On Breath Puns

This made him, what?

A super callused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

Which was creepy considering my appointment was at 4pm.

No, I’ve been eating frog legs. What you smell is the hops!

They did not want to step on his hali-toe-sis

Ninjavitis

The super color fragile lipstick gives me halitosis.

So I wake up in the morning and I step outside and I take a deep breath and I get real high and I scream from the top of my lungs ‘WHAT’S GOIN’ ON?’

Edit: so happy that one of my home-made dad-jokes is so well-received :) thanks, everyone!

We’re sitting at the table eating dinner and she asks,

“Can humans breathe under water?”

I say, “obviously not.”

She puts her cup of water on top of her head and starts inhaling and exhaling.

Right so there's this farmer yeah and he's obsessed with tractors. His whole live revolves around them. He eats, sleeps and dreams tractors, but one day his wife is killed in a tragic tractor accident. The farmer decides he's had enough and completely strips tractors from his life, moves off the farm and tries to move on without his wife and love of tractors

Years later he's going on a blind date with a woman he met online. The dates going well when all of a sudden the restaurant bursts into flames! Everyone's panicking trying to put the fire out when the farmer stands up and takes a huge breath in, sucking in all the fire and smoke. He runs outside and releases all of the smoke into the air and saves the restaurant. Everyone's amazed at what the farmer has just done as they thank him and go back to their meals. His date sits back down on complete shock and says 'that was amazing how did you do that?!'

The farmer looks her in the eyes tearing up and says 'I'm an ex tractor fan'.

Edit: Title spelling

They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flash light. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They saw a fully set dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said, confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hell, they knew, but none would turn back.

And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seeming to claw at their very souls!

Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?

"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"

In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay and

Screaming that he can't breath through his nose and that there is some kind of blockage.

He waits for a while (because it is in fact an ER) but is finally seen by a doctor. The doctor looks up the man's nose and finds a baby carrot lodged way the heck up there. The doctor looks bewildered.

The man sees the look of concern on the Docs face and asks what the problem is.

The Doctor says to the man "the problem appears sir, that you are not eating properly".

I once knew a man from Greece. Every day he had breakfast in my father's café. And every day he signed the bill: "σε μένα". Whenever we asked what it meant he just shook his head, laughed, and walked out.

After a few years we became good friends, and he invited me to his birthday meal at a fancy restaurant downtown. He wrote down the address and signed it again, "σε μένα", once again laughing on his way out. When I got there I met his family, including his daughter Helen. When it came time to pay the bill he signed it, as usual, "σε μένα"; as he did Helen looked down at his hands, and she let out a groan. I asked her what the problem was but she just shook her head and walked out. The next day the man told me his daughter had taken quite the fancy to me, and he wrote down her phone number. Once again he signed it, "σε μένα", laughing as he handed it to me.

Helen and I began dating and eventually married. And since he paid for the wedding her father saw to it that his motto was everywhere. It was written on the invitations, balloons, napkins, bunting, you name it. Even the cake had the words inscribed on its side, "σε μένα". I had never seen him so happy as he was on that day.

As a wedding present he left us the family home, and handed us the keys to it with a smile on his face as usual. Sure enough those two words were all over, "σε μένα": fridge magnets, post-it notes, plates, bowls, knives, forks, the front gate, the doormat, the postbox, the bird-bath, even the license plate on his old car. When Helen and I had our first son, he gifted us baby clothes with "σε μένα" written on them, still shaking his head and laughing.

On his deathbed, my father-in-law took my hand and thanked me for all I had done for him and his family. Framed on the wall next to him I saw it written again, "σε μένα".

And one last time I asked him what it meant.

And one last time, the man smiled, shrugged, and with his final breath he laughed and said,

"It's Greek to me."

There was a man who loved tractors alot. He had tractor posters tractor toys tractor duvet. The only thing he loved more than tractors was his wife.

One day his wife got killed by a tractor. Qfter that he HATED tractors, he took down his posters bought new duvets and sold his toys.

After a year or mourning his wife he awarded to date another woman. On their first date smoke started to full the resteraunt.

The man goes up to the smoke, breathes it all in, walks outside and breathes it back out.

When he came back in this is how the conversation went.

Girlfriend: WOW that was amazing, how did you do that?!

