Can you write a funny tale that includes 6 of these lines,just for the pure fun of it?

Can you write a funny tale that includes 6 of these lines,just for the pure fun of it?
1. A job? You mean,like……..(gulp) ….work?
2. Spiritually, he is bankrupt.
3. (You choose a song title of The Monkees as one of your lines.)
4. Move to ________ and see how much you like THAT way of life.
5. And now… well, being a Christian woman, I can’t say it!
6. (You choose a title of a Doris Day movie as one of your lines.)
7. That is soooooooo far down my list of priorities.
8. And now for the Pièce de Résistance……Ta DAHHHHHHHHH !!
9. I do! I do! I do! I do believe in ________.
10. A roach….. the size of Rhode Island !
11. Okay….I’ll try to dumb it down.
12. We’re in hell. We’ve entered hell! When?

Best answer:

Answer by shir
As the smell wafted up the stairs, insulting our senses along with every fiber of our moral being, Herb and I decided this situation could no longer continue. We crept down the stairway with quiet feet but a firm resolve and flung open the door to our son’s room. Of course, it only “flung” open so far due to the resistance created by a pile of dirty clothes behind it. Herb looked at me sadly.
“We’re in hell. We’ve entered hell! When!” he pleaded.
Blessedly, the blaring music stopped along with the off-tune, screaming rendition of a Monkees song. There he stood in his Mickey Mouse boxers, unaware of our presence with his back toward us, hollering into a hairbrush, “And now for the Piece de Resistance…..Ta DAHHHHH!” He twirled around…and stopped cold.
“Dad! Mom! What’re you doing down here?”
“Son, we’ve got to have a talk,” I said, as Herb began searching the room.
“Ah-ha! A roach!”
“OOOOHHHH!” I screamed and jumped up onto the dresser, sending an assortment of cheap cologne bottles and Superman figurines flying to the floor. “A roach…the size of Rhode Island!” I screamed, eyes shut tightly.
“Calm down, Dear. Not THAT kind of roach. Look!”
I opened my eyes and peered at the still-smoking evidence as Herb dropped it into a half-full-God-only-knows-how-old cup of what might have once been apple juice…or…beer.
I shook my head sadly and thought, “Our son, our only son is spiritually bankrupt.”
Apparently, I had said it out loud because Geoff insisted, “I do! I do! I do! I do believe in God and all that stuff.”
“All that stuff. Hmmph. That statement alone makes it obvious you don’t,” argued Herb.
“Well, just because I don’t go to church with you and Mom and do all the stuff you do doesn’t mean that I’m spiritually bankrupt, as you call it. I have my own form of worship.”
Herb’s brows furrowed and his cheeks began to blaze.
“Listen here, son! Standing around in your shorts belting out “Hey, Hey, Hey I’m a Believer” does NOT in any way qualify you for a pass into the Pearly Gates!”
Herb clenched his fist and raised it. Then he lowered it and stomped out of the room and up the stairs.
I sighed and forced from my lips the words, “Geoffrey, we’ve decided you either need to move out or clean up your act and get a job.”
“A job? You mean, like….(gulp)…work? Well, uh, I’ve already told you. Me and the guys are gonna make it big and be playing gigs all over in just a few months.”
I laughed, scoffing.
“You mean you and that mangy bunch that goes into our garage every night and makes every dog in the neighborhood howl in protest at the awful screeches and yelling ya’ll do?”
“Mom, we are PRACTICING. We’re gonna get better real soon and then we’ll make loads of moolah.”
“Oh, Geoffrey…puhLEASE! If you think for one minute that ya’ll are gonna audition for somebody, slompin’ in there with greasy hair hangin’, dressed in filthy clothes, and your pants fallin’ down showin’ your fat, lazy…and now, well, being a Christian woman, I can’t say it!”
Herb came back in, just a touch calmer. His cheeks had faded to a dark, pinkish mulberry.
“You guys are just TOO old-fashioned and prim and proper. Ya need to loosen up,” Geoff asserted.
“HEY….(Herb took a deep breath)…Hey, we give you a roof over your head and food to eat and all we ask in return is that you respect our values and contribute to the household. If you think its rough here, move to Skid Row and see how much you like THAT way of life.”
Geoff hung his head.
“Yeah…I know. Ya’ll are good to me and I shouldn’t have been doing that in your house…but…can I still have my friends over in the garage every night?”
Herb just looked at me and rolled his eyes.
I patted Geoffrey on the shoulder and said, Yes, Geoff…but only if you keep the volume down and get a job during the day.” Still, I shuddered at the thought of his friends. They looked so much like mangy strays that I had put up a sign by my flower garden: “Please Don’t Eat the Daisies”.
Herb and I silently walked up the stairs and on into the livingroom. Herb picked up the remote and turned on the news and I gathered my knitting.
“Do you think he’ll ever grow up, Dear?” Herb asked hopefully.
“I sure hope so, Herb…I sure hope so. The boy’ll be 43 next Tuesday.”

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