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The Writer


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A writer died and as she floated in limbo, a disembodied voice told her she had the option of going to heaven or hell.



"Can I look them both over before I make my decision?" she asked.



As the writer descended into the fiery pits of hell, she saw row after row, level after level of writers chained to desks and banging away at keyboards in a steaming sweatshop atmosphere. As the writers slaved away, they were repeatedly whipped with thorny lashes.



"Oh my," said the writer. "May I see heaven now?"



A few moments later, after she ascended, she saw the same conditions for the writers in heaven.



"Wait a minute," said the writer. "This is just as bad as hell!"



"No, it's not," replied the disembodied voice. "Here, your work gets published."

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Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Back atcha:

A university creative writing class is asked to write essays containing these four elements: religion, royalty, sex and mystery.

The prize-winning essay reads: "My God," said the Queen, "I'm pregnant. I wonder whose it is?"

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