Can you write an amusing BLOCK PARTY story, including as many lines as possible,just 4 fun?

Question

The lines should not be the WHOLE story...just a part of it.

Have fun, friends.

1. I want to get in touch with my inner-child...... And furthermore, I want to know exactly what that means!

2. Your jokes stink, I hate your shoes and I could hurt you!

3. And THEN do you know what that hussy said to me?! Sssh! Here she comes......DAHHHHLING....How ARE you?

4. A flaky neighbor, a fortune teller, and an alcoholic priest.

5. This meat tastes VERY weird.

6. I'm your worst nightmare...... a stand-up comedian raised on a military base in Geilenkirchen, Germany.

7. Trying to sell our house in this market is giving both of us peptic ulcers....And yet we remain naively optimistic...*Hic* *Burp* *Groan*

8. KOOL AID?! I asked for ASTI SPUMANTE, you moron!!

9. Oh dear! My macho,arrogant husband has lost his secret decoder ring!

10. Your effect on people can be characterized by fatigue, vomiting, disturbed vision, muscular weakness, and the over-whelming desire to quote Edgar Allen Poe.

11. I hope you lose your job and get abducted by aliens!

12. I want to go home, bolt the door and pretend we don't live here.

Answer 1

NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET

The Hendersons were what you might call the social butterflies of Elm Street. Of all our neighbors, they were by far the most interactive. Hal Henderson was the kind of guy who always had a wave and an inane comment as he was walking by, like "so... looks like you're weeding the garden!" On more than one occasion I wanted to respond with something like, "Noooo.... actually, I burying the cat!" or some other sarcastic comeback, but I always nodded and held my tongue. Betty Henderson was an airhead with a blonde bouffant hairdo who nervously flitted from door to door for one cause or another. If it wasn't the National Heart Association drive, it was girl scout cookie sales (for her granddaughter, of course). I think it gave her an excuse to peer into her neighbors' living rooms and pick up on the latest gossip. She was a busybody if ever there was one. It came as no surprise that they hosted our annual dysfunctional block party year after year.

The block party was usually held in August. This year, it had been brutally hot and sticky. Ever the troopers, the Hendersons had insisted on putting on their best party smiles and soldiering on in the 100 degree heat. People slowly gravitated to their yard as the sun sank lower in the west. Outwardly, it looked like a normal party, but the temperature had put some people in a surly mood.

I spotted some of the old regulars. Our flaky next-door-neighbor had decided to bring visiting relatives who turned out to be a fortune teller and an alcoholic priest. The macrobiotic, new-age yuppies on the other side of us showed up with their newlywed daughter and son-in-law. More faces, familiar and unfamiliar, joined them. As we walked up to Hal's 100 year old barbeque grill, Betty was whispering and gesticulating frantically at the fortune teller. "... And THEN do you know what that hussy said to me?! Sssh! Here she comes...DAHHHHHLING... how ARE you!" she purred, throwing her arms around Mrs. Macrobiotic.

Meanwhile, the priest, who had been very solemn and quiet, was starting to get a bit juiced. The transformation was amazing. Off came the collar and the black jacket. He was wearing a Metallica T-shirt underneath! He had his flaky relative by both arms while he talked, giving her a good shake with every other spoken word for emphasis. 'TRYING to SELL your HOUSE is giving BOTH of us PEPTIC ULCERS..." *shake shake* "And YET we remain NAIVELY OPTIMISTIC..." *Hic* *Burp* * Groan*

The smells of roasting meat hung in the air, but I really wasn't very hungry. Mostly, I came to these things because they were much more entertaining than reality TV. Dan just shook his head. "UN-freaking-believable!" he said under his breath. We both began to giggle.

The Macrobiotics' son-in-law was also getting drunk and disorderly. Why is it that people get hard of hearing when they're tipsy? With each highball, he was getting louder and louder. "Hey! Ya heard the one about the priest, the rabbi and the rhinocerous?" he yelled, sloshing his drink onto the priest. Uh oh. Wrong subject. The priest, not wanting to be outdone, yelled louder. "NO!! And YOU, sir, are an ignorant slob!!!" It took the son-in-law a full minute to process the message. Meanwhile, Mr. Macrobiotic piped up. "This meat tastes VERY wierd. Got any tofu?" he asked. Then, the son-in-law bared his teeth and hissed at the priest, "I'm your worst nightmare... a stand-up comedian raised on a military base in Gielenkirchen, Germany. Don't mess with me, buddy, I know Judo!" He proceeded to get into his best fighting stance. "This is better than Celebrity Death Match!" whispered my husband.

Betty was trying to suck up to Mrs. Macrobiotic, nodding her head emphatically. She reminded me of a bobble head doll on amphetamines. "Why yes... I want to get in touch with my inner-child... And furthermore, I want to know exactly what that means!" Whoops. Now there was more action from the priest. It was almost too much to take in all at once. Our heads were whipping back and forth like spectators at a tennis match. "KOOL AID?! I asked for ASTI SPUMANTE, you moron!!" he screamed at Hal. Then, he reached over abruptly and dumped the contents of the paper cup onto Hal's head.

"You know," I said as nonchalantly as possible, "I think maybe we should mosey across the street, don't you?" "Uh, yeah," replied Dan. "This is a pretty unstable mixture. I think she's gonna blow." We started inching away just as the pickled priest went nuclear. He lunged at the sloshed son-in-law. "Your jokes stink, I hate your shoes and I could hurt you!" he snarled.

We got away just in time. Hal and the son-in-law each landed a punch squarely on the priest's nose, which gave a sickening CRUNCH! Whatever was cooking on the decrepit grill burst into flame, catching Betty's hair on fire. The priest tried to fight back, but his fist missed his attackers by a country mile. Instead, it landed squarely on the fortune teller's jaw. In the end, the police, the fire department and two sets of paramedics stepped in to mop up the mess. We had confiscated the last of the asti spumante and sat on the front porch watching the festivities die down. "Well, another year, another fine block party," said Dan, toasting me. "Yeah. Couldn't get much weirder," I agreed. "I hope the priest doesn't get in too much trouble. Dan winked, then said, "I think he'll regain his senses with a bit of fresh air and exorcise." We both laughed.