At 10:30 a.m. on March 1, 1979, I shaved off all my hair, and it grew back out immediately.

That near-championship season, Lee Summers shaved his pubes in the shape of a V for Victory and three points too many off of the last game in the semi-finals.

It was all over for me by late December back in '63: I had jumped the gun, the shark, and the guard rail on a tight curve overlooking Exploding Mustang Canyon. (Bonus second sentence: “Oh, what a night.”)

OK, I think this might be cheating, but here's another one:

Three months after his conviction, Jimmy the Snake squealed, first to the cops, and later, at the hands of Big Paulie, like a pig.

This one tricky because it's passive, but keeps up the crime theme of the last one:

At 8:31, hearing the cops' knock on the door and the chime of the oven timer, Frank realized that his goose, and the goose, were cooked.

That night in La Sante prison Genet tossed off the last chapter of his first novel, his hat into the ring as France's greatest living writer, his cellmate's salad, and in his sleep all night long dreaming of future glories.

I either lose or gain extra points for writing 19th Century fan fiction, but:

It was day 79, and my hopes, dreams, ego, and hot air balloon were quickly deflating.

It was the summer of '78, and we had nothing to lose. We were living on the edge, in sin, and over a head-shop on Lakeshore and 8th.

On October 5, 2004 in the Rafah refugee camp, an unnamed Israeli army captain shot a thirteen-year-old girl named Iman al-Hams, approached her body and shot her two more times to make sure she was dead, and then, heading back to his outpost, turned around and shot her ten more times until his rifle was empty — and his mouth off on a walkie-talkie channel that was recorded and subsequently played on Israeli TV, saying: “This is commander. Anything that's mobile, that moves in the zone, even if it's a three-year-old, needs to be killed. Over” — but not himself in the foot, for he was later cleared of any wrong-doing.

This may be the shortest story ever:

Once upon a time, there was a dog. It died. The end.

That night, Ladislas Bouchignolles mounted to the challenge, his second hard drive, and his neighbor Gervaise.

In the afternoon of Wednesday, May 24th, 2006, Yuliya Maninina butchered her pig, the English language, and the Beethoven Piano Sonata No. 4 in E-flat major.

(Wouldn't this contest be more challenging with a zeugma rather than a syllepsis?)

On Tuesday, March 4th, Salach Abdel Rachmim Izchak, 21, of Ramallah, exploded in anger, his car bomb into the side of the Egged No. 29 bus, and the myth of moral equivalence.

The king died and then the queen died of grief.

Frye. Two words shorter.

In the Perl world, this game is called golf. The shortest series of characters that will perform the desired function is the winner. Perl has structures which are like metaphors, in that they condense meaning at the price of obfuscation, making Perl my favorite programming language.