You aren’t funny, she says. He disagrees, and to prove it he dances a jig. But she’s not impressed. Pull your pants up, you idiot, she says.

The skyscraper was built with much fanfare but it was ugly and seemed to get uglier every day. So a mob found the architect. And killed him.

His friends gathered, to offer their best wishes. Drinks were passed around as they waited. And then he appeared. The constipation was over.