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March 16, 2009


A Feghoot is "a humorous short story ending in an atrocious pun" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feghoot)

Write one.

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Stacy: I Really Hate Puns

Rob loved to read science fiction. His favorite author had been dead for years, so it was with immense excitement he read of the discovery of a lost manuscript. It was being released at the bookstore today, so Rob hurried over to join the throng.

The bookstore was jam-packed, but Rob found a copy and ran for the front of the store. Unfortunately, his foot caught on a bit of carpet and he crashed headlong into the back of the check-out queue, sending kids and little old ladies flying.

In his haste to reach the cashier, Rob hurt hind line.

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Jim: Asinine Tales

Phare takes his hooves off the oars and the boat slowly settles into the year 2009. Leather thongs lash across his shoulders, raising another line of welts.

“Whip me if you wish, Miss Mary,” Phare brays. “But I’m not pulling these oars again until you tell me why we’re doing this.”

Mary sighs. Sometimes even the whip couldn’t break this ass’s obstinacy. “I cannot yet tell you what we’re searching for, Phare. However, when we find the right year you’ll be a normal burro once again.”

So with a groan, the scarred burro Phare, partially assuaged, rows Mary in Time.

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Jeff R.: Her Only Hope

"It's really good of you to be comin' here. Mio be tryin' to keep the farm going, but it's tough, even before she fell sick."

"Oh? What exactly is the problem?"

"Well, it's our prize bull, Obidiah. He be gettin' arthritic in his old age and can't mount the cows the old fashioned way. Last time around, we were having an electric gadget to help, but it broke down and I threw out my back hauling it off to the dump. So it's up to you, son."

"What do you want me to do, exactly?"

"Help Mio. Be wankin' Obi."

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Ted: Ain't Gonna

Ain't gonna go no more to war,
Ain't gonna sail the seas.

Ain't gonna tell her, anymore,
That she needs to pray on her knees.

Ain't gonna stand no top watch,
Ain't gonna lay no rope.

Ain't gonna tell her, no how,
That I'm off to see Cape Hope.

Ain't gonna stand to no whistle,
Ain't gonna heed no bell,

Ain't gonna tell her, no more, no more,
That her man is a'standing in Hell.

Ain't gonna do no barrel time,
Ain't gonna swab no decks.

Ain't gonna say she's gotta fear
That her man has gone a'wreck.

Ain't gonna.

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LJ: Shake That Speare!

The New Burbage Festival was floundering. Oh, sure, people came to the musicals from time to time, but Shakespeare? All interest had petered out -- the older customers had already seen it all, the younger customers didn't care about it.

In desperation, the artistic director had a flash of inspiration, as it were. Just imagine: Shakespeare in the nude! Who wouldn't flock to see ancient words spoken by young, nubile bodies? Actors' throats were cleared; gyms were attended.

The first production was an obvious choice: Romeo and Juliet. Or, as the wags on the theatre page called it, The Full Montague.

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