Hush little girl, it’s our secret.
(what ?)
Stories like this are called poems.
Bah! Fire the Doomsday Weapon anyway!
The boxer rose to his feet.
Look out! Here comes an ‘s’!
Pants party. Party pooper? Poopy pants.
Chittering things with tentacles for faces.
All knowledge collected: We view porn.
Last words of pre-teen: “Mommy, don’t!”
Everyone is pink on the inside.
Spilled blood looks black by moonlight.
Full moon makes us all wolves.
That’s Eight, Sir. Ducks and Runs.
Eats, Shoots and Leaves. Goddamn Koalas…
And God said “Let there be …” 
And God said “Pull My finger”.
50-foot woman atop Empire State Building
The Alien’s Achilles Heel is Water?
Oh, hi Odysseus! Didn’t expect you.
Bouncing and in time forth back!
And not just him. You too.
New York style pizza=yum yum.
I thought, therefore I was. Maybe.
God accidentally rescinded the Big Bang.
We have pigeon eggs . . . ad infinitum.
He just molested John Gotti’s daughter.
Fred Phelps pickets Church of Scientology.
Turns out you need your tonsils.
The tomb is empty. Amen Hallelujah!
Fearing death, he died a hero.
He fell, ring fell, Sauron’s end.
Misled by witches, he committed sins.
These two are both very good.
My effort:
Hard to express in just six . . .