Category: My stories

Instead of a funhouse, my carnival has a notfunhouse.
