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Have you ever looked at closely at your ears. Don't you find that most people's ears are a bit uneven. I noticed it the other night when I was sitting with my girl and nibbling (10) the hangy-down part of the left ear. I made the mistake of commenting that it seemed a bit "deformed" when compared to her right ear. Well, let me tell you, that was a big mistake. (6) She raised a well manicured eyebrow and adopted a haughty pose. "Deformed?" she asked. "You think I'm deformed." (7) The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up because I had seen that look before and it did not bode well for me. Everytime she strikes that pose, (8) I can feel it in my gut that something bad is about to happen. Sure enough, she grabbed both my hangy-down parts and pulled them so hard I cried out "Stop, (4) You are destroying my few remaining brain cells." It hurt really bad. Much like the time she got mad at a boy who was teasing her in school. She pulled his hair so hard (9) he pounded his fist so hard on the desk that he broke 10 bones in his hand. So, take if from me guys, never comment on anything you think is a bit odd about your girlfriend's physical appearance. Just shut up and nibble.

In a small rural town where everyone knows everyone else, there lives an elderly preacher and his wife. When I first met them, they seemed nice enough. These days, if you ask me, I think they are a rather weird couple (even though you didn’t ask me). She’s a wee bit nosey (3) and I noticed she often wears several stolen swords on the hangy-down part of the left ear (10). What bothers me most is the sense of foreboding about them whenever I meet them on the street, something truly dark and evil. I can feel it in my gut (8). I get wobbly knees everytime he’s near me and I become extremely frightened (5). He reminds me of Randall Flagg from Stephen King’s "The Stand." The last time I saw him the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up (7).

The couple only venture out in the dark of the night like two vampires searching for their next meal; one evening, I overheard them arguing at the local pub where they were both getting quite sloshed (undboutedly it was real blood in their Bloody Marys). She was yelling at him, “That biker chick is making eyes at you (2). I can see that she wears her heart on her sleeve (1). Just what have you been up to this time? This is my final warning; despite your flimsy excuses, if you do THAT again, you’ll look like mashed potatoes with cream cheese filling and no one will believe you!” The biker chick, mistakenly thinking his wife was speaking to her, immediately turned around and glared. She raised a well-manicured eyebrow and adopted a haughty pose . “Listen, sister, I won’t take that from anyone. So mind your manners, or you’ll wind up looking like sweet potatoes with raspberry pudding sauce."

The gnarly preacher became so enraged at both of them that he turned beet red and his black hat fell off. “You are destroying my few remaining brain cells,” he bellowed, (4) though we all knew he only had one brain cell left and he was already in the process of losing that one. Then, as he stood by the welcome desk near the door, he pounded his fist so hard on the desk that he spilled all their drinks and his diaper fell off (9)!

The common factor of your lines is that they all contain body parts. I enjoy light horror with a silly bit of levity thrown in.

You better watch out for Mrs. D. Doody. She's a wee bit nosey(3). If you confess to your priest, she'll have the conversation taped.

One time I confronted her about her spying and gossiping.She raised a well manicured eyebrow and adopted a haughty pose. Then the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up(7). She screamed at me, "I use my powers to turn you into a wooden puppet that looks just like me."

Thats when it occurred to me that Mrs. D. Doody was a Demon from Hell. I can feel it in my gut(8). She was there to destroy the town, and turn everyone into marionettes. She wanted a town filled with Howdy Doodys, just like her

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Then she called upon the Demon Dancer who appeared beside a desk.He pounded his fist so hard on the desk that (9) splinters flew everywhere. I was so afraid. I get wobbly knees everytime he's near me (5)

So I ran away from that town, while Mrs. D. Doody conquered the whole place with her gossip, lies and puppet wizardry.

All that remains of that town is miles of puppet ashes.

The piper started to play, “Moonlight Sonata” at the Scottish Chapter of Hells Angels’ annual concert and the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. (7) “You are destroying my few remaining brain cells.” (4) I shouted, to no avail. He kept playing. “I can feel it in my gut” (8) I added. Again, no response. “You know, That biker chick is making eyes at you.” I said, hoping that he would take a break.

Then the reason for his playing came clear. “I get wobbly knees every time he's near me (5) playing the pipes” cooed a sultry female voice.

“I play the harmonica,” I said impulsively. She raised a well manicured eyebrow and adopted a haughty pose.(6)

THE BIKER CHICK

“Oh, I say, Bones!” exclaimed Dr. Watkins, as Sherlock Bones joined him a booth at Le Gay Bandolero, “THAT BIKER CHICK IS MAKING EYES AT YOU.”

“Yes, I know,” verified Sherlock. “When I was at the bar getting our drinks, she asked if I would like to buy her one too. “I told her, ‘No, I am with someone,’ as I nodded in your direction.”

“'Do you mean that distinguished looking gentleman, wearing a dark, pinstripe suit, and a bowler hat?’” she asked, as SHE RAISED A WELL MANICURED EYEBROW AND ADOPTED A HAUGHTY POSE. “Yes, he’s the object of my affections,” I confirmed. “I GET WOBBLY KNEES EVERY TIME HE’S NEAR ME.”

“'So, are you like married or something?’” she leaned in to ask, while putting her hand upon my leg. “SHE’S A WEE BIT NOSEY, and should keep her hands to herself,’” I thought to myself, “'Not yet,’” I answered, “’but if you look closely you will see he is wearing a gold stud in THE HANGY-DOWN PART OF THE LEFT EAR that is a match to mine.’”

Then, the Biker Chick hitched up her leather skirt a bit higher on her thigh and sexily whispered in my ear, “’How about a Menage ‘et Tois?’”

“At her suggestion of a threesome, THE HAIR ON THE BACK OF MY NECK STOOD STRAIGHT UP!” confessed Bones. “Dear Watkins, can you even imagine how sick to my stomach I felt at such an idea?”

“Yes, dear, I can,” confirmed Dr. Watkins sympathetically. “I CAN FEEL IT IN MY GUT, but tell me, would it make any difference to you if I told you that SHE is a HE?”

“What makes you think that?” asked Bones sarcastically, never doubting that his powers of observation would have picked up on such a thing. “Elementary, dear Bones!” chortled Watkins, with a grin. “Did you notice that the Biker Chick wasn‘t wearing any underwear when she raised her skirt?”

“No!” exclaimed Bones gruffly. “You know I never pay attention to women’s private parts.” …. “Well, I did,” replied Watkins, “ and I can assure you that little filly is a 'shemale'!!”

“Obviously, your ‘gaydar’ isn’t working today,” Watkins continued. “Well, that explains a lot of things,” admitted Sherlock, somewhat chagrinned. “Shall we go ask her to dance with us?”

“By all means,” agreed Watkins, “and maybe later, we can take Biker Chick up on her offer.”

Well, not really in the mood to write a story right now, but the common factor is that each mentions a part of the human anatomy.