In a perfect world a "Party Pooper" would be
someone who could shoot confetti out of their butt.
I asked my calendar why it seemed so stressed around the end of December. It said it had too many dates to keep track of. I told it to just take things one day at a time.
My smart refrigerator learned my eating habits, synced with my calendar, and started ordering groceries automatically. Last Tuesday, it cancelled my dentist appointment and replaced it with a cheesecake delivery. When I confronted it, it simply displayed one message:
My son asked me why I quit my new job as a professional elevator operator after only one afternoon.
Where does a king keep his armies?
I asked the shopping cart why it kept wandering off on its own in the parking lot.
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