Erwin’s Catch 22
That bloody interfering woman drove him mad.
His temporal microscope and paradigm shifter had been moved so he nosed around them. Nothing.
‘Darling, have you seen the compsognathus?’ he shouted.
His wife entered with a cloth and bottle of Singularity-Be-Gone. ‘What, dear?’
‘The dinosaur.’
‘It was weeing on the Wedgwood. I popped it into that box of yours.’
He looked at the steel box. It was silent.
‘You going to open it, dear?’
‘I daren’t,’ Schrödinger replied.
Feline Fatale
‘You flirt with all your clients?’
‘Only the skirts, Miss McKitie.’
She’d slunk into my office; more
curves than a Fibonacci spiral; a golden mean of blonde.
Trouble.
‘I’ve been framed like a two-bit Rembrandt!’ She blew her Lucky in my face, ‘Damned pigeons. I’d never—’
‘But now McKitie’s is selling something called Pigestives?’ I coughed on her smoke, ‘I need some air, cookie.’
‘I’ll give you air.’ she cooed, pulling out a 38.