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October 31, 2005

Volume 7, Issue 31

There was an unexplained sweet smell in downtown Manhattan last Friday night. What was it?

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“What’s the meaning of this outrage?” demanded Ambassador Bolton as two blue-helmeted guards pushed him into the Secretary-General’s office.

From behind his desk, Kofi Annan steepled his fingers and smirked. “We have grown weary of your country presenting itself as the decisive authority on all things international.”

Moustache bristling, Bolton stiffly advanced before being restrained. “What have you done, you fiend? Have you finally taken control of the Internet? The World Bank?”

“All in good time, Ambassador. First we need to make our intentions known. This morning, we began surgical bombing strikes on your so-called International House of Pancakes restaurants.”

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at October 31, 2005 10:09 AM · Permalink

The night of vengeance had come. Stealthily, hundreds of Lotus Clan ninjas passed unseen into the very heart of the great city, leaving behind no trace but the pungent, sickly-sweet aroma of flowers, as honor and tradition required. They scaled the mighty skyscraper, bypassed security, eliminated the guards, and entered the inner sanctum, where their target lay asleep and unaware.

“Awaken, foul one, for the hour of your death is at hand.”

The man jerked awake and cowered in his silken sheets. “Who are you?”

“Our sensei watches your television program, filthy capitalist despoiler. You should not have fired Omarosa.”

Posted by: David at October 31, 2005 1:13 PM · Permalink

Good one, David!

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at October 31, 2005 1:37 PM · Permalink

I awakened with the feeling that something was, well, not necessarily wrong, but different. I lay there a few minutes, then it came to me - that smell. What was that smell? It was sweet, and clean, and it was coming through the open window. I eased out of the bed, then crept over to the window. I cautiously pulled the curtains apart far enough to peer out, then it came to me. There was no noise of traffic or crowds, no sound of anything but a light rain, no lights other than the moon and stars. It was fresh air.

Posted by: hnumpah at October 31, 2005 1:57 PM · Permalink

I'm thinking, sweet, haloween, - candy.

Manhattan candy factory explosion!

Les, save me!!!

Posted by: kasac at October 31, 2005 1:59 PM · Permalink

From: Department of Defense, Aromatherapy Division
To: Senior Trial Clinicians
Date: 31 October 2005
RE: Abuse of Volatile Hydrocarbon A63

It has come to our attention that at least one test canister of the above noted test chemical went missing Friday, 28 October 2005, after the final rat trials in our Manhattan laboratory. Furthermore, we have received three separate reports of a party in Laboratory C26 on that same date. Be aware that unauthorized use of laboratory facilities constitutes a federal crime, and will not be tolerated.

That idiot who vented A63 out the lab window is in big trouble.

Posted by: Amphioxus at October 31, 2005 3:32 PM · Permalink

"Pepper-cakes!" thought the Swede, remembering the baked delicacies of his childhood.

"Acorn-bread!" thought the German, recalling the ornate pastries of her homeland.

"Apple-tarts!" thought the Brit.

"Raisin-scones!" thought the Irisher.

"Donuts!" thought the American.

And all the people of the world looked about, trying to discover the source of that familiar, wonderful, Christmassy, Easteriffic smell.

But it was neither Christmas nor Easter. It was Halloween.

Miles above the Earth, on a scale so vast it drives men mad even to think on it, an enormous hand, clad in a patterned oven-mitt, turned a planet-sized knob.

The earth began to bake.

Posted by: G-Do at October 31, 2005 9:00 PM · Permalink