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Animal Fiction
"If you have enough monkeys banging randomly on typewriters, they will eventually type the works of William Shakespeare."
Well why is it always monkeys, eh? Why should the monkeys get all the glory? And Shakespeare, why Shakespeare? I think it would be much better to have penguins typing out the works of Raymond Chandler;
"Wak, wak!" said the broad as she waddled into my office. I put down the bourbon and slid the glass away from me, what did this skirt want out of me? Her husband had run off with the head cashier and all the profits from their Mom and Pop fishery and she wanted me to track them down, my only clue, a valet stub from the Hotel Grand. Opening a drawer I took the cold hard steel of my snub revolver and tucked it under my wing, then I called Jerry and told him I'd need a cunning hotel disguise, maybe a bellhop or a dinner waiter jacket...
Or what about puppies rewriting the works of Tom Clancy?
"Wuff! Wuff!" The warning came too late as a hail of bullets tore through the wall beside me. I ducked down and covered my big floppy ears with my paws. Ambush! The Columbian Andrex cartel had been waiting for us. The woosh of an RPG-7 round streaked past overhead and director Fluppy-wumpkin's Toyota imploded showering bodywork and shrapnel around us; he'd never go walkies again. I pushed a door open with my snout and trotted away from the carnage wondering if I'd ever get another chance to sniff my wife's bottom...
Or finally how about some Dan Brown written by sloths?
Hmm, actually with the lazy plotting and undeveloped characters maybe that one isn't a stretch of the imagination.
Oct.25.2005