Cordelia was very good at darts. So good that she had her own dartboard in the basement. When friends came over she would frequently challenge them to a game of darts.
Brett should have known this, but he didn’t.
“Hey Brett, want to play darts?” Asked Cordelia.
Do you think Brett won? Nope. Brett sucked at darts. This shouldn’t have been a big deal, but Brett was a terrible loser, and inadvertently stuck one of the darts in his pocket.
Cordelia always counted her darts before going to sleep, so she was totally aware that one was missing. “Maybe Brett took it.” Thought Cordelia. “I’ll bug him about it once he cools down a bit.”
The next morning Cordelia was found dead, with a dart in her neck.
Upon closer examination it was found that every single dart she owned was accounted for.
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So she must have miscounted.
That sounds right.
I’m sure Cordelia, in the afterlife, felt very relieved that all her darts were accounted for.
I’m sure.
I was going to pen an Ode to memorialize this tragic event but I cannot think of any rhymes for “dart.”
I hate to say this, but you may never win a Pulitzer for your poetry.
I am hoping to at least win a Wurlitzer.
At least you’re managing expectations.
I can’t see the point!
That’s because it’s buried in Cordelia’s neck!
Another game?
Sure!
Middle for diddle!
Brett didn’t suck at darts after all then?!
Depends on your definition of suck.
Lol, yes indeed 🙂
Brett will soon get dart bored.
He may be be already.
those who play by the darts, die by the darts…
And the same is true for farts!
I’ll have to keep that in mind…