“It is the time of the clouds”

“The what of the what?”

“The weather forecast for today, times of the clouds.”

“The heck are you talking about ‘times of the couds’?!”

“I told you that is the forecast, it is cloudly, therefore it is the times of the clouds.”

“You are the worst weather man I have ever heard of.”

“No, actually, the worst weather man you have ever heard of lives in San Diego, California. He predicted huricanses and it was completely times of the sun.”

“How do you know I knew about that because I knew it?”

“I’m physic.”

“More like physco.”

“Yes, that too would you like to see my papers proving it?”

“Would you like to get out of my office?”

“No, because you don’t own this office, the author does, actually the author owns us as well we are slaves to him in this story.”

“The hell are you talking about now?”

“I’ve been sent to kill you, I’m the friendly assasian referred to in the author’s first ficlet.”

“Huh?”

“Good-bye.” He walks out and office splodes.