Neville was destined to become a famous novelist. Thus far he hadn’t had anything published. In fact he hadn’t quite finished his first novel. It needed tweaking. There was a reason for his not having finished.
Neville became so attached to his characters that he refused to kill any of them off. Thus the pages of his masterpiece gathered more and more characters. They overcrowded the pages. If they had existed outside the novel, and lived in the same house, there would be one hell of a queue outside the bathroom.
Honestly, by the time he got down to the fourth generation he should have killed great grandpa off. But no! Great grandpa was arthritic and senile and very much alive.
Eventually he submitted his tome to an editor.
“There are too many characters,” the editor said. “Kill some of them off. It’s easy; just cross a few out. That’s how you do it.”
“I know, I know,” said Neville. He left the editor’s office with a heavy heart. He began the long walk home. Who to kill off? And how?
He was so engrossed and desolate that he failed to notice where he was going and got run over by a truck.
Don’t think that when the clever boys and girls of today get old, that they will have lost their ability to be clever.
Way down the track, miles from hence, Granny Boyle was angry; real angry. Some upstart-little-technological-savvy twerp had thought it fun to digitally go into the innards of Granny’s microwave’s electronics, and with the push of a button on a cell phone, make Granny’s microwave explode. Just as Granddad was using it. It killed him. Granny Boyle wasn’t simply sad; she was furious.
Getting her own cell phone, she started pressing numbers. Tap tap tap. Click click click. She pressed the final button.
“Hopefully,” said Granny, “that will have exploded the technological-savvy twerp’s phone and blown their head off.”