Did you hear the joke about the broke autocrat who went mercenary shopping? That was it, bye 'den.
This is a super-condensed Haiku Hitchhikers guide to the galaxy joke:
(Hint: answer is 42 essential characters, the 'or' should be read as 'or else'/'or otherwise')
God level "b"
Next simplest level "luv"
Next simplest level "Everything is sacred or everything is scared"
Adam paused, head tilted toward the already black sky. The moonlight streamed down upon his wintry pale skin. He pointed to the moon, the shape of his lips reflecting the crescent above. "Finders keepers, losers weepers. There, it's mine. That's settled. How much do you think I can sell it for?"
Once Sydney had finished telling the high and low lights of her camping trip, Dad locked her in a serious gaze. "You know," he said, callused finger pointing right at her nose, "you kids have it easy. When I was a lad the real work was in setting the snares for the wild parsnips." Sydney mock fainted on the table and Mom snickered. Sometimes there was just no being serious at number forty one.
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Love
Love who?
Holy Nations.
What? That's not even a joke.
It wasn't one. Knock Knock.
**eyes roll** Who's there?
Love
Love who?
Sanctify. This will be our battle cry.
That. Is. Not. A. Joke!!!
Correct.
**exasperated huff**
Knock knock.
No. I'm not doing your jokes. They aren't funny.
Knock Knock.
Go Away!
Knock Knock.
**sigh** Who's there?
Love.
Love who?
Everyone. Now that was the punch line. Like it?
**tumbleweed rolls past**
OK, do you want the keys to the Rolls Royce?
Who's?
Mine.
Okay.
Love is the key.
WHAT?!! Love isn't a key!
No, it's the answer.
What, I've had enough of your games. GO AWAY!!!
Love is the key and the answer because it is the one thing secularists won't fight. And that's Me. Ta da! What, no round of applause? Anyway the key isn't for a Rolls Royce, I don't own one. I'll let you figure out what it is for.
Authored by Daisy, here.
...I was joking about the meat eating aliens by the way, all the species that wouldn’t listen to Love died out. They end up consuming each other on hellish planets, cut off from Love, believing themselves powerful in their own stew pots of misery and death. After all, selecting food based on "intelligence" is subject to how you define intelligence. Maybe I don’t define it the way you do - does that mean I can eat you? Excuse me for a minute...I’m feeling a bit sick...
Found in Are you awake yet? - first draft, authored by Daisy.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.