to Christmas lawn decorations (e.g. determining which skeletons look the smartest and dressing the top three like wise men)