Category: Guest Authors

Chef Jean Boudreaux was eager to be a part of the renaissance of New Orleans, and so he decided to open a restaurant in the French Quarter. But surprisingly, he opened a Chinese restaurant.
Precisely because it was such an unexpected choice of cuisine for its location, “Le Vieux Sécret Chinois” was a smashing success.
Another reason for its success: Chef Boudreaux’s legendary sangfroid. Nothing bothered him.
One time, some dumplings caught fire in the kitchen after having been left in the wok too long. Responding to the excited sous-chef’s shouts, Boudreaux was unflappable.
“Laissez les Won-Tons brûler,” he said.

The little white truck rolled slowly through the suburban neighborhood, its arrival heralded by the intermittent jingling of bells.
Excited customers poured from the houses, clutching shiny quarters. They queued up, jostling each other for position. The truck halted; the driver hopped out, looking jaunty in his starched white shirt. The chrome-plated money changer on his belt caught the sun.
Jimmy was first in line. “Gimme a tube of Astro-Glide, please.”
Mary was next. “I’ll take the Warming K-Y.”
The Lubes-On-Wheels driver smiled. Nothing put his customers in a Good Humor quite like the arrival of the Vice Cream Truck.

Manny had worked at the Pickle Factory since he was a teenager.
As the years passed, he developed a sick obsession. Day after day, a single thought pounded inside his head: He wanted to stick his dick into the pickle slicer.
Too bashful to discuss his obsession with his wife, he sought psychiatric help. But the drugs the headshrinker prescribed were powerful, filling Manny’s head with an unpleasant metallic buzzing. He stopped taking them.
Eventually, Manny yielded to his impulses.
His supervisor caught him in the act. Horrified, he fired Manny on the spot.
He fired the pickle slicer, too.

Today is June 6, 2006, which may be variously rendered as 06/06/06 or 666.
Believers in the literal truth of the Book of Revelations are collectively Shitting a Peach Pit, for 666 is the Number of the Beast. Whereas, 36D is the Number of the Breast.
It is the birthday of Auntie Christ…and Uncle Christ will be in a world of pain, for he forgot to buy Auntie a present.
And it’s the area code for Arkham, Massachusetts.
I will observe the day by coloring in my Coloring Book Out Of Space. There’s a lovely picture of Cthulhu in there.

The world looks different when you have eyes on the side of your head.
That was the first thing I noticed. That, and my craving acorns.
The last thing I remember about my old life was the ground coming up at us. Fast. Those damned passengers – why couldn’t they have just accepted the inevitable? Instead, it’s “Let’s roll” and we end up in a Pennsylvania field. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
I really thought there would be seventy-two virgins waiting for me. Yeah, sure: all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Guess the Hindus were on the right track after all.