Prime Oceanfront

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Bradley sat back, Mai-Tai in his hand, looking out at the ocean seventy yards from his deck. He smiled.
He had purchased the beach house just a month ago. He hadn’t been sure if he’d be able to swing it, but then this listing popped up. Prime oceanfront, it was a steal at twice the price.
Low in the sky, a mottled gibbous moon hung, making the water sparkle.
A low moaning sound made his head snap around. An army of many-tentacled horrors was shambling up the beach. They held out their scabrous, pitted palps towards him.
Yeah. Some steal.

Poking Parker

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Parker screwed up. Nearly got me killed.
“Poke him, Chief” said Vasquez.
Everybody agreed.
So, before my shift, I went to the Suit Room and poked a hole in Parker’s moonsuit.
Relax – the airlock cycles quickly. Long before he blows out. One tiny hole will just whistle a bit at Zero A.
I laughed as he cycled… and he blew out fast.
Blowout? I must have poked the moonsuit too deep.
Crap.
As Crew Chief, Parker died on my watch, so it was on me.
I confessed about poking Parker.
Vasquez also confessed. And Petersen. And Goldberg. And Sanders. And…

Lucky Miguel

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Miguel Cortez was born on Cinco de Mayo, 1955 at 5:55 a.m., the fifth son of a fifth son.
On his fifth birthday, his mother hit the Loteria and won 55,000 pesos.
Time passed; Miguel grew to be a handsome young man. He married a girl from his hometown, and in time they had five children.
On his 55th birthday, Miguel – now a successful American citizen living in New York (in a luxury apartment at 55th and Fifth) took $5,000 to Pimlico and put it all on the fifth horse running in the fifth race.
The nag came in fifth.

Noble Savage, Lend Me Your Grandmothers

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Otto knelt among the trees, looking at Mother Nature’s beauty and growling with rage.
In two years, this would be a massive subdivision.
Worst of all, Jim had beaten him out on developing it.
The sound of Whitefeather’s pickup truck arriving jarred Otto out of his rage.
“Got the bones?” asked Otto.
Whitefeather pulled out a burlap sack and tossed it on the ground.
“Excellent,” said Otto. “When they dig these up, they’ll have to stop. Now all we need to do is bury them.”
“We?” Whitefeather tossed a shovel to Otto. “Good luck, Paleface,” he said and drove off.

Kahuna ‘Ana’ana Part 2

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Kolek shows up to tell a tale of…

The Kahuna ‘ana’ana sat quietly for what seemed like a lifetime to the youth, and then spoke.
“Kako’o, the death chant… it is not a real thing. It worked in the old days only because people believed in it, literally dying from their fear.
“However, there are strong lessons, values and skills that can be learned from the old ways…”
In a rush of rage the student screamed and picked up a nearby pan. “I’ll kill you now you old deceitful bastard!”
Suddenly there was a red flash and the youth crumpled, dead.
The Kahuna shook his head sadly. Yet another Kako’o failed.

Make Money Fast!

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Babatunde spotted his orphan friend Zaytan sitting in the Lagos sidewalk cafe and decided to join him.
“May your penis be longer, thicker!” smiled Babatunde.
“You do not know me, but pray for me,” replied Zaytan.
They sipped their 100% Percent Guaranteed Herbal Remedies a while, watching the jeeps of oil executives and politicians with large amounts of cash in overseas accounts pass on the street and crash in horrific wrecks.
Babatunde finished his remedy, shook Zaytan’s hand, and made to leave.
“Why you no email me no more?” asked Zaytan.
“I does,” said Babatunde.
“Accursed Spam filters!” growled Zaytan.

Kahuna ‘Ana’ana Part 1

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Kolek shows up to tell a tale of…

The young man listened eagerly to the last known Kahuna ‘ana’ana.
Kahuna literally means “to care for the secret”, and this caretaker was the last of his kind, the ‘ana’ana class of black sorcerers.
Most Kahuna in ancient Hawai’i specialized in harmless fields such as medicine or ship building. Not so the ‘ana’ana.
The youth spent months with the teacher hoping to learn the lethal death chants.
The old Hawaiian was frustratingly cautious and distrustful, however, and only recently has the Kahuna invested any measure of trust into the youth.
Now he would finally learn the Kahuna’s secrets…

A Rose By Any Other Names Is Probably A Tulip

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Laieanna has a lovely tale about love… and… um… love?

He showered her with gifts…all the time. She couldn’t help that her
boyfriend was a god. Did angry neighbors understand? Of course not!
When they first started dating, he would rain down flowers every morning. Then it was small chocolate pieces. People loved that.
After he declared his love, the gifts became sappy love notes. Then jewelry…the economy suffered. Following were kitchen appliances and furniture.
The last straw was sports cars. The town revolted. To get to him, they tore her into pieces…literally, and let her body parts rain down on the local shrine. Their final gift was lightening bolts.

The Professor

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Philbert Philpott poked at the paleolithic midden heap with his polished pick. Perhaps, he thought, there’ll be something interesting in this dusty stratum of detritus.
Philbert occupied an exalted position on the University staff. He would travel to the digs with the other professors of Antiquities and write his scholarly articles; but unlike that of the others, his work was filled with sarcasm and invective. Surprisingly, this made him popular.
He would rank on the Rosetta stone and lampoon the Lyceum. He pooped on Petra and said “Fie!” to Phoenicia.
Meet Philbert, chair of the Snarkyology Department at Mishegoss University.

A Love For Spuds

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Arthur finished his third bowl of mashed potatoes and let loose a fond sigh.
“I love mashed potatoes,” he said. “I love them oh so much.”
Emily had heard this once too many times that evening. “So why don’t you marry them?”
The ink and gravy stains weren’t dry on the divorce papers before Arthur headed to Vegas to marry his beloved mashed potatoes.
The preacher, just finished marrying a pair of Star Wars-loving store clerks, muttered “She’s quite a… side dish?”
The preacher took his money, performed the ceremony, and let the Health Department and courts fight it out.