The pistol was cocked, ready to go. Its bags were packed, you might say. Its shoes were on, and it was at Grandma's. Its teeth were brushed, its coat on and backpack packed. With bullets.
"Reach for the sky!" Criminal Pete shouted, holding the pistol from the previous paragraph at the unsuspecting victims.
"Okay, okay," the unsuspecting victims all said in unison. They all reached for the sky at the exact same time. They were synchronized mug victims. It was a living!
"Stop that, it's creepy, like dolls or clowns," Criminal Pete said. It was a bit creepy, but less so due to the fact that the synchronized mugger were reaching for the stars with jazz hands. That made it a bit more festive.
"Sorry," the leader of the synchronized mug victims said. "We're synchronized mug victims. It's a living!"
Criminal Pete was shaking. He was jumping, jiving and harmonizing in fear. His eyes were crossed. His hair was mussed. What else? Um, his knees were wobbly and his chin was doubly. His belly shook like a bowl full of shaking belly.
At the last second, a dinosaur wandered into the narrative and ate them all in one gulp. The end.
The pistol was cocked, ready to go.