I would like to say that i feel the verb "to be" seems very unnecessary.

Now i will follow with a rant entitled "Is is unecessary? or is unecessary?"

I think its safe to assume that things ARE. Ive never encountered anything that wasn't. You beautiful, you so sexy. It sounds a bit clunky, yes thats just cause aesthetically, you have an addiction to inefficiency and stating the obvious. What you have not yet realised, the thing thats truly beautiful, time savings.

When you say I, it's already assumed that you exist, after you say "I something" no one is ever wondering "wait wait wait, when you talk about yourself in this story, do you or dont you exist? You havent addressed this yet"

Whats this need to constantly remind us of your existence.

A Raunchy Sketch

A furniture warehouse. A helpful looking man is standing confidantly by a sumptuous looking bed frame. A couple approach him.

Man: Hi there, looking to buy a bed, are we?

Husband: Yes, yes we are. We've just got married, and our current mattress is very uncomfortable.

Man: And you would like a new bed.

Husband: Yes please.

Man: Well... what about this one here?

Husband: That looks nice.

Man: Doesn't it. Feel the mattress.

Husband: Ohh... Spongy.

Man: Yep.

Husband: Do you mind if we try it out?

Man: Not a problem... (starts to remove shirt)

Husband: Umm... I meant me and my wife....

Man: Of course, sir (starts to button up shirt).

Husband: Actually (slightly put out)... maybe we'd like to try something different.

Man: Certaily sir (starts to remove pants)

Husband: I meant a different mattress.

Man: Aha (puts pants back on). Like this one here?

Husband: That looks good.

Man: Yes, it's a very popular number.

Husband: I can see us and by us I mean my WIFE and I, and no one else, being sleeping very soundly in that.

Man: I could probably see you sleeping very soundly in it also sir.

Husband: You could?

Man: Yes, my apartment overlooks yours, you see, and you don't have any bedroom curtains.

Husband: That makes me slightly uncomfortable.

Man: Oh. I thought it was the mattress making you uncomfortable.

Husband: And now I think it's the curtains.

Man: I see your point.

Husband: And I wish you couldn't. Can you direct me to the curtains department?

Man: No.

Husband: No?

Man: No idea, maybe you should ask one of the staff (runs away)

End in T minus 5 4 3 2

A mother and son are sitting silently on seperate couches in a lounge room, there are five minutes remaining till the end of the world.

Mother: Did you read that email from your uncle finally?

Son: No not yet

Mother: He would have really liked to have recieved a reply from you before the end

Son: Yeah I had other things on my mind Mom

Mother: It would have been nice for him to go knowing that you had thought of him

Son: I think for once it's alright to be selfish and just be thinking about ourselves

Mother: For once? Really? Just this one time?

Son: Stop it, you should be thinking of yourself as well

Mother: Oh don't be silly, i wont be missed

Son: No one will be missed!

Mother: im just saying it would have been nice...

Son: fine, ill send him a quick email

Mother: just a few words

Son: he probably wont even get it in time

Mother: its really the thought that counts

Son: theres only like a minute left, he'll only see it if hes online right now

Mother: its a nice gesture

Son: anything to just get you off my back

*getting and going the the desk and typing sounds*

Son: There. Its done. Am I a nice person now?

Mother: Did you say you loved him?

Son: No mother, he's an uncle.

Mother: What does that mean "he's an uncle"? He's family. I used to always tell my uncles and aunts I loved them

Son: That was a different time mom, an uncle loving time, all you had to do back then was drive in old cars and love uncles.

Mother: Tell him you love him, just put it at the end

Son: I already sent it! Im not going to send him another email that just says "I love you" that would weird.

Mother: No one will know

Son: I'll know, it might be the last thing that ever happens to me

Mother: He's your uncle

Son: Fine. *typing* Iiii Lllllooove yyyyouuuuu, send! There are you happy?


Then explosion sound

Trifle? Frypan?

An army sergeant comes into his superior's office.

Sergeant: Sir: Wish to report on the progress of the war.

General: Excellent, proceed Bodkin.

