Category: My stories

The Economic Dimension

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Unregulated currency flow can be a dangerous thing.
First, they started with banks. They seemed innocent enough.
Then came ATMs, advertised as “Where you need them” but actually positioned along lines of economic-force that Mayan astrologers calculated centuries ago.
Finally, cathedrals to The Almighty Dollar appeared at convergence points.
That’s when they began to pull.
Tensioned lines of economic-force buckled the fabric of reality. Time-space twisted worldwide.
In some places, it tore.
It’s been centuries since Wall Street exploded with vicious Keynesian Multipliers. Since then, man has slowly returned to barter and trade.
Simple supply and demand. Back to basics.

Cujus Regio, Impero Decapito

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King Richard sighed. There was another fight in the Royal Observatory. Five assistants were laid up at the Healer’s.
“Bring those damned eggheads here!” shouted the king.
“Yes, Sire,” said the Chamberlain.
Phillips and Mossbeard were still attacking at each other, even as the guards threw them to the throne room floor.
“The Earth revolves around the Sun!” shouted Phillips.
“The Sun revolves around the Earth!” shouted Mossbeard.
Richard scowled at them both.
“Off with their heads!” he shouted.
“Sire?” asked the Chamberlain.
“They are both wrong,” said the king. “The world revolves around me.”
“Yes, Sire,” said the Chamberlain.

The difference between a chef and a cook

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They flipped a coin.
Bob won. “You type.”
When Terrence typed “Cook” in the field for Occupation, Bob balked.
“He’s a chef, not a cook,” said Bob.
“There is no difference between chef and cook,” said Terrence. “Chefs are professional cooks, and professional only means that you’re getting paid.”
“Professionalism means more than just payment,” said Bob. “There’s an element of experience, and dedication you’re leaving out.”
“Fine,” said Terrence. As always, he got out the correction fluid, painted over “Cook” and typed in “Chef.”
“Thank you,” said Bob. “So, what does the coroner think?”
“Ahem. Medical examiner.”
Bob groaned.

Beta Testing

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Dear Microsoft,
We are returning your test unit from the Microsoft OfficeAndroid Bob beta program.
Yes, we were impressed with Bob’s diligence and endurance, but there are problems with the verbal interface:
* When told to “Bounce this off of Dick,” Bob cracked three of the Vice President’s ribs.
* “Light a fire under Mueller’s ass” resulted in second-degree burns to the FBI Director that required skin grafts.
* Finally, “Help me wrap my head around this” caused the tragic death of our Transportation Secretary.
So, we’ll wait for Version 2.0.
Thank you,
Andrew Card
White House Chief of Staff

I’ve got the world on my wrist, swinging on a rainbow

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It’s simple, Doc. If I don’t wind my watch, the world stops.
My mother told me that. And since I was five, I’ve kept this watch wound up.
I’ve gone through so many wristbands, but the watch itself just keeps on ticking.
Never overwound, mind you. That makes time go by too fast. It’s hard enough keeping up as it is.
Once, some guy stole my watch on the subway, but I got it back before the world stopped.
I planned on giving it to my daughter, but Sarah took her. No forwarding address.
So, now will you clone me?

The rare instance when Diarrhea is fatal

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So I’m shopping for a new turban, minding my own business, when this American starts chasing these guys with a huge basket.
He’s lashing a bullwhip around like a five-tongued frog in a fly swarm.
Allah, how I hate tourists!
So, the crowd gets out of my way, and I pull out my scimitar.
Yeah, my Dad gave this to me. Great balance, huh?
Anyway, I wave it around a bit. I figure it’ll scare him off or something.
The crowd eats it up, and suddenly the crazy son of a bitch shoots me.
So, Allah, where’s my seventy-two virgins?

Trickle Me Elmo

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Want to know your future?
Well, some psychics read tealeaves. Others read palms.
I know a few who even still read those goofy Tarot cards.
My pal Elmo’s different. He calls himself the Whizzing Wizard. Or the Whizzard for short.
He can tell your future by drinking your urine.
Not directly, mind you. He’s got a silver bowl to drink it out of.
Other psychics think it’s awful. They call him “Trickle Me Elmo.”
But they’re just jealous, because he’s pretty damned accurate.
Elmo’s problem is he charges a bloody fortune for his services.
But, hey, can you blame him?

Les Nessman and Saddam’s genocidal campaign against the Marsh Arabs

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Les Nessman didn’t feel like he had to share an office with others, so he had tape on the floor to lay out the boundaries of his imaginary office.
Pathetic, but amusing.
What if Les Nessman had been sent to Iraq to cover Saddam’s genocidal campaign against the Marsh Arabs and had ended up in a mass grave with tens of thousands of other victims? Would he have marked out the boundaries of his own “personal grave” to set him apart from the others he was forced to share a grave with?
Of course not, stupid. Because he’d be dead.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 27

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The Librarian grabbed Abe with a slimy, long-taloned paw and dragged him to a large trap door.
“The special stacks are down there,” he said, handing the president a torch.
“Are you absolutely certain I’ve never read any of these books before?” asked Abe.
“Many of these volumes have never been read by human eyes,” said The Librarian. “Yours shall be the first, if you survive.”
“You truly are a best friend,” said Abe.
He rolled up his sleeves, pulled open the trap door, and descended the stone staircase.
Bizarre titles twisted in the flickering torchlight.
Abe giggled with glee.

And the last to leave the scene of the crime

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I have no memory of Venice.
I’ve been told that I’ve been there. Twice. But aside from this pair of scars on my temple and two receipts from Lethe Incorporated, I really can’t tell you anything about it.
However, every time I see the Rialto or St. Marks in a movie or in an article I’m looking up, I get that odd sense of familiarity. As familiar as my own breathing.
And I want to go back. For the first time. Again.
Confusing, right?
You know, there’s that hotel in Vegas that looks like Venice.
I should go there instead.