Ian goes to Washington.

Ian and his parents were escorted to the guest bedroom of the White House. They had just arrived in Washington for Ian’s Medal of Honor ceremony, a moment that Ian had never foreseen in his life until he decided to join the military. After his training, he went on a spy mission that helped prevent World War 3, a feat that earned him recognition from the Pentagon and a personal invitation from the President.

“Well, here we are!” Ian’s father Ron proclaimed as he looked around the bedroom. “The famous Nixon bedroom.”

“Um, excuse me, what was that?” Ian asked, not sure of what he had just heard.

“The Nixon bedroom,” Ron repeated. “Look at that painting over there. Do you know who that is?”

Ian looked at the painting on the wall and was startled to see a portrait of Richard Nixon. The painting appeared to be very old with Nixon dressed in a vintage outfit from the 1800’s.

“That can’t be Nixon,” Ian muttered.

“Actually, it IS Nixon,” Ron said. “You know who he was, right?”

“Yeah, he was President during the 1970’s.” Ian replied.

“WHAT?” Ron shouted. “COME ON! Nixon wasn’t alive in the 1970’s!”

“He was too!”

“COME ON, IAN!” Ron roared. “Don’t you remember your American history? Everyone knows that Nixon was president during the Civil War!”

“WHAT?” Ian’s head began to spin. “I thought Lincoln was President during the Civil War!”

“YOU”RE CRAZY!” Ron yelled. “Lincoln was our first President!”

“No, George Washington was our first President!”

“Wait, who’s George Washington?”

Ian grabbed his head as the room appeared to spin faster. What was happening? Was this all a dream? Then that would have meant Ian’s trip to Washington wasn’t really happening either. None of this mattered at the moment as Ian suddenly blacked out and collapsed on the floor.

Developing…

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Private Fartball.

“I am Gunnery Sergeant Grackle, your Senior drill instructor!” Grackle roared as he marched past the new recruits. “You maggots have just begun eight weeks of hell in my boot camp!”

Grackle was interrupted by the sound of farting followed by giggling.

“Who did that?” Grackle screamed. “Who’s the slimy little sock sucker who just signed his own death warrant? And I WILL find out!”

Grackle began sniffing as he walked around the room. Then his face wrinkled in disgust. “HOO! It’s getting stronger! I must be getting close!”

Then he found himself in front of a tall, skinny recruit who was trying to stifle his laughter.

“What’s so funny, Private Tweezers?” Grackle bellowed.

“My friend here just farted,” Tweezers giggled.

“So farts are funny?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll fix that!” Grackle picked Tweezers up and squeezed him so hard that Tweezers let out one long loud fart before Grackle set him back down. Tweezers’ face now registered pain and discomfort.

“What’s the matter, Tweezers?” Grackle screamed. “I thought you said farts were funny!”

“They are.”

“Well, why aren’t you laughing?”

“That hurt,” Tweezers moaned.

“It’s SUPPOSED to hurt!” Grackle yelled. “Does that mean you’re not going to laugh at farts anymore?”

“Yes, sir.”

“GOOD!”

Grackle now turned to a short, fat recruit standing next to Tweezers.

“And you! Private Fartball! What’s the idea of farting around? Trying to make us laugh or something?”

“No sir,” Fartball stammered. “I only fart when I’m nervous.”

“DO I MAKE YOU NERVOUS?”

Fartball let out a short fart.

“WAS THAT A YES?”

Developing…

Another fine morning in computer class.

“Good morning, class,” the teacher announced in a somber tone, “today is perhaps the most difficult and uncomfortable day of the entire course. At the same time, it is necessary if you wish to obtain a total understanding of computers and how they work.”

The teacher paused to recompose himself and continued, “On the tables in the back of the room are some computers…” At this point he struggled to find the right words. “…for you to dissect, in teams of two.”

The students gasped in horror.

“You mean we have to take them apart and see what’s INSIDE?” one student stammered.

“I’m sorry,” the teacher muttered.

The students groaned in unison as they slowly rose and reluctantly walked to a group of tables at the back of the classroom. Resting on the tables were computers along with motion sickness bags and small tubs of peanut butter for smearing under the nose to ward off the sickening smell of antiquated computer peripherals.

“You may begin,” the teacher announced. “Restrooms with working toilets are across the hall. Good luck.” Then he quickly sat down on the floor to avoid watching the gruesome dissections about to begin.

The students grabbed the motion sickness bags and smeared the peanut butter under their noses. Slowly they removed the screws holding the side panels in place. Once the panels were removed, several students promptly fainted.

“Be sure to identify the parts!” the teacher called out before placing his head between his knees to keep himself from fainting.

The students stared in horror at the exposed innards of the computers and kept inhaling the fragrance from the peanut butter to stay calm. Yet there the parts were, even more horrific to see in real life, the memory chips, the CPU, the hard drive, the data cables…

“COMPUTER GUTS!” one man screamed as he ran out of the room. Several other students joined him, leaving only a few students behind to lose the last of their calm demeanors while edging ever closer to hysteria.

“Oh, I can’t do this anymore!” one woman shrieked. “These computers shouldn’t be here to be dissected! They should be roaming free all over the world to spread the joy of Internet access!”

“Ma’am,” the teacher offered as he rose to his feet, “if it makes you feel better, these computers died of natural causes.”

“Natural causes?”

“Lighting strike.”

One fine morning in computer class.

“Good morning, class,” the teacher began, “Today we’re going to learn about the memory chip.” He produced an antiquated chip and continued, “This is what it looks like. I don’t know much else about it, but I do know if you throw it hard enough, it can stick to the ceiling, like this.”

The teacher looked up at the ceiling and flung the chip overhead at full speed. Everyone in the class laughed at the sight of it sticking out from the ceiling.

“Here, try it,” the teacher said as he walked around the room with a box of memory chips for the students to throw. “Do it like I did. Grip it with your index finger, put some spin in your throw, and above all, throw hard. Have fun!”

For the rest of the hour, students threw memory chips at the ceiling. By the end of the class, the ceiling was sagging from the weight of hundreds of chips.

“Well done,” beamed the teacher, “it looks like the ceiling has more memory than we all do. Any questions?”

“Yes,” spoke up one student, “how is this going to help me in my new career in computer repair?”

Then followed a heavy and uncomfortable silence as the teacher stood in awkward silence, unsure of how to respond. A few minutes later, the silence was shattered by the ceiling tiles collapsing to the floor as the weight of the memory chips became too much for them to bear.

I broke the law.

I was walking through the parking lot one night
When my eyes beheld a rather curious sight
It was at that moment when I suddenly found
An unopened envelope on the ground
I broke the law
I broke the law

I picked it up and saw to my surprise
A name and address I didn’t recognise
I admit that I was looking for a thrill
When I opened it and saw an unpaid bill
I broke the law
I broke the law

Suddenly I got a nasty fright
When flashing blue lights shattered through the night
A policeman swiftly hauled me off to jail
Because he caught me reading someone’s mail
I broke the law
I broke the law

Hours later I was taken back
To where my innocence was so attacked
I saw a sight that nearly made me snap
Another envelope to set the trap
I broke the law
I broke the law

A face of stone.

This room is filled with people, yet I work here all alone
I’m feeling very lonely so I wear a face of stone
Having fun and making friends are clearly not allowed
Phone calls are more important than to mingle with the crowd
Every night I go home to a dark and empty house
I have no friends or one to call my spouse
My only social contacts are the voices on the phone
That’s why I come to work each day and wear a face of stone