There once was a man so wise /
he read a book on disguise. /
And to this very day /
when he wants to slip away /
glasses and a mustache he applies. /
There once was writer of acknowledgements /
Who was in a pickle over compliments. /
To make them clear and sincere /
And not sound in arrears /
Or as if she were paying emoluments.
There once was a author from Brisbane /
who thought a writer from Lisbon /
tortured language in a way /
that was “an assault and pepper spray” /
a syntax attack, if not misprision.
A writer and a genie were trapped in a stuck elevator.
Writer: “Can you get us out of this?”
Genie: “Is that your wish?”
Writer, after thinking about: “Maybe we’ll wait.”
They wait two hours. Then three. Then six. Then….
Finally the writer said: “I wish for everybody in this building to have a wish.”
The genie wasn’t sure what he was getting at by that wish, but there was nothing in the rules against wishing everybody in the building have a wish, so he granted it.
The elevator doors immediately opened. But before the writer could step out, the elevator doors slammed shut and the elevator plunged downward, then upward, then crashed through the building and when it finally stopped the elevator doors opened on hell. The flames shot into the elevator, growing larger, brighter, and hotter.
Shaken by the experience, the writer sputtered: “I wish I had never made my wish.”
The slammed shut. The fire was gone, and the elevator was exactly where it had been when the wishing first started.
Eventually the doors were opened and as the writer was helped out, somebody asked him how he had managed to survive over nine hours in such a small space with nothing to do.
The writer smiled: “I’m a writer. Many days I spend my time in a small space where nothing seems to happen. Usually my imagination fills in the gaps. This was more or less a typical day for me.”