I give you:
Death became her. Resurrection angered her.
Isambard Kingdom Brunel stepped from the –
Birth. Death. Sold sandwiches in between.
Red-hooded girl defeats transvestite wolf.
I. Angry Achilles avenges Patroclus, killing Hector.
II. Odysseus has adventures getting home (uncuckolded).
a. Hamlet dithers after uncle murders Dad.
b. Never never trust your daughters (sometimes).
c. Magician trains monster. Avenges family. Retires.
d. Witches correctly predict Scottish royal bloodbath.
“Policeman” revelation spoils long-running play.
Plane crash. Mysterious island. Interminably unexplained.
POISONED KEYBOARD KILLS HEADLINE WRITER SHOCKE…
So, c’mon people, let’s have yours.
I went to a Chinese restaurant.
Monosodium glutamate gunged up your innards?
Republican victory unthwarted by claimed paternity
Possible, but not yet fully determined.
Whale-pursuit futile, misguided, ultimately fatal
Dorothy had a pretty wack dream.
Alice had an even wacker dream.
Duncan Grisby nodded in silent admiration.
One-legged monomaniac captains futile vendetta?
Gods forge, lose, regain Ring, die.
Listen. Numerous quaint Welsh characters interact.
Nice!
Hairy-foooted munchkin completes Ring-dumping.
War happens. Then peace happens, briefly.
My father wrote a children’s version of Moby Dick when I was sixish, with as its star an Irish whale called Dopey Mick. I’m not sure to this day this isn’t the Funniest Thing in the World Ever.
Proletariat overcomes elite, briefly. Cycle continues.
Wow! Any chance of excavating it? Sounds fantastic!
Jews escape slavery, murder messiah, disperse.
Time travelling whale pursuit saves world.
Or, “Seamus drunkenly delivers mimed PowerPoint presentation.”
Britt Ekland goes slap, wobble, slap.
Tea sought; earth instead rediscovered, exploded
*claps with glee*
98TH LEGION UNDER QUINTUS TAKES TENOCHTITLAN
“Hi. Meet my wife and husbands.”
IN the beginning, Satan created God.
Hee hee, I knew this would get you working!
Lord’s shepherd duped into fiery cage.
Poor first impressions. Man improves manners.
Man donates rib. Gets nagged thereafter.
There are many sorts of cat.
Stuffed bear sits in the woods.
My valet pacifies my aunts, again.
My other head plots against me.
“Her dying wish,” sighed King Albert.
Nanoterrorism is so passe these days.
Empress kidnapped. Turns out she’s porcine.
A contemporary review of “Waiting for Godot” summarised the play as “Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes”, which I think fits the bill (as the pelican said to the pigeon).
Me, I can only do bland genre fiction:
Romance: “Boy meets girl with inevitable results.”
Chicklit: “Girl meets boy, but prefers chocolate.”
Crime: “One of us was the killer.”
SF/Fantasy: “Look! Like Earth, but different.”
Modern novel: “Got up. What if that’s all?”
Time-travelling Nemo figure stubbornly Earthbound.
Postmodern: “The book was six words long.”
The Hero’s Journey: “Set out, got help, restored equilibrium.”
Oulipo: “A B’ed C. D E’d B.”
Perec: “Man lost summat not consonantal. Oh?”
Pansexual superhero strangely lacklustre. In Cardiff.
Jane Errs: “Reader, I shagged him.”
So true, alas.
What maketh a man? Me! Muwhahahahaha…
Baker Street residents transpose, eluding Dan
Lonely golem terrorises bots on ice…
Tee hee!
Villager massacre pre-empts lycanthrope/nosferatu denouement
“You fucker,” cries Dan, forever memorably.
Author, fixing wilful limits, cramps opuses.
Assuming Dan has no work to do (and I always favour this assumption) it must be killing him that he can’t join in! Tee hee.
This is how you use Illustrator.
(It’s funnier with the hand gestures.)
Poet celebrates
Freedom of constraint
Gleefully.