S: We are in a rather tenuous position, sir. We have had 1700 casualties so far today and no sign of a break in the enemy line.

G: Good god, man. That's terrible. What's going on? Is it those rolly chairs sergeant? I told them men to be careful on those.

S: No, sir. Only twelve fo the casualties have been due to rolly chairs. The majority are due to bullet related injuries.

G: Boxes of bullets falling on them again? I've made it clear they should be kept on the ground.

S: No sir, only 26 of the casualties are from boxes falling on the men. A further 38 are from men tripping over boxes left on the ground. The vast majority are actually arising from the men being shot by the bullets.

G: Someone letting bullets shoot guns now, eh? Bloody stupid thing to do.

S: No, sir. Your policy on that issue has been rigidly enforced with only a couple of lapses. What seems to be occuring is that the enemy, sir, who have their own bullets and guns are using the guns, sir, to shoot the bullets in our direction, striking the men and causing injury.

G: Hmmm. So much the same as yesterday, then.

S: Yes sir, and indeed every other day of the war.

G: Pathetically predictable, in a way, isn't it, Bodkin.

S: Yes sir. Pathetic.

G: Still, if that's the way they want to play it then I suppose we shall have to counter them. Have the men been taking any measures to avoid the bullets?

S: Avoid them sir?

G: Yes, you know, see a bullet coming, step to the left. Duck down a bit. Turn to the side.

S: I believe so, sir. The problem seems to be when they step to the left there is often another bullet coming towards that same point. So they get struck anyway, you see.

G: Hmmm, so it's almost a case of, out of the frying pan, into another, similar frying pan just next to said original frying pan.

S: I suppose so, sir.

G: Net improvement in frying pan situation, nil.

S: Yes sir.

G: What if they were to hold up the frying pan to protect themselves, instead of standing in it.

S: That might work, sir, but for the fact that this is a metaphorical frying pan. Created by you, only moments ago.

G: No protective value, is that what you're saying, Bodkin?

S: None, sir. Not against real bullets.

G: Aha. But if the bullets were metaphorical...

S: Even then, sir, the quality of metaphorical cast iron these days would mean the metaphorical frying pans offered little protection against metaphorical bullets, particularly armor piercing metaphorical bullets which are being used nowadays, sir.

G: Blast.

S: Indeed sir.

G: Perhaps a strategy is in order.

S: A strategy would, sir, at this stage me most popular with the men, sir.

G: Excellent, well, get some peaches and some cream and we'll see if we can't get one going.

S: Sir, I don't think what you are describing is a strategy.

G: No? What is it then?

S: A peach melba, sir. Or trifle.

G: That's it! A trifle. But then the men already have those, don't they.

S: They have rifles, sir. Not trifles.

G: No trifles?

S: No, sir.

G: Well, there's the problem! Get rid of those bloody rifles, get the men some trifles!

S: If you say, sir.

G: They can keep them in those frypans.

S: Yes, sir.

Donald Trump-et.

Karen: So, Mr Wilkins, you are applying for the position of sales manager.

W: Yes, which is to say, yes, yes I am.

K: I see, well, how about you start by telling me what you can offer this company.

W: Well, I don't like to blow my own trumpet, but I have a very nice trumpet.

K: You have a nice trumpet.

W: Yes.

K: How do you see this helping the company?

W: Well, if you had something you wanted to sell, I thought I could go outside on the street and blow my trumpet and sort of say 'Buy this'! It's great!

K: Mr Wilkins, we tend to focus on the print and televisual media... not trumpets.

W: Well, I think the trumpet idea still applies, regardless of the medium. You could put a picture of the trumpet in a newspaper, and it would catch people's eye. I imagine they would think 'gosh, look at that trumpet' and then underneath you'd write 'Cool things for sale' and give a PO box number, or a fax.

K: Mr Wilkins, your resume said you had years of experience in online marketing.

W: That may have been a typo.

K: I see. What was it supposed to say.

W: Level six jazz trumpet.

