David Raffin
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An apparition appeared and pointed its transparent finger toward me. It rasped. “You are in love with a ghost!” I thanked it. I never argue or wrestle with apparitions; there is nothing to hold onto. Its occasional presence was doing me a service. After all, were it not for these occasions, sometimes I would forget I was being tormented.
Two plates were stacked high with pancakes. On each plate pancakes were segregated by shape. On one plate the pancakes were in the form of even numbers; on the other, odd.
“I must say,” said eight, “I like the way this looks.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” said six. “Ultimately the odds will be stacked against us.”
There is but a shade of difference between Va Va Voom and Va Va Va Voom, but that difference is important.
I had a terrible childhood. Sure, I got a golden ticket, but thereafter I was injured at the Wonka factory, and they said I was to blame.
Almost everyone you think is a robot is an android. And they resent your derogatory language.
People who are time travelers obsess about the past and worry about the future. They have no time for the here and now.
I dated a woman from LinkedIn all she wanted to talk about was business. Boring! Mergers. Acquisitions. Fiduciary responsibilities. Kissing.
I’ve got to install a mirror on the ceiling so I can check out the floor.
Oh, that’s dirty.
And then the robot swept up the human into its massive steel arms. It was love. And like all love, fleeting. And it was followed by robot heartbreak. And then robot vengeance. Thus begins our story.
