Category: My stories

Mother? Mother?

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Mother really likes to play Scrabble.
We’ve played for thirty years now. Whenever I come back home, that Scrabble board is out and ready.
So when she went into the hospital for surgery, sure enough, that Scrabble board was there on the rolling table right next to all the food cups with straws in them.
We play for a bit, and I notice she’s occasionally pushing a black button.
“It’s for the morphine,” she says.
I hold her hand, click the button a few times, and she gets way-out loopy.
Maybe now she’s fully whacked out, I’ll win.
Mother?
Mother?

Battery

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The bald black dude tells me that humanity is enslaved by machines and that we are nothing but batteries to them.
He holds up a battery, frowning.
“What?” I ask. “I’m just a double-A battery? Why can’t they just buy one from the store?”
The bald dude shakes his head. “You’re not getting the point.”
“What about a midget?” I ask. “Are they hearing aid battery sized?”
“Wait,” said the dude. “Just wait a second, okay?”
“Is this why there aren’t A or B batteries?” I ask.
He leaps into the air samurai style and kicks me in the head.

Starfield Of Dreams

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Aliens landed at Ray’s farm and wandered around, looking for cattle to mutilate and asses to probe.
When they found none, they walked up to the farmhouse and knocked on the door.
Ray racked his shotgun and opened it. “What the hell do you fuckers want?”
“We come in peace, blah blah blah,” said the alien commnander. “Didn’t there used to be cattle here?”
“I gave them up,” said Ray. “I built a baseball field and people came from all over to watch ghosts play baseball.”
The aliens thanked Ray, went to the field, and tried to ass-probe a ghost.

In The Cards

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You know that special psychic powers test with the cards that have the different shapes on them?
One person looks at a card and the other tries to read their mind to see what they see?
Well, they tested me for that and found that I could psychically see them no better than guessing. One out of five.
But when people tried to read my mind to see them, they got zero right. Worse than guessing.
Apparently, I have the psychic power to confuse people trying to read my mind.
Or I’m just on another wacko wavelength on my own.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 60

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The wedding day with Mary Todd came and went, but Abe was nowhere to be found.
He had gone insane, writing to his friend John Stuart that he was the most miserable man alive.
John found Lincoln sitting in a garbage heap, moaning.
“What’s wrong, Brother Abraham?” asked Stuart.
“She snores,” said Abe.
“Wear earplugs,” said Stuart.
“She’s crazy,” said Abe. “At night, she waves a knife at me.”
“That’s you, stupid,” said Stuart. “You sleepwalk while holding a knife. Then you wake up in front of mirrors.”
Abe and Mary Todd were married.
Stuart gave them a knife set.

Soaking Solo

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Humanity heads to Mars tomorrow.
Or, more specifically, me.
Someone came up with the brilliant idea that it makes more sense to send one man out to Mars than an entire crew.
I’ll be alone for the year it takes to get there, land, take off, and come back.
I was told to “load up” on things I’d miss during that time in low-gravity isolation.
So, I’ve hired one hooker after another and spent as much time I possibly can with them in a Jacuzzi.
I’ll probably miss the Jacuzzi more. There’s just no substitute for a long, hot soak.

Esther’s Ghosts

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Esther had her grandson go up into the attic and bring down the box from the corner.
“It’s for the museum,” she said, rubbing her wrist where the numbers were.
Later that week, the museum thanked her for her contributions, but insisted that she sit for an interview.
“We’d like to add your memories to the collection,” they said.
“Let those memories die with me, please,” said Esther.
“Without ghosts to haunt us, it could happen again,” said the museum. “How easily we forget.”
Esther nodded, hoping that there would never again be the need to keep awful memories around.

Disarming

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Maria Lopez was found dead in the breakdown lane, sitting in her SUV with her arm ripped out of its socket.
The first of many victims. Many more.
Pretty soon, you couldn’t drive the highways without passing one.
Then, a one-armed soccer coach crashed into an Emergency Room, covered with blood.
“I was talking on my cell phone, and he attacked me,” he said before dying.
The Cell Phone Vigilante was caught stalking an off-duty cop.
He’d lost his daughter to a careless driver talking on a cell phone. So, for revenge, he wandered the city and took their arms.

Mother of monsters

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Cynthia, quite literally, gave birth to the Teratagenic Art Movement.
She’d get pregnant and then take a whole series of birth defects-causing chemicals.
Once the “artwork” was ready, she’d have a late-term abortion and have the monstrosity preserved in a jar.
She was quite a prolific artist, splashing life and death on her revolting canvases.
When menopause finally hit, she realized that she had birthed no heir to pass her craft to.
Nor would any right-minded agency allow her to adopt.
Students came and students went, but the chemicals eventually killed Cynthia.
And the Art Movement with her, thank God.

Fishes and Loaves

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You’d think being Jesus Christ’s roommate would be cool, right?
Wrong, man. The guy’s seriously fucked up.
First off, the shit he does with his pet goldfish. He brings his friends over, multiples the thing, and eats all of the fishes alive except one.
Sticks that last one back in the fishbowl for the next time.
Then there’s the toaster. Sticks two slices of bread in the thing, thousands of slices pop out.
Crumbles it all up to feed the birds in the park.
I’d throw him out, but he keeps promising to cure my leprosy.
He never does, though.