K: Mr Wilkins, I'm afraid you quite clearly have no qualifications whatsoever for this job.

W: No, which is to say, no, I don't.

K: You're a dim witted clot you just happens to have an unhealthy obsession with brass instuments.

W: Actually it's tin, but I take your point.

K: But, that being said, you're the only applicant we've had who isn't asian, so it's a pleasure to have you on board.

W: Gosh, thanks!

K: We'll be in touch.

Wilkins leaves the room. Outside a friend is waiting.

F: How'd it go?

W: Got it, no worries. I just hope she doesn't check up on that trumpet thing.

An average phone call that left him feeling so-so

ring-ring ring-ring

Waltman: Mike Waltman Speaking

Nurse: Mr.Waltman. Im calling from the hospital regarding your father.

Waltman: Yes?

Nurse: Im sorry to say, he passed on

Waltman: Oh my god

Nurse: It was a very difficult night last night

Waltman: Did he suffer?

Nurse: Terribly

Waltman: Oh lord

Nurse: We were unable to knock him out. He endured an inhuman amount of pain.

Waltman: Did he go quickly at least?

Nurse: Mr.Waltman, It was slow beyond comprehension. Too long for any person to be writhing in agony. Much too long for... anything.

Waltman. Oh Jesus.

Nurse: I'm so sorry

Waltman: Did any of my siblings make it in time to be with him and my mother?

Nurse: Your brother was here for a while

Waltman: But my father died with just his wife by his side?

Nurse: There was no one in the room with your father when he died. He was alone, with the door shut and the lights turned off.

Waltman: So no one heard his last words? How could this happen? Where was my mother?

Nurse: Your father had been screaming for hours. Making accusations, renouncing everything and everyone. Your father had a lot of regrets.

Waltman: And my mother?

Nurse: She left after he said he blamed her for ruining his life by getting pregnant and not aborting the fetus.

Waltman: Oh... god. Something in the dying process must have been affecting his mind

Nurse: I really can't see how. Your father came in with cardiac problems. His heart was under a lot of strain. Most likely regret-induced strain.

Waltman: So my dad died of a heart attack?

Nurse: The official cause of death is unhappiness, a percieved unfortunate series of events, a poorly led life.

Waltman: I can't verbalise how awful this makes me feel.

Nurse: I'm sorry

Waltman: May I ask what the last thing he ate was?

Nurse: Your mother brought in some creme brule

Waltman: That was his favourite. Its nice to be able to find some comfort in that

Nurse: he threw it up immediately

Alchemy at the butchers.

Ding ding. A man comes into a butchers shop. Behind the counter is a butcher, looking jolly.

A: Morning Tim!

B: Morning Eric. How's the family

A: Oh, good, good thanks. How are your boys?

B: They're fine, fine. Although it turns out Liam, the youngest, is actually a girl.

A: Oh?

B: Yes. Can't believe I missed it really.

A: We had a similar thing with our salamander. Apparently it comes from keeping the aquarium too hot.

B: That would be it then. Now, what can I do for you?

A: Well, funny you should ask. I was actually after some bread.

B: Bread?

A: Yeah.

B: Not really my line, Eric. I'm more in the meat side of the equation.

A: I thought you might say that. It's just that since the bakers closed down it's been a little difficult to get a hold of.

B: I understand the conundrum, mate. But I wouldn't know where to start.

A: Hmmm. I don't suppose it's possible to slice meat in such a way as it becomes bread, is it?

B: Not really.

A: What about a marinade?

B: A marinade that converts meat into bread?

A: Yes. Maybe you could do something with red wine and garlic.

B: I don't think so.

A: What about mincing? You sometimes get breadcrumbs in rissoles.

B: True. True. But I think you'll find that the breadcrumbs are added in later. In fact, they come from bread, rather than being a by-product of the mincing process.

A: Really?

B: Yep. It's the grated carrot and onion that come from the mincing.

A: Is that a fact?

B: No.

A: Hmmm. Well, I don't know what I'm going to do. I've got a barbecue this afternoon and people are going to be expecting bread.

(how can this end?)