The front door slammed shut. Through the curtains, she watched him walk to his car. She knew where he would go. It didn't bother her.
The villain shot the superspy dead, THEN explained the scheme, THEN the deathtrap with lasers and sharks. He'd finally got it right.
The Jabberwock held a smoking .45 over the sword-wielding (and very dead) man. "Snicker-snack, indeed!" it said.
Bob laughed: "Since you tweet, does that make you a twit?" Sally wished, not for the first time, for the failwhale to fall on him.
He handed her the sun and moon. She looked up at the unnaturally dark sky. "You promised me the stars, too," she said, and walked away.
"Is it selfish to seek pleasure, if it hurts another?" he asked, sharpening the blade. She tugged at the ropes. "You decide," he said.