Ideas for the opening line of a new novel...

They call it...Monkey Road.

"Hand me my gun, Barbara."

Rose didn't like the idea of anal sex very much, but she did it nonetheless.

Klinklebor wiped the space dust from the Zirconic lenses of his facepiece and knew right away that this would be a long space day.

Usually, stumbling upon an angry bullfrog isn't cause for alarm, but this day would prove to be different.

His face was rough and his bourbon smooth, and his trigger finger could only be described as itchy.

Rose didn't like the idea of double penetration very much, but she did it nonetheless.

Heads turned in the forward church pews as Hubert directed both visible and audible anger at his ill-fitting slacks.

Call me she-male.

"Chop chop, Anoria, we'll be late for tea!" barked Auntie Guenevere.

When soap gets in your eyes, everybody cries - except Gunnery Sergeant Max Flagstone.

As the strengthening sun refracted its brilliance in the dewy grass, a thunderous fart echoed across the Irish countryside.

Rose didn't like the idea of autoerotic asphyxiation very much, but she did it nonetheless.

As his father briefly convulsed, then sighed and exhaled his last breath on that chilly November eve, 9-year-old Henry knew that it would be up to him to save the family funnel cake business from bankruptcy.

Standing in front of a broken urinal, penis in hand, Jenkins couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

The verdict rang out to the packed courtroom like a church bell on Easter Sunday. Guilty, one count, accessory to loitering.

Sister Roberta didn't know why she liked to eat Lucky Charms for breakfast, nor did she care.

It's always hard when a grandparent contracts a venereal disease.

The steady tick of the clock reassured the malignant spirit that time was relentless and knew not of good nor evil.

We all wanted to eat the hampsters, but they were just too difficult to catch.