Category: My stories

A member of Hamas died in a Lebanese village.
His stash of weapons and explosives exploded.
So, they held a funeral for him.
A riot broke out, and three people died at the funeral.
At each of their funerals, three more people died.
For a total of nine.
And then at their funerals, twenty-seven.
Funeral after funeral, riot after riot, explosion after explosion.
Until they suddenly stopped.
There was nobody left to riot.
There were no more stashes of weapons to explode.
And there was nobody left to attend a funeral.
Finally, peace was achieved.
(People still blamed the Jews.)

Why did I forsake my father? Why did I forsake my mother?
When it’s friends that you love like family, they matter.
And I will do everything I can for them.
But when it’s family that aren’t your friends, they don’t matter.
It takes a lot of self-control and power to overcome the guilt they abuse you with.
Yes, you owe them your life and your education.
But they don’t own you.
And anything they did for you was to help you make a success of yourself.
Exploiting that, after years of neglect or distance, will make nothing but failure.

Hell isn’t all fire and brimstone, you know.
That’s just a little light show the welcoming committee uses to scare the new residents.
Once you get past registration and assignments, it’s actually palm trees, sand, and a gentle breeze.
Not that you’ll notice, as you’re dragged in chains.
Dropped into the line for your eternal punishment.
Demons sipping coffee, chatting with each other, as you wait in line for… for…
“What are we in line for?” you ask.
“We’re on break,” mumbles a demon. “Quiet.”
The line never moves, the breeze never stops.
And you wait… and wait… and wait…

Fred was an assassin.
That’s what he put on his taxes: Assassin.
He killed for money.
But not just anyone.
He only killed IRS agents.
People with tax problems would hire him.
You know, to kill an investigation. Literally.
Then they’d write off Fred.
And raise an audit flag.
So they’d have to hire Fred again.
Made for good repeat business.
The IRS audited him one year.
But all his books were in order.
Everything down to the penny.
The FBI showed up, but Fred had hired Joe to take care of them.
Joe, being an assassin of FBI agents.

So, the virus is spreading.
And it’s spreading through New York like wildfire.
What is it about New York that makes it dangerous and deadly?
The huge population? Living so close together?
Hanging out in parks and coffee shops and everywhere else so closely?
So many diabetics? So many fat people? So many people with cancer, heart conditions?
It’s no longer The Big Apple. It’s no longer Gotham.
It’s now The Big Shitmagnet.
Not Shithole, that’s Haiti.
We all still look to New York.
To see what they’re doing.
So we can do the opposite. And not die like them.

Uncle Victor had been in an iron long for 20 years. Aunt Millie hired a nurse to take care of them. He did stocks from a computer that he controlled with his voice and he did well, which is what paid for the nurse. Didn’t mind that Millie was off on cruises as long as she came back and showed him the pictures in the home movies. After one trip, Millie didn’t come back. No one knows what happened to her. The nurse left a letter. Victor told her to shut off the iron lung, take the money, and enjoy.

My television remote has a Netflix button.
So does my DVD player remote.
I don’t subscribe to Netflix, so I find the button annoying. And I hit it by mistake a lot.
I used to subscribe to it, but even then I’d use the SmartTV navigation on the screen to open Netflix and not use the Netflix button.
There’s also Amazon and Disney buttons, and even though I subscribe to them, I don’t use those buttons.
I only hit them by mistake, too.
What I really want is a remote with shortcut buttons I’d use.
Which means, none at all.

My father was a corporate lawyer in the restaurant industry for years.
He retired to run a glass business.
But he failed to send in the company’s share of income taxes.
The IRS was on his ass, and he reached a settlement with them.
So, I helped.
After that, he did his best to sink his fangs into me, trying to sucker me into power of attorney and responsibility.
I said no and cut him off.
I should have let the IRS deal throw him in prison.
It would have been cheaper than the old fraud running up Medicare expenses.

It used to be that to find out what your users wanted, you asked them.
You brought them in to a focus group or you sent out a survey.
Then, companies started to monitor sales figures and markets.
After that, they developed A/B testing, and moved on to behavior-tracking analytics.
In the end, the people projecting their wants and needs on to the data were no better than the Greek augurs who played around with bird guts, or the old women who chewed wacky weed and called themselves oracles.
That’s what the users tell me when I ask them.