Author: R.

When Freddy bought cigarettes, he showed his ID.
When Freddy bought some beer, he showed his ID.
When Freddy used his credit card, he showed his ID.
When Freddy picked up his prescription, he showed his ID.
When Freddy checked in for a flight, he showed his ID.
When Freddy was stopped for speeding, he showed his ID.
When Freddy bought a gun, he showed his ID.
When Freddy went to vote, he refused to show his ID.
You know, because it’s racist voter suppression by hateful Nazis.
And then Freddy bought more beer.
(He showed his ID for that.)

I know an asshole who was a restaurant industry attorney and lobbyist.
Ensuring that kids who got hurt in fast food restaurants couldn’t sue.
Viciously smearing people who were sickened by the unhealthy products.
Screwing over franchisees with insane contracts, supplier price hikes, and map stacking.
Colluding with others in the industry to bribe lawmakers at every level for minimal safety standards and no employee benefits.
The Diabetes, Obesity, Heart Disease, Cancer, Poverty, and Stroke industry eventually chewed him up and spit him out.
He ended up with all of those conditions eventually, until he wasted away.
Poetic justice, much?

My grandmother had severe dementia and Alzheimer’s.
She lived to 99 and drained my parents dry.
So when my mother was diagnosed with both conditions, I asked my father what the plans were.
He said he had plans. And didn’t tell me.
They moved to a city near me.
Then, when my father got sick, instead of putting my mother in a facility or getting a caretaker, I was stuck babysitting her.
Turns out his plans were to dump her on me.
So I came up with a plan, too.
I’ve blocked everybody’s calls, and to hell with those assholes.

I lived in a suburb of Columbus for nine years.
There wasn’t much to do there.
It was a dry town, but there was beer and more surrounding it.
Marijuana grew wild by the train tracks.
We’d harvest it by the bag and put it in a guy’s attic to dry.
Except that it was too wet and soaked through their ceiling, which collapsed.
So, we dried it in a model home’s oven at night.
I didn’t smoke any, though.
I just sold it in school. But for cheap.
Because the more they were stoned, the better the grade curve.

The problem with peacekeepers is that you assign them to a mission for a year or so.
And they’re told that they can’t socialize with locals.
No dating, no hookers.
All these soldiers, mostly men, told to keep it in their pants for a year?
Yeah, that’s how the crimes happen.
Against the women soldiers, but also the local women and girls.
So, we developed robot soldiers and patrols.
They don’t rape. They don’t steal.
But they do kill. They kill a whole hell of a lot of people.
But they don’t rape them or steal from them, thank God.

I am an atheist.
I do not believe in God.
Even when I went to church, I thought “What is this crap?”
A guy standing at the end of the room, telling fairy tales and fables.
For years, people said I had a God-sized hole in my heart.
Which I tried to fill with drugs, booze, and sex.
When I finally found God, I tried to fill that hole in my heart.
And God said “Wow. Look at all the drugs and booze and sex.”
I’m still an atheist.
But, damn that motherfucker God partying it up in my heart.

Oh, fascists. So efficient with their accounting methods.
The streets may run red with the blood of their victims, but their balance sheets are all in the black.
The Chinese charge the cost of bullets they use in executions to their families.
The Soviets charged rent for every troublesome comrade sent to the gulag. And for every tree they chopped for wood to keep from freezing to death.
The Nazis charged a fare for every passenger on the death trains.
And American public schools have a long list of fees and charges to attend these inefficient and incompetent indoctrination camps.

My father died about a year ago.
I have no idea what was done with his body.
Some creep from the hospital kept calling about it.
“We need to know what to do with the body.”
“Take it home for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“WHAT?”
“Not to eat. That would be sick. Just sit him at the table.”
“WHAT?”
“Come on, that’s less sick than eating him. I think. Just don’t expect him to say grace.”
I don’t remember what happened after that.
I blocked him like all the other callers and turned off my phone.
And picked up pizzas for Thanksgiving.

• Lizzie
• Richard
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Tom
• Planet Z

The next topic is Safe

NORVAL JOE

Mrs. Withybottom shouted from upstairs, “Father’s awake and he’s thrashing around.”

At her voice, a butler stepped into the entry and frowned.

Linoliamanda asked, “What shall we do?”

Billbert took out his phone, “I’m calling an ambulance.”

An eternity later, a fire engine and ambulance roared up the drive. The paramedics raced up the stairs with a stretcher.

Huddled below the stairs, they clearly heard one of the medics shout, “His blood pressure is falling. We need to get him to the hospital right now.”

Moments later they were hurrying down the stairs with Mr. Withybottom strapped to the gurney.

SERENDIPIDY

I had no idea what the smell was, but although it was rather strong, it wasn’t particularly unpleasant, and it wasn’t the sort of smell you’d normally associate with car problems.
So, I simply carried on driving, anxious to get home and start cooking supper for the family.
Finally, I pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.
The smell was much stronger now, and it seemed to be coming from the engine bay.
Turned out to be some sort of animal… Cat, dog, fox? I really couldn’t tell.
Perfectly roast, on the engine block.
That’s supper sorted!

TOM

Stress Test Lungs on Fire.

The doctor through away the first EKG. He cried “Once more with passion! “, the treadmill rose towards the ceiling. I became quite light headed, a flight of angles circling round my eyes. Giant gears spun below my feet like some medieval engine of the inquisition demanding truth rooting out my paper-thin cover story. “Blood pressure nearly at critical Escape velocity, breaking free from the gravitational pull of our celestial body.” Yelled the nurse over the roar of the wind. “My toast, will be roast, If you crank that infernal machine an angle higher.” I gasped. Somewhere a fuse blow.

LIZZIE

The very moment the Ferris wheel started rotating, there was this weird grumbling sound, followed by a sharp metallic groan. He yelled “get me out of here” to no avail. His blood pressure hit the roof when he heard a snapping sound. That was it, he was going to die. The wheel tilted to one side and crashed against the rocks. Yes, “thank you, god, I just broke my back, my legs and an arm, but I’ll be fine”. Why, you may ask. Well, insurance. A fortune. He never told anyone about that wrench he had stuck in the engine.

RICHARD

— Fear of Flying —
I’ve always been terrified of flying.
I know you can probably quote statistics that say it’s safer than crossing the road, or more people die from being kicked by donkeys than in plane crashes, but I really don’t find that reassuring.
As far as I’m concerned, there’s a million things that can go horribly wrong on a flight. What if an engine were to catch fire, or the plane were to be taken over by terrorists?
It’s not as if you can take cover, or make a hasty exit to safety!
Perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen to be a pilot!

PLANET Z

I barely drive my car, and when I drive it, I don’t go too far.
It’s a plug-in hybrid, and I’m almost always driving on electric.
I barely go a thousand miles a year.
I get an alert that my car is five months overdue for maintenance.
I dismiss it, but there’s a little icon on the dash with a warning symbol.
It’s not a check engine light or a low tire pressure alert, so everything is fine.
If it’s not, the car wouldn’t start, and I can call the shop to come pick it up and fix the problem.