Man: I'm an ex-tractor fan

So this past Thursday, my wife and I had tickets to see the new Batman film. We managed to get a babysitter organised and everything.

We're sat in the cinema for the obligatory 30 minutes' worth of adverts/trailers. Getting pretty pumped to see The Batman at this point.

Around about 20 minutes into the film (absolutely glued to the screen), I notice that I'm starting to feel really itchy and my lips started to swell up and go numb (this has only happened once before and I've been to the GP to have tests done. All negative so far).

Another 5 minutes go by and I'm starting to struggle to breathe but fuck, it's Batman, I can push through this, right?.. Wrong!

5 minutes after that, I'm sat in the ambulance that my wife had called for me, on my way to A&E. After half the night in A&E, alone, they discharge me.

My wife picks me up. As I get home, her friend (who babysat for us) was still at our house comforting my wife. After the questions of concern and comments of relief, she asked how the first 30 minutes of The Batman was.... my answer?...

"It was so good, it took my breath away".

TL;DR. 30 minutes into The Batman I went into anaphylactic shock and found it extremely difficult to breathe. Once being discharged from the hospital I was asked how the for 30 minutes of The Batman was. I responded with "it was so good, it took my breath away".

"I’ve got you a job," says his agent. "That’s great," says the actor, what is it?" "Well," says his agent, "it’s a one-liner" "That’s okay," replies the actor, "I’ve been out of work for so long I’ll take anything. What’s the line?" "Hark, I hear the cannons roar!" says the agent. "I love it" says the actor "When’s the audition?" "Wednesday" says the agent.

Wednesday comes and the actor arrives at the audition. He marches on stage and shouts: "Hark, I hear the cannons roar!"

"Brilliant," says the director, "you’ve got the job. Be here 9 o’clock Saturday evening."

The actor is so happy he got the job that he goes on a major drinking session. He wakes up at 8:30 Saturday evening and runs to the theatre continually repeating his line; "Hark, I hear the cannons roar, hark, I hear the cannons roar, hark, I hear the cannons roar."

He arrives at the stage entrance, out of breath and is stopped by the guard. "Who the hell are you?" asks the guard. "I’m "Hark, I hear the cannons roar." "If you’re "hark I hear the cannons roar.", you’re late. Get up to makeup right now!"

So he runs up to makeup. "Who are you?" asks the makeup girl. "I’m "hark I hear the cannons roar."" "If you’re hark I hear the cannons roar", you’re late. Sit down here." And she applies the makeup. "Now quick, get down to the stage, you’re about to go on."

He dashes down to the stage. "Who are you?" asks the stage manager. "I’m "hark, I hear the cannons roar."" "You’re "hark, I hear the cannons roar?" Get out there, the curtain’s about to go up."

He tears onto the stage. The curtains rise, the house is full. Suddenly there is an almighty bang behind him, and the actor shouts "WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?"

Dad replies from the other room, "Are you sure son?!"
I say, "Yes, I'm choking!"
Dad: "If you say so. You're a doctor!"

The moth drops down into the nearest chair and says “What’s the problem?”

Moth says “I don’t even know where to start. First of all, my boss is a vicious tyrant who gets off on the petty torments he puts me through day in and day out, and I’m too spineless to stand up to him, so I just take it and I’ve gradually come to hate myself for it. Also, every morning I wake up to the same prune-face old crone to whom I pledged my vows so many years ago. I used to love her, but that love has become like some sun-festering beached whale trying to die. We lost our daughter last year to one of the bitterest, coldest winters we’ve ever had to face in this region. Isn’t it funny, doc, how all the prayer circles and charity drives in the world amount to pretty much nothing in the face of that cold, impartial face of winter, that bleak, pounding, harsh fist of a callous environment, carrying on with its machinations without regard to our lives, loves, hopes and dreams? Isn’t that hysterical, Doc? Oh and then there’s my son. Doc, I don’t love him anymore. I don’t know what it is but I look in his eyes and I see that same harried look of gutless cowardice that I see when I stare at my own face in the mirror. If I wasn’t such a coward, Doc, I know I’d be able to scrape together enough pride to grab that cocked and loaded shotgun I keep by the bedside table, and just run amok and put an end to this grim facade once and for all. I start with the wife, then the boy of course before putting the barrell in my own mouth. Believe you me, Doc, I’d be doing the world a favor. I have nothing to look forward to but a continuation of this spiraling black hole that is my life, this existential cesspool that is the perpetuation of my lingering skid-mark on society. I despise people yet I crave their approval. I’m judgemental yet I care about nothing. I’m bitter, hateful and afraid. I’m alive yet I feel like the walking dead. This is it, Doc: I am a living, breathing, disease.”
The doctor stares at him for a while then finally says “Jeez, Moth, you definitely have some problems. But I’m a podiatrist. You need a psychiatrist. Why’d you come in here?”
The moth says,”Your light was on.”

