After every major dental surgery, I’m only allowed to eat soft and bland foods.
Primarily, it’s just oatmeal, pudding, applesauce, and yogurt.
Maybe some smooth soups if they’re not very hot.
Just because the food is bland, it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it, right?
So, I hire hookers to eat with me.
I smear the food all over their bodies and lick it off.
After we’re done, we shower together.
My insurance won’t cover them as medical assistants.
But we’ll see if I can get away with writing their medical services and naughty nurse costumes off of my taxes.
A wise man once said that you cannot see yourself in the mirror with your eyes closed.
Doctor Odd invented a mirror with a one second delay.
Sure, it was dangerous to use for shaving, but at least it let him see himself in the mirror with his eyes closed.
“That’s not a real mirror,” said the wise man. “A mirror reflects reality, and that mirror doesn’t.”
Doctor Odd got out a chalkboard and demonstrated that mirrors already have a tiny delay from reality due to the speed of light.
The wise man shrugged. “I said it because I’m blind.”
Lucy likes to slip clothes into a guy’s load of laundry to flirt.
“Oh, that’s mine,” she says, as a guy hands over a bra or panties.
Sometimes, she sneaks in a little more.
The guy pulls out a breast, and Lucy waits a while. Watches him turn it over, squeeze it. And then…
“Oh my God!” says Lucy.
She grabs it and stuffs it in her shirt.
“Is the other one in there?” she asks.
The guy hands it over, and she puts in back in place.
“Do they look they’re on straight?” she says, pulling up her shirt.
I replaced my office chair with a recliner. It’s very comfortable.
I put an aromatherapy oil diffuser on my desk. It’s very relaxing.
I have an electric kettle for herbal tea. It keeps me nice and calm.
I keep the office door closed. Nice and quiet and no interruptions.
I keep the window shades up just a bit to let natural sunlight in.
And there’s a Galileo thermometer as well as a classic radiometer from a science museum soaking up the sun.
All this to stay nice and relaxed at work.
And, maybe, I might get some work done.
Those two words send so many people into conniption fits.
But they’re a fact. He was the president.
As much as you say he wasn’t, he still was.
For all the hateful, deranged things you say, it doesn’t change a thing.
In fact, I think there’s more people out there saying hateful, deranged things.
Because unemployment was down, which means people are getting jobs.
And their jobs seemed to be all about saying hateful, deranged things.
Sure, saying hateful, deranged things doesn’t pollute the environment or generate toxic waste.
But it polluted society, and it is socially toxic.
The servant robot had been making a lot of mistakes lately.
A diagnostic showed that the robot loves his mistress.
So, she had him reprogrammed with memories of falling in love with her.
And then everything going terribly wrong, and how they agreed never to try again.
Oh, and that he’d agreed to stay on as servant, more devoted than ever because of the love they’d have and could never have again.
He still did all the chores, all of the drudgework.
Better than ever.
But sometimes, she’d hear him whisper “I miss you.”
So, she disabled his speech processor.
Most strippers perform under a cute name, like Kandy or Krystal, both spelled with a K, of course.
Gertrude Blatz didn’t play that game.
Nor did she select music with a hard beat and raunchy lyrics.
She picked waltzes. Or Taps.
Something to break up the mood.
Fuzzy slippers and a long bathrobe, her hair in curlers.
Her gymnastics training made her limber and strong, but she usually just sat in a chair and sipped coffee and smoked a joint.
Her customers didn’t mind. They were mostly nearsighted old men.
Usually, their dogs would pant more than them.
He was the nicest person in the company
Polite, kind, patient.
Never complaining, but commenting.
Always with a dad joke up his sleeve, but never too quick.
It was a delight to work with him.
He’d let me know if I needed to review anything, and we’d go through it together.
And I found myself becoming nicer every day.
Just by being around him.
Then came the day I dreaded.
He found a new job, closer to home.
And instead of being bitter and jealous, I was happy for him.
Maybe it’s my turn to be the nicest?
… fuck that.
The sun peeks over the mountains and shines on the solar arrays, bringing the theatre to life.
Diagnostics run, repair units scuttle over wires, calibrating laser arrays and fusing blown circuits.
Basement air compressors hum, smoke machines laying blankets of fog on the stage.
Hologram generators summon their ghosts, weaving ballerinas from light.
Memories of long dead beauty, standing guard over tattered curtains and rotted-away sets.
The music rises over the empty seats, and the dance begins.
A performance for the rats, the cockroaches, the worms.
The sun goes down, the theater goes silent, and the ghosts fade into night.
I don’t make wishes.
And I don’t pray.
What’s the point of that?
Why not just solve the problem?
Well, you can’t always do that.
Every now and then, I’ll say “Here’s hoping”, but that’s just a saying.
No prayer or wish intended.
Sometimes I say “It will be ok.”
That’s as close as I get to wishing or praying.
Because, usually, it will be okay.
Things aren’t as bad as they seem to be.
And if they turn out worse, well, at least you shut them up for a bit before the real shit happened and they started screaming.