PFC Johnson sighted on the enemy warlock as he chanted and gesticulated, and wondered how long it would be before Tinkerbell figured out that stuffing the officer corps with wizards wasn't sound doctrine.
The best thing about Tinkerbell wizards is the way they stand so nice and still for our snipers while they're doing their pixie dust-hokey pokey routine.
And then, then he said, he said the world was round and traveling thousands of miles an hour around the sun while the moon spun around us; have you ever heard such tripe?
I told the unicorn that I would believe in him if he would believe in me, but he walked away in a snit muttering something about drunks and crappy pick-up lines.
Or
The unicorn offered to believe in me, if I'd believe in her, but I thought I'd wait until the glenfiddich wore off a bit first.
You can clap all you want, but when the faerie powering your pacemaker finally runs out of juice, there's nothing to do but petition your HMO for a trip to Never Never.
"No, Mr. Watson, you are not covered for a replacement spell, regardless of whether you'll die without it or not and I'm not the one who writes your policy, so you'll need to take it up with your insurance company."
I found rust in my ear, one of my joints started squeaking, and some Evil Emperor dude tried to take over my planet– average day, all things considered.
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