“it was the best of times”
and the sequel
“it was the worst of times”
"Cathy digs Heathcliffe. Heathcliffe digs Cathy’
“My God, it’s full of stars”
mm
“it was the best of times”
and the sequel
“it was the worst of times”
"Cathy digs Heathcliffe. Heathcliffe digs Cathy’
“My God, it’s full of stars”
mm
“I’ll be buggered” said Lawrence
“Is it in yet?”
The pain train is coming. Woowoo!
And they lived happily ever after.
Unfortunately for you, I lied.
Hell is other people.
She’s bald; he’s without a watch.
The dollars had too little silver.
It was just Siberian geese.
Two drunks go upcountry; one’s hired.
You will suffocate behind this wall.
They aren’t our men; they’re wolves!
The ants continued to overrun Brazil.
She loved and spent too much.
The alien killed all, save one.
Mentored, gifted farmboy destroys the empire.
Manager steals cash and dies alone.
Demon-possessed laundry machine kills workers.
Vengeful Indian spirits destroy a family.
British officer Lawrence leads the Arabs.
Homely girl overcomes obstacles to marriage.
Seductress persuades chump to kill husband.
Mysterious woman is really our agent.
Bond pursues Blofeld again.
The tiny aliens were actually Americans!
Tarzan meets Jane; they go swingin’.
Gee, these are fun!.. 
He’s still alive! Kill him again.
You’re no safer in first class.
They walk. Dog checks p-mail again.
Potato chips? Those weren’t potato chips.
“Ha,” you say? I laugh last.
He bled out in twenty minutes.
He left and never came back.
Cougar tracks! Fresh scat. Where’s my…
Six word porn:
Harder, big boy! Harder! Thanks, Dad.
How much for oral? Twenty dollars.
I’m only 15. Goodbye, cruel world.
Pork broth enjoyed a brief vogue.
More six-word porn:
Pizza guy gets a great tip.
Six-word summaries of more classics, a la The Scrivener:
Women block treasury until war stops.
Woman, wanting vengance, kills her sons.
Miser learns the meaning of Christmas.
The camera clicks once, Pulitzer Prize.
She ingested posion and died violently.
Cigarette smoke, dollar beers, a mistake.
“Watch out!” he yelled. She died.
A beautiful guitar strummed on corner.
“Damn you to HELL!”
“Already there.”
And, of course, my signature:
If it would do me the courtesy of actually showing up…
“Klingons approaching!”
“Shields up!”
“Too la…”
Our society needs more singing ducks.