When the news arrived that ogres had come down from the mountains, Superintendent Lemmens strapped on his sword, straightened his uniform, and set out at once to find them. Ogres were hideous, baby-eating monsters, and in this modern age, that sort of thing was strongly discouraged. Lemmens was very resourceful. His men checked every school and orphanage, but no children were missing.
After three days of fruitless searching, a farmer came forth, bitter about the ogre menace.
“Those monsters raided my orchard, and ate all my watermelons!”
“Watermelons?” Lemmens asked. “But everyone knows ogres eat babies.”
“These ones were vegan.”
Author’s Note: This one came from a single silly sentence: “Vegan ogres: raiding orchards instead of orphanages.” And where that came from? No clue.
The troll scratched his nose, and straightened his tie nervously. The humans were still carefully not watching him.
For almost two hours none of them had risked a glance. There were five of them, their eyes front, backs straight, breathing heavily. His commute was always like this. They were always so scared, and he was tired of it. He’d never eaten anyone because they looked at him funny.
The bus was crowded when it arrived, standing room only, and he could feel the weight of everyone onboard carefully not looking at him.
“I’ll take the next one,” the troll sighed.
Author’s Note: Awkward bus rides… with trolls.
There was a dragon in Times Square wearing a Hawaiian shirt and taking pictures.
Times Square was crowded enough at the best of times, but a dragon on the sidewalk was a different matter. The pedestrians were forced to cross the jam-packed street to avoid it. The dragon itself didn’t seem to notice. Looming over the throng of people, it kept its serpentine eyes fixed on the billboards and the lights. Humans were so clever.
One man did not avoid the dragon. He slipped through the throng and leapt over the dragon’s tail effortlessly.
“Tourist,” he muttered, with a sigh.
Author’s Note: Walking through Times Square fills me with a particularly homicidal rage. Enter dragon.
It was at the Annual Bakers’ Convention that The Great Vampire War on Snickerdoodles, formerly waged secretly in the hearts, minds and stomachs of people everywhere, first came to light.
Contrary to popular belief, the vampires’ greatest weakness was not a stake, or cross, or sunlight, but, in fact, the snickerdoodle. Perhaps the combination of white sugar and cinnamon in all its sweet sugary goodness was somehow anathema to whatever dark unholy art animated the dead. Perhaps the universe simply had a twisted sense of humor.
But on that tragic day the vampires came, and they ate all the bakers.
Author’s Note: This one came from a random sentence about vampires and snickerdoodles. Because why not?