It was their year to live life on the edge.

We built them up believing they were the best of us, but when we discovered they were merely human, we tore them down without mercy.

They sat comfortably in front of the television telling themselves it would never happen to them.

The high of the holidays had worn off and now the financial and physical hangover kicked in full bore.

Their latest scheme backfired when the old codger they were attempting to scam turned out to be the greatest flimflam artist of them all.

Eventually, he became so lazy he moved into the living room in order to avoid shuffling back and forth to the bedroom each night.

The children lay panting on the floor covered in gift wrap and ribbons.

The children wondered if it was Santa they heard banging his way through the front room in the dark or just their drunken uncle coming home late from another bender.

Irene had a feeling everyone knew it was xeroxed copies of her butt that had been plastered all over the office after the Christmas party.

There were easier ways of making a living, but for Jimmy Doolan the rackets made him feel alive, even in the face of immanent death.

Hanging on to the edge of existence his vision was clearer than it had ever been.

All the cruelties, injustices, and defeats she had suffered only made her stronger, and stripped away the pleasure her enemies and tormentors had enjoyed.

As his younger colleague's star rose, Dave found himself wallowing in self pity and thoughts of revenge.

The gangly, loose-lipped lad was always banging into things and letting slip his most embarrassing secrets.

She spent her entire life waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Every year the world got worse and the fatalistic cult members shouted that this was the end, but the Earth kept on revolving, babies were born, and lives were lived.

They shared their house with three dogs, two cats, a gerbil and a grumpy poltergeist.

They rounded up the usual suspects even though they knew the caper couldn't have been pulled off by these addicts, rejects, and halfwits.

The teleprompter shorted out and the newscaster suddenly found himself reading the lyrics of Kiss' Lick It Up to  a nation of confused viewers.

The singer slipped on the silk panties that had been flung on stage and tumbled into the waiting arms of his female fans.

The party came to a sudden stop after it became clear to everyone, except the drunken hostess' husband, that she was sleeping with here dance instructor via the sleaziest Tango anyone had ever witnessed.

He woke up that morning with his mind made up and padded on stockinged feet to the gun cabinet.

The old-timers stepped up to decry how their party had been stolen by wing-nuts and saber-rattlers but no one was listening anymore.

Every time the candidate ratcheted up the vitriol, his standing only grew.

The internet became their nanny, advisor, and best friend.

At night he dreamed of swimming with sharks and by day hunkered down in his office avoiding his coworkers.

No one hailed him as a hero or patted him on the back, but Hank had served his country without peer as a deep-cover OSS operative during the war.

We made a promise to each other but time and circumstances smashed it to a pulp.

The media couldn't wait to put a nice little label on the incident and wrap it all up with a big red bow.

After that bloodiest of years the old man's predictions about the End Days didn't seem so funny.

All the Saints in the Catholic cosmos couldn't help this lost cause.