Category: Guest Authors

The dust settled around the rusted pump. The red Vet drew the ancient attendant forward. He swung open the screen door. “Ya lookn for him young fella?” The man raised a hand, waved towards the desert. “You’ll find him in the Danger Zone. “Filler up Pops.” He flipped him a $80 coin. “You ain’t the first son.” “Be the last” he said lowered his four foot rail gun. “Damn you mean to do damage.” “Just keepn the Danger Zone a fit place for thieves and bandits.” The sun flashed off his star as he drove out to meet the horizon.

I’m a creep. No that isn’t a figure of speech I creep for a living. I go into theaters around the world and yell fire. The pay is good. I get to see amazing architecture. I met some interesting people just before they’re trampled under foot. The key to being a creep is timing and location. You always want to be on the opposite side of an obstruction. The moment seems to be during act three. Must folk are a bit drowsy. For a price I will come to your event and yell fire. Vatican City, you say. My pleasure.

Hello I’m Franz and I’m Fritz. Ve are da caterers to gods. Ya. We work for Vashtowvalittomer. Ya our god can beat up your god. Ya you bet ya. We make the melon balls and tiny hot dogs on toothpicks Ya and the jello molds with bugs, Ya Vashtowvalittomer he love them green on green finger food, Ya and he loves finger food to, das a litter caterers of the gods joke. What we doing for Ragnarok this year Franz? Oh it’s a Gotterdammerung goulash with real damer in it. Dem Damer are hard to catch Fritz. Ya Franz

Last night I was typing in back room, looked up to the curtain behind the monitor. In the middle was this brown webby thing. I think how cute a frog. How the hell is it hanging on to the curtain ….. A BAT. God damn oh Oh OH. He flies straight at my head, swooshes over and across the room. All the muscle in my arm and back pulled inward, felt like I got hit with a magneto burst. I am totally freaking out, major fear factor going down here. I open the front door and he jets out. DDDDDamm.

We here at the Paris Hilton Academy for Wayward Girl are proud to announce a new course entitled: Desperately Ostentatious and Disconnected. It is open to all 4th year women will a GPA above 1.1. It is the on going goal of PHAWG to make society fit for a new wave of the novo ultra wealth women. To this end during this class you will be paired with a tree hanging liberal whom you will win over to your worldview with the innate charms you will cultivate in this course. This class may be taken six times for credit.

“What have I got in my pocket?” ask GrandPa

“A Quarter,” squealed Laura

Out popped a shinny new 1965 silver quarter.

Laura lay the coin down on the glass case

Started pointing at the assortment of candy.

Five Mary Jane, two wax moustaches,

six pixie sticks, four Bonomo Turkish Taffy,

a jaw breaker, a liquorish , a roll of dots

on a white sheet of paper.

“How much do I have left?” asked Laura

The clerk told her she had a nickel’s worth

“What do you want GrandPa?”

“How about we share a bottle of Coke?”

Two straws Two Smiles.

She spun around excitedly. “It’s gotta be better than…” Her pouty little lips, how cute. She looked lost in an early Dianne Keaton way. Then it came to her like an iron butterfly. “It’s better than Cugat.” Everyone clapped and agreed the Carmel glazed Road Apples where indeed better than Cugat they were Allenlishious, in a silly but sad sort of Ingmar Bergman way. When the gas ran out in 2110 all the highways were turned into giant planters. Lot of fruit trees. Every one ate well. Well, the folk with the coin ate well. The rest eat pizza.

Grandma knew it was time. She called the grand kids together. “You can have anything you want, but only one.” Danny took the house in the Hamptons. Linda took the stables in Greenburger. Ben took the publishing house in Boston. I took the Higgledy piggledy tree pin. It was totally costume, rhinestone and glass. My Sibs and cousins look at me as if I had lost my mind. That pin had been a gift from my grandfather long before he owned all the lumber in British Columbia. Grandma smile at me which is actually all I really wanted anyway.

AAAhhh the things we do for love. To court is to ingest the indigestible. Case in point: Haggis. For love of Gail I have follower her in formal dress to the formality of the eating of the haggis. As her consort to innumerable Scottish events with smiling face I have tried to dispel the fear of partaking in the haggis. Though many an American Scot will proudly proclaim their love of haggis I’ve always secretly compared that to: I love eating my left gym shoe. For the unacquainted Haggis is sheep glands mixed with oatmeal wrapped in lovingly entrails

There is a story about a monk who to escape a hungry tiger has scrambled over a cliff. Dangling above the ground he knows it’s only a matter of time before he looses his grip and fall to his death. The monk ponders climb or fall. At this moment he notices a single strawberry just above his head. With one hand he plucks it. With a lack of strength to hold he falls. Popping the fruit into his mouth he smile and says: Delicious. The moral: Whatever you choose in the end the end might as well be happy.