Post your mundane explicable stories here, and I will bunk them

A writer for the show asked the question in GQ when writing that episode, but used a time machine to ask the question several years after the show aired so she wouldn’t spoil the episode for anyone. Although you didn’t post it there, you did post it here, and she saw it and incorporated it into the program. You saw it in syndication because (again, having seen this thread) she made arrangements to make show the episode was airing in your area so there wouldn’t be a big fuck-up in the space-time continuum, it’s a requirement of using time machines to put everything forward the way you found it.

You’re actually a fictional character created for a Shirley Cookie company who escaped his temporary and hypothetical reality. There are reality agents headed your way right now.

That is rather sweet and I’m not going to bunk with it. It’s obvious that angels planted those flowers so your daughter knows her mother loved her. I’m not sure what the significance of “five” is, bet I’ll bet your daughter does.

That’s exactly what I suspected.

But, I’m a girl … or I thought I was, and they’re biscuits not cookies, or I thought they were.

Get a bed of wood shavings, you two.

Oh my god this thread is full of the crazy! How do I get out of here? Help! HEELLLLLLLLP!!!

I see images of dead people all the time. They walk. They talk, but they never talk directly to me. If I say something to them they don’t respond. They appear in shades of grey with with soft fuzzy outlines. I’ve managed to catch some of them on film and posted it on youtube here. It’s a bit spooky.

People always want to be my servant and I don’t know why. There are a bunch of buildings around where I live and I like to walk around a lot and marvel at their grandeur. Other people seem to as well because there are usually other people in them as well. When I am walking around looking in the pretty rooms, people are always saying “Sir! Can I help you. Sir! Can I help you.” Thanks but I don’t need a servant. I just want to look around. Why are people throwing themselves at me like that? Why don’t they come around when I need something done at my place?

You can check out, but you can never leave.

I’m trapped in a crazy world where nobody knows math.

I see em too. In color, and they talk right to me!

There’s some sort of mysterious beam emanating from miniskirts that causes me to lose consciousness for seconds at a time.

When I spell words correctly, the spellchecker underlines them as if they’re wrong!

Is it a huge American Government conspiracy?

I always believed shoes had souls.

I know that a duck’s quack doesn’t echo, but yesterday I saw some ducks going under a bridge and I’m positive their quacks made an echo. What makes those ducks so special? Were they giving me a message?

No problem. I’m from New York. I understand how these things work.

I suspect there’s something in the tap water that makes people careless about numbers; it’s put there by the entertainment-news complex so people will play the lottery and not ask questions during reports on opinion polls.

Nothing to worry about, just portals to the past that open up once in a while.

I’m sorry, you will have to post extensive photographic records of what you’re talking about before I can come up with a workable hypothesis.