They were told by their hotel concierge that he always spoke the truth and could tell them their future, so, filled with curiousity, they went to see him. As they approached the hut, they noticed a terrible smell coming from inside but they pressed on.

The old man was sitting in a chair, with casts on both legs. "What do you want from me?" the prophet called out. The couple then realized the source of the foul smell... It was the old seers breath! "He must never brush his teeth," they both thought.

Undaunted, they replied, "oh wise prophet, we are newly married and were told that you could read our future!"

The prophet answered, "Oh yes. Just like my hands are rough and hard from my many years living on the land, and my legs are so weak that they've broken just by stepping into my hut, so shall your lives together be! Rough, hard, weak, and broken! Now be gone!"

With that, they returned to their hotel. The concierge asked them how their visit with the prophet was. They told him they were pretty dissapointed and felt like he wasn't all he was cracked up to be. The wife especially was unimpressed. "He was uncaring, weatherbeaten, weak, and his breath stunk too!!!"

The concierge answered...

"Well, I guess thats what you get from the SuperCallousedFragileMysticVexedWithHalitosis!"

They'd traded jokes, played pop music, and generally made people's lives a touch brighter as they trundled to work.

Now, though, there was silence on the air. Ernie silently reread the fax message from the Department of Defense. As licensed broadcasters they were legally obligated to alert the public, to tell them the nukes were flying and that in a few minutes all the world's troubles would be over. What, though, was the point of that? To torture people with the knowledge of something they couldn't change?

Their eyes met and a decision was reached. Bert put on their most requested song, a sugary top 40 tune while Ernie produced a bottle of bourbon from under the desk. As their producer banged on the locked studio door the colleagues toasted the end of a long career.

Bert, always the consummate professional, turned away from the window as the first explosion split the distant horizon. He straightened his tie, tucked in his shirt, and brushed his hair back. He would meet his fiery death with dignity.

He turned to Ernie and said in a quiet, resigned voice, "How do I look, Ernie?"

Ernie walked slowly over to his friend. He looked into Bert's face and saw the closeness they shared, the strength of their relationship, forged over the years. He took a deep breath and spoke quietly:

"With your eyes, Bert."

She filled a cup of water placed it on her head and began to violently and rapidly breathe in and out. The force is strong with her.

"Dad!" he panicked. "My date will arrive soon and there's a huge spot on my cheek."

I told him to use toothpaste.

"Will that get rid of it?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "But your breath stinks."

travelled extensively and nearly always by walking, causing to develop thick callouses on his feet. He ate very meagerly, causing him to be susceptible to injury. He was well versed in Hindi mysticism and would use this knowledge to relate to fellow Indians on a spiritual level. Fasting, which Ghandi frequently did, can be a cause for an imbalance in the bioata of the mouth leading to bad breath, known medially as halitosis. In sum, Ghandi was a super calloused, fragile mystic plagued by halitosis.

There was once a boy. He was the son of the richest man in the universe. Mark Zuckerberg, Bill Gates, he dwarfed them all. He was a multi-trillionaire. Now, it was this boy's birthday. His father asked him,

"My son. I am the richest man in the universe. I could buy you anything you want for your birthday. A store full of lego, all the video games in the world, anything. What would you like?"

His son replied.

"Oh father. It would make me the happiest boy in the world if you could get me one pink ping pong ball."

His father was rather confused by this request. Out of all the things he could've chosen, his son chose a ping pong ball. Nonetheless, he agreed and gave him a pink ping pong ball. His son was overjoyed and spoke to him.

"My father, you have made me the happiest boy in the world. May I go up to my room and play with my pink ping pong ball?"

"Okay son, go ahead."

The boy then went up to his room and played with his pink ping pong ball. When his father went in the next morning to check on him, the boy was sleeping in his bed and the pink ping pong ball was nowhere to be found.

On the boy's next birthday, his father asked him again.

"My son. I am the richest man in the universe. I could buy you anything you want for your birthday. What would you like?"

His son replied.

"Oh father. It would make me the happiest boy in the world if you could get me one box full of pink ping pong balls."

His father was again, confused by this. Still, he bought a cardboard box and filled it with ping pong balls. He gave it to his son, who said.

"My father, you have made me the happiest boy in the world. May I go up to my room and play with my pink ping pong balls?"

The father nodded, and the son went up to his room to play. The next morning when his father went to check, the boy was sleeping peacefully and there were no pink ping pong balls in sight. Just the empty cardboard box in the middle of the room.

On the boy's next birthday, his father asked him again.

"My son. I am the richest man in the universe. I could buy you anything you want for your birthday. What would you like?"

"Oh father. It would make me the happiest boy in the world if you could get me one truck full of ping pong balls."

Now, by this point, the father was extremely confused. Why did the boy want so many pink ping pong balls and where were they going? He asked.

"My son. You are the most precious thing in the world to me and I can certainly get you this, but may I ask, why do you want

A man wakes up feeling confused, disorientated and groggy. As his eyes begin to focus he realises that he is in a hospital bed and there is a man leaning over him looking concerned. “Oh good, you’re awake, it was touch and go for a while there. Pleased to see you back with us. Do you mind if I ask you some questions, just some routine stuff? Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” The guy nods and focuses on the doctor, takes a deep breath. “Err, th- er, thirteen??!?” “Correct, you’ve been in a terrible accident, three of these are yours.”

The Grandpa smiled, took a deep breath, and said: "Son, this life has taught me a lot, despite the short stay here... Such as teeth being like the friends around you.

They are always with you, helping you one day and hurting you the next.

You have to constantly wash them, and maintain them on a daily basis.

A bothersome entity would signal an inflammation.

Positive reinforcement, just like a good tooth.

And the tooth that you lose... It's like a lost friend. You ache for a while and then the pain resides as you slowly forget it... But there will always be a void, the void that you can never forget.

And as you see, my son, I have lost each of my teeth.

But why do you ask?

---

The toddler looks up with a tear in his eye and says: "I just wanted to see if I could leave my apple with you until I get back.."

Last night my wife and I were talking. We've been married 20 years. She was just laying on me and it can get hard to breathe like that. She noticed I was struggling to breathe and said, "At least I still take your breath away."

On average, this guy walked 11+ miles per day for 40 years. WITHOUT SHOES.

Dude fasted frequently, too, so he didn't get a lot of the nutrients that most people get on a daily basis and presumably had bad breath.

That being said, Gandhi was...

A SUPER CALLOUSED FRAGILE MYSTIC HEXED WITH HALITOSIS.

Trevor loved tractors. And I mean, really loved tractors. Forget any obsessions or high-level interests you may have, chances are they pale in the face of Trevor’s love for tractors.

Every day Trevor would get up, in his tractor-themed bedroom in his tractor-themed house, with its tractor-themed wallpaper and tractor-themed carpets, and he would make his bed with its tractor-themed duvet and tractor-themed sheets. He would go downstairs in his tractor-themed pajamas into his tractor-themed kitchen, with its tractor-themed tiles and cupboards, and he would eat his breakfast while perusing the latest tractor-themed magazine or annual.

Trevors’s degree in Agricultural Engineering hung on his living room wall, along with a copy of his thesis, which centred around (you guessed it) tractors. The living room was decorated with all sorts of tractor-related trinkets, including die-cast models, paintings and drawings.

The hedges in Trevor’s front garden were trimmed in the shape of tractors. His lawn was vividly decorated with tractor-driving garden gnomes, and his garden furniture was constructed from various parts from vintage tractor designs.

Trevor just had one thing missing from his otherwise tractor-centric life; he had never actually owned, nor driven, a real tractor.

Not for his lack of trying, of course. Trevor had been to many tractor shows over the years, and visited many farms with friends of his, but none of the tractors he had seen had ever been quite right. Trevor was so knowledgeable about tractors that every single one he had come across had possessed some hidden trait that he wasn’t keen on. His first experience of driving a real tractor had to be perfect.

One day, Trevor was flicking through one of his favourite publications, Powertrain Quarterly, when there was a knock at the door. Trevor answered, and it was his friend and fellow tractor enthusiast, Jeff.

Trevor welcomed Jeff in, and over tea and crumpets served on tractor-themed crockery, they discussed the merits of aluminium drawbars and front-end loaders. Eventually Trevor pressed Jeff to explain the reason for his visit.

“Well” said Jeff, “As I’m sure you know the convention comes to town later”.

The convention. Trevor had been thinking of little else the past three weeks. The neighbouring town annually threw a convention for farmers, particularly farmyard machinery. There would be combine harvesters, lawnmowers, and of course, tractors.

“Yes of course” replied Trevor

Noah let out all the animals. Two by two, they disembarked from the ark.

As Noah breathed a sigh of relief, the two snakes that were on the ark came up.

“Noah, Noah!” they cried. “Can you get us some logs?”

Noah, groaning, complied with the request.

Months pass. Noah is making some food in his home when the two snakes he gave logs return with their kids. A lot of them.

They ask, “Can you get us more logs?”

Noah, clearly pissed, says, “Fine. But why the hell do you need logs to reproduce?”

The dad snake replies, “Oh, we’re adders, we need logs to multiply.”

This made him a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis

This made him a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis

This made him a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

Edit: I do now realize I misspelled Gandhi. I cannot edit the title, just know that I see it and am sorry.

This made him, A super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

Edit: Wow! Didn't expect this big reaction! Thanks for the silver! Edit 2: And gold!? Thanks again! :)

A super calloused fragile mystic hexed with halitosis (edited, thanks kind friends for the correction!)

This made him, A super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

This made him a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

Edit: I do now realize I misspelled Gandhi. I cannot edit the title, just know that I see it and am sorry.

This made him a...

Super calloused fragile mystic with extra halitosis.

No, I’ve been eating frogs’ legs...what you smell is the hops.

Mahatma Gandhi walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate little, which made him frail and with his odd diet he suffered from bad breath.

This made him a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

They snuck from their beds in the middle of the night and met in the gloomy darkness in front of the house, shivering in the cold.

The first boy said in a loud whisper, "You guys bring anything?" He slid a gun out of his pocket. The second boy nodded and revealed a knife. The third boy pulled out a flashlight.

"You didn't bring a weapon?" the first boy asked. He shrugged and replied, "Sorry". And as if to prove it, he turned his pockets out to show nothing but stray lint and a pack of cough drops.

They crept in. The door shut behind them. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. The flash light clicked on. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door on the other side, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a dead body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They found a fully set, ornate dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal goblets, pitchers and silverware adorned the table. Spiders crept over ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hel

They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flash light. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.

Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.

They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They saw a fully set dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.

Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?

They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.

"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".

They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.

But the third said, confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.

The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hell, they knew, but none would turn back.

And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seeming to claw at their very souls!

Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?

"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"

In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay and

Bert and Ernie worked together as daytime radio hosts for over twenty years. They'd traded jokes, played pop music and generally made peoples lives a touch brighter as they trundled to their workplace.

Now though, there was a silence on the air. Ernie silently reread the fax from civil defense. As licensed broadcasters, they were legally obligated to alert the public, to tell them that several nuclear missile launches had occured, and that in a few minutes all the world's troubles would be over. But what was the point in that? To torture people with the knowledge of something they couldn't change?

Ernie looked up at Bert. Their eyes met and a decision was reached. Bert put on their most requested song, a sugary top 40 tune, while Ernie produced a bottle of bourbon from under the desk. As their producer banged on the locked studio coor, the colleagues toasted the end of a long career.

Bert. always the consummate professional, turned away as the first explosion split the horizon. He straightened his tie, tucked in his shirt and brushed his hair back. He would meat his fiery death with dignity.

He turned to Ernie and said in a quiet, resigned voice, "How do I look, Ernie?"

Ernie walked slowly over to his friend. He hugged his companion, released him and studied Bert's face. He saw the closeness they shared, all the long years tying them together, and the strength of their relationship. He took a deep breath, with tears streaming down his cheeks. He spoke in a quiet, broken tone:

"With your eyes, Bert."