Who’s your babysitter?

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“Hello, and welcome back to the World Baby Sitting Championships, I’m Brad Anderson. We’ve seen some great baby sitting in this week long event. Samuel Johnson joins me, and Sam, what has been the higlight of the week for you?”

“Thanks Brad, the highlight for me has been a renewed trust in good baby sitting technique. I’ve seen a lot of these championships and too often I saw sloppy baby sitting. No awareness, no research, no commitment. It was hard to watch. But this championship I’ve seen competitors return to a serious, disicplined approach.”

“Thank you Sam. Now let’s have a look at how the finalists qualified for tonights final. Our favourite qualified with a record forty-seven kills from his fifty baby sittings.”

“Yes Brad, his technique is impecible. When he sits on the babies he’s careful to note how old they are, so you know how long you need to sit on them until they die. Which is a key skill to learn under the time pressure.”

“Agreed. Our second finalist qualified with a then record forty-five kills.”

“Another good example of technique here. He’s very aware of his butt positioning to kill the infant in the shortest amount of time and move on to the next sitting.”

“Indeed, our two finalists tonight. Great baby killers.”

How’s your connectivity?

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My only siter, Kellie, lives on the coast, I live a long way inland. But she knows I love the water, so she sends me pictures all the time.

She just sent me a picture of a storm rolling in over the ocean. I video called her straight away. “Hey sis, what’s up?” she answered, her bubbly face filling the screen.

“You have rain and the ocean! Look out my window, no ocean, no rain, no water! Move so I can see.”

“Do you want to watch the storm with me?”

“Of course!” My sister sat down on a bench and put her phone down beside her and together we talked while watching the storm roll in.

It didn’t take long until the storm was on top of us. I watched the trees sway, the water splash on the bench in front of her phone and the bright flashes of lightning fill the skyline. Compared to the inland desert the contrast was immense.

As the next crack of lightning flashed on my screen, the lights in my room flickered. Then it happened again, and this time my room shook. “Kellie, something wierd just happened.”

Kellie didn’t answer, in fact I hadn’t seen her since she put the phone down. The lightning flashed again, my lights flickered and for a second my video flashed too.

“Kellie, are you still there?” Then another flash of lightning flashed across my whole screen, my video too. And after flikering a few times my lights went out.

“Kellie, I’m going to hang up now. Bye.” I hung up, but my lights were still out and the room still echoed thunder. Then I felt a hand on my neck.

“Hey sis, what’s up?”

Where did the fire start?

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Fire in my head, fire on my bed.
Fire in my television, fire without reason.
Fire in my heart, fire on my cart.
Fire in my chair, fire on my hair.
Fire in my shoe, fire on my loo.
Fire in my kitchen, time to cook chicken!
Fire in my fridge, fire on my poridge.
Fire in my pool, now that isn’t cool.
Fire in my house, fire on my mouse.
Fire in my home care, fire everywhere.
I like fire, it lifts my spirit higher.

119?

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Our housemate Gary burst through the door shouting, “119! 119!” We stood motionless in the kitchen, shocked at the urgency of Gary, but not understanding the situation.

The street was filled with shouting, menacing people dressed in black charging towards us with sticks, rocks and knifes.

I woke from my inactivity and dialed 911.

I found Gary in the loungeroom as the Emergency Call Operator answered. “What’s your emergency?”

I handed the phone to Gary, “Police,” he said calmly, “16 Damino Avenue. Let’s read.” He put the phone on the coffee table and started reading aloud, “Joyful are people of integrity, who follow the instructions of the Lord…”

Where will my idea come from today?

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Throughout the week I notice things to write about, but often I forget by Tuesday.

Meaning that I generally have no idea where my idea will come from.

Does my help come from the mountains? Maybe it does, I might find a story about a guy who climbs a mountain, and when he reaches the top, the volcano explodes.

Can I watch over my idea? Maybe I can, I might write a story about a serial killer who always kills with a pocket watch. Passing time is the culprit.

Can someone avoid sleep? Yes and no. If only life were that simple. An afternoon nap would forever be a matter of death and life.

Question my technique again and I’ll question you!?.

Is that a singed copy?

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I don’t know what to do Doctor. I need your help.

On Friday I went shopping, and I saw a singed copy of a book I like, so I bought it.

It was wrapped up tight, but I finally got it open. What I thought was odd was hearing a few vocal warm-ups as I opened it. I assumed it was the neighbours.

I set the book on the bench and opened it to page 1. And the book came alive! Literally! It started to sing! Not speak like an audio book. Sing!

At first I thought it was cool, but then when I wanted to go to bed I couldn’t turn it off. So I hoped by morning the book would be finished. But the singing just went back to the start.

Any ideas Doc? I’ve tried throwing the book away, lighting it on fire, throwing it in a pool, but still that infernal racket will not stop!

Who is the breadwinner?

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“I’m here interviewing World Champion Breadwinner, Dusty Road. Now Dusty, what got you interested in becoming a breadwinner?”

“My wife. We had just got married and she said to me “I want you to be our breadwinner.” So I did, and that was about twenty years ago.”

“And how much of a focus is breadwinning?”

“Breadwinning is my only focus. I spend a lot of time training to win physical breadwinning competitions and I read a book to help with the mental competitions.”

“But you don’t work on the luck competitions?”

“No, I’m often the only one that enters a competition where the prize is a loaf of bread. So I usually win by default.”

“And what do you do with all the bread you win?”

“Throw it away. I can’t eat bread and neither can my wife, so I just throw the prize away.”

“Do you get other prizes?”

“No. Just the bread.”