still bored, so let's tell a story one sentence at a time

Having remembered this handy phrase, which I must say is much pithier than "klaatu barada nikto", I pronounced it flawlessly aloud, thus preventing the next phase of Jeremy's auto-explosion sequence, which had it been implemented would have reduced me and the talent agent to grape jelly in a trice.

Craving dismembered Miss Dandy Glaze (hitch-eye lust spray, isthmus bitchier burrata nicht dough), Ike renounced "et flobulus lea laude," crust indenting the text craze of Mary Lee's grotto ex-Trojan pretense, miffed lad Ibsen gimp redemption could bathe 'n' soothed Lee anti-balance patient through great jolly innards rice.

Ike soon returned to his home and sat on his couch, which for some reason was completely burnt.

"I like Ike," said Ike, and he liked what he said, and he felt pretty good.

His couch was burnt because the sun was unfortunately playing with long sticks and started a fire.

The sticks were long and created long arcs of fire that stretched from the surface of the sun to fields and forests of the earth.

Fortunately, he had his Nissan Couch Card, and could buy another.

Ike started browsing the Ikea catalog online, looking for ideas for a new couch incorporating Scandinavian contemporary design, when it struck him forcefully that his name Ike shared the first three letters of Ikea.

"Ay caramba!" he exclaimed.

And even as the words escaped his lips, he knew at once his entire destiny had been revealed.

"Destiny," he hissed, "this is a shopping mall and you need to put your robe back on!"

Jeremy not having disposed of the burnt couch, Destiny retaliated to his mouth-progenitor’s exhortation by feverishly strewing layers of charred fabric about the food court of the shopping mall, getting fabric flakes all up in the chicken teriyaki.

Customers' complaints about the chicken teriyaki mounted rapidly and vociferously.

sadly, it was because Lil Wayne cooked it without washing his hands after wiping his bum

A few customers complimented the originality of adding charred fabric to the teryaki as an intriguing new flavor, but they were booed down by the majority and made to feel ridiculous.

“Last chance kitchen starts now,” said a feminine but anonymous voice emanating from the teriyaki, just as Lil Wayne was packing his knives.

Everybody in town was killed.

Lil Wayne, as an out-of-towner, was spared.

Icicles gently formed on a nearby corpse.

Suddenly, nothing happened.

Chapter II: Jeremy’s Trial by Fire

"I'd love to have a barbeque tonight", Jeremy said, even though we had no barbeque pit, no barbeque grill, no hibachi, no fire ring, no charcoal, no wood, no lighter fluid, no barbeque utensils, five wooden matches, and a head of lettuce, a carrot, and three radishes in the refrigerator.

Suddenly, Jeremy saw Eddie Murphy eating Riff Raff's face in the middle of the street, and he decided not to intervene.

Although the thought did flit through Jeremy's circuits that perhaps when Eddie Murphy was finished with Riff Raff, there might be some deep cuts he could consider that would marinate well.

suddenly, he looked back outside, and Eddie was gone, with pieces of Riff Raff strewn about the street, like taffy

Gee, maybe I should have asked Eddie for his autograph, Jeremy wondered.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps.

If that's Eddie Murphy, I'm definitely going to ask for his autograph, thought Jeremy.

It was Eddie Murphy.

A trickle of blood had escaped from the corner of his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

Eddie Murphy was blackout drunk again, and at midnight it would be his birthday.

"Eddie, can I have your-", Jeremy began to ask, but he was interrupted by Eddie attempting to eat his face.

Eddie swiftly broke several of his incisors on Jeremy's all-titanium cranium.

Meanwhile, the hit song “All-titanium Cranium” was playing on the radio.

Between the radio blaring and Eddie Murphy's loud drunken yelps as he danced around holding his mouth, Jeremy wasn't sure if Eddie had heard him say, "-autograph", so he helpfully extended the pen and paper in Eddie's direction and sort of jiggled them to draw attention to their mute appeal for some little personalized greeting, such as 'To Jeremy, rots of ruck, your pal Eddie'.

Instead, Eddie, who had ceased to be human after the stroke of midnight due to the curse put on him by Rick James years earlier, took the pen and brutally stabbed Jeremy to death in the neck, which was very much not titanium and smelled kind of fishy.

After Jeremy's apparent death Eddie began to wonder, after that whole 'give me your autograph' thing, just how big a fan of his Jeremy had been, and so slowly and methodically began to investigate whether the apartment contained any of his comedy recordings as vinyl, cassette tape or CD, and film roles, as VHS tape, Betamax discs, or DVDs, plus any wall posters, People magazines, biographies, or just books that may have mentioned him in passing.

It turns out Jeremy had mistaken him for Richard Pryor.

The jagged wound made Jeremy's warranty, neatly but perplexingly tucked into a cranny, completely indecipherable. The corpse, or whatever this was, was far from exquisite. Just a crumpled smelly mass.

Eddie, still thinking himself the original protagonist, thought, "I want my towel back, and I want a refund."

(that was more than one sentence)

(consider the offending 2nd sentence expunged and move on)

(oops. also include the 3rd, and 4th, too)

His warranty, however, did not cover "acts of Eddie Murphy while dehumanized" and therefore its current illegibility was of little import.

Randall Flagg arrived on the scene, realizing it was time once again for his reign.

"Eddie! My main man! Can I have your autograph?", Randall exclaimed with all the fervor of a true fan.

"Flagg?" gasped Eddie, his voice betraying the horrible suspicion that his unsportsmanlike conduct during the Fifth Intergalactic War might finally come to light with the sudden reappearance of this, his arch-nemesis and former commanding Güberhauptführe.

Then Eddie's eyes hungrily alit on the pen Flagg was holding out in his direction in all innocence, believing that this Eddie was still the same old Eddie the cut-up and clown he knew from long ago, unchanged by fame, fortune, untold amounts of drugs and alcohol, and Rick James' curse.

A few moments passed, and as the fierce and raging tears began to clear from Eddie's keen and incisive eye, he espied an inscription upon the Flagg-pen, the pen which we knew had traveled lightyears from a distant, squalid dimension: "Baktar bicht nÿeer biní Qglooob."

He hummed a tune by Buzzcocks, "I don't mind" he thought it was, although he couldn't be sure.

For the first time since brutally eliminating Jeremy, Eddie Murphy felt almost human, but it quickly passed.