theres always the classic sitting up and smacking his head on the roof "funny, never noticed the ceiling was that low before", then possibly stubs toes on the opposite wall getting out of bed

I like The Looking Glass

It's motto could be "Come on through, you don't know what you'll find."

or objects in the looking glass may be stranger than they appear

which craft
the sixth incence

red right hand - nick cave and the bad seeds

from what you say there is a test
of poetry skills, they want the best
articulators, tried and true
as uncle sam says "they want you!"
miss snark in person (or in spirit)
will read our literary pirouettes,
and for our honours will awarded be
that golden apple of knowledges tree,
the goal, the possible future chance
to join the stately authors dance
and be acclaimed by critical mind;
as long as your query is defined.
well if this rumour is attested
(and i challenge here not to be be bested)
my 50 pages will soon follow
if the plot isn't hard to swallow.
good luck to all and luck to me
encased as it is in poetry!

heres one i have been playing with for a while.

Gold.
Shimmering gold moving softly in the wind.
As the bewitched eye follows the brain is shocked back to consciousness by a figure standing impassively, also watching the golden tresses.  For tresses they are, lost from their anchor and blowing gently across the courtyard in the light spring breeze.  The figure turns away, turns their back on the corpse covered in a blanket of shimmering blonde, ignoring the fine threads of hair caught on robes soaked in blood.  The woman (for the figure is female, as is the woman vacant of life sprawled across the dark stone flags) moves to a fountain in the very centre of the sheltered courtyard and begins to wash methodically.  Without turning her head she adresses another, one lost in the shadows of the protecting walls, and a shadow of something else, something other.
"And so she is dead.  Payment is expected by sundown tomorrow."
"It will be there."
"And you?  Will you be there?"
The dark watcher does not answer, causing the woman to turn and address them directly.
"Will you be there?"
Movement indicates a nod, but in the fading light it is hard to be sure.  The woman watches, waiting for any indication of a definite answer.  Finally the dark one speaks again.
"At your stepmothers funeral?  Of course.  Perhaps the key question is, will you?"
Around the base of the fountain blood begins to pool.

just read sailor jim...




....and actually cried laughing.

how about

does anyone else hear...strings?

or

help me, help me! it's the billy goats gruff!