Category: My stories

I’ve written dozens of George stories.
So many, I can’t write anything else now.
Every time I try to write something else, those eleven damn words appear…
“George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.”
And I end up writing yet another stupid George story.
Heck, those words appear in William Shatner’s Shatoery app, too.
Well, you have to use was not instead of wasn’t, but it still works, right?
My subconscious wants me to write a children’s book, doesn’t it?
I’d better load up these stories with sex and violence to thwart my damaged brain’s meddling.

One of my cats changes the spot she sleeps every few days.
And you can’t tell her where to sleep, because she’ll get up and walk back to the spot she’s chosen.
She’s asleep on a small wooden footstool in the bathroom right now.
So, I woke her up with a kiss between her ears, picked her up, and set her on the floor.
I pet her for a minute, all while reaching for a towel.
I laid the towel on the wooden bench and smoothed it out.
The cat stretched, got on the towel, and curled up to sleep.

People rarely send letters these days.
It’s all electronic now.
The only things that end up in your mailbox are the very important, like official documents, and junk mail.
Tom shuffled through the campaign material, the credit card offers, and local business advertising… tossing it in the trash.
But then there was… the letter.
Plain white envelope, but no return address.
And a Martian stamp, express.
Very rare.
Must be important, because sending anything physical… it must have cost a small fortune.
He opened the envelope, but it was empty.
So, he had it framed to show off the stamp.

You might find this weird, but our little village has two Main Streets.
The brothers who founded the town had a falling out, and each built a Main Street.
So if you’re looking for something on Main Street, you might need to walk over to Main Street.
We call them Benson’s Goods and Mortimer’s Bar, based on the grocery and the bar on those streets.
Main and Main is easy enough to find, that’s where the village hall is.
And Winston Park.
As opposed to the other Winston Park.
(Which is further down Main Street… no, the other Main Street.)

I’m scheduled for major dental surgery next week, so I looked over the suggested foods list, removed the ones that aren’t good for my other health issues, and went to the grocery store.
Milk, apple sauce, popsicles, soups, mashed potatoes, and other foods that are soft and mushy and cold.
Well, the soup will be cold after I cook it and then chill it.
When I got to the car, I realized I hadn’t gotten pudding.
Do I go back in?
No way. I’ll look like an idiot.
So, I went to the grocery store across the street for it.

I don’t understand why a judge’s office is called chambers.
Everybody else’s office is called an office.
Why not call it the judge’s office?
And besides, the judge only has one office, so why not call it a chamber?
It sounds like some Dungeons and Dragons kind of thing, a chamber. A creepy chamber.
Like the judge is a monster, and the adventuring party is sneaking in to kill it and steal its gold.
Maybe that’s what they do in the chambers… they fight to try to steal the judge’s gold.
No wonder why they bring their briefcases with them.

I’ve been having gastro issues for a week or so, and after a runaround by the clinic, I’ve gotten a virtual visit, some bloodwork done, and an ultrasound scheduled to check out my organs.
But in order to have the ultrasound scans, I can’t eat or drink anything after midnight.
What am I, a gremlin? You can’t feed me after midnight or I’ll turn into an evil version of myself?
I guess I can go take a hot shower before the exam… and as the water hits my skin, it begins to bubble and pop out little balls of fur.