Fly? No.

I don’t like to fly.

I used to not mind it at all, but now, I can’t stand it.

I tried hypnotherapy, virtual simulations, and all kinds of drugs and New Age crap.

None of it works. It only seems to make things worse.

So, I stopped flying.

And then I realized that I like where I live. It’s a really nice city, with a seaside resort a short train ride away.

Except that I now don’t like to ride that train.

Or in a bus.

Or car.

I’ll just sit here at home.

It’s quiet. And safe.

(I hope.)

Fashionable Shedding

I own a lot of black shirts because I like black shirts, and I fool myself into thinking that I look good in black.

When we owned two black cats, I could pick them up and hug them without worrying if they would shed on me.

Now that we’ve got Tinny, she’ll shed a lot of white and gray hair on me when I try to hug her.

Then she’ll jump out of my arms to get away. And back to her Mommy’s lap.

I’m not jealous, mind you. Let her deal with the shedding.

I look good in black.


Myst and Bruwyn got along great.

They slept together.
They groomed each other.
They went outside and hunted together.

Now, it’s Tinny and Myst.

They don’t sleep together.
They don’t groom each other. Their ears are filthy.
And we only let Myst go outside to hunt.

She whines at the back door to be let out. So, we do.

Then she stares through the glass to be let in.

We open the door, but she runs off again.

She keeps doing this over and over.

It’s not right to wish that Bruwyn was alive, and not Myst.

But I do.

Learning to Just Eat Shit by John Musico

Learning to Just Eat Shit
by John Musico

Young Bobby stared down between his legs at his poop floating in the toilet water below and wondered; “Why is it always brown regardless of the color of the food I ate?” He thought back to his kindergarten days and paint class. “The more colors you mix together the darker the color. Yes that must be it.” He was promised the things he learned in school would be of use later in life. “Damn straight!”
“Why should it always smell the same? Things taste like what they smell like…” He had a plan; could come in handy later in life.

South by John Musico

By John Musico

I immigrated from Italy. I worked in a small grocery store in Brooklyn. The owner was a sullen Jewish man, Steiner, who didn’t talk much. There wasn’t a day that went by without Steiner reminding me of my Sicilian background. The Italians have a gesture for most any word and stomping your right foot meant; “Southerner”. It was an offensive gesture which really meant; “peasant”. Insult to injury, he stomped often.
One day in my broken English I demanded he stop that. He replied; “My leg is always falling asleep and it’s how I put a stop to the tingling”.

Kosher Maggots

Maimonides counted 613 commandments in the torah.

Number 185 prohibits people from eating non-kosher maggots.

Does this mean there are kosher maggots?

Nothing on the Internet.

So, I asked my rabbi, but he called me a noodnik and told me to leave.

Then I went to the grocery store to look for some.

The kid at the register thought I said “Faggots” and called the cops.

That’s when I looked up Maimonides.

He lived in the 12th Century.

Perhaps all the kosher maggots were eaten to the point of extinction.

Just like the kosher lobster and shrimp.

Stupid medieval bastards.

Chicken Legs

For many years, Baba Yaga’s hut walked around on a pair of gigantic chicken legs.

But a harsh winter forced her to cook and eat one of the legs.

Instead of walking around smoothly on two legs, the hut hopped and wobbled on its single leg. Everything inside the hut was knocked around, and anything fragile was smashed to bits.

The old witch was forced to cook and eat the other leg.

Since she couldn’t find any more chicken legs, she bought a Winnebago.

Not as terrifying-looking as a magical chicken leg hut, but you should see how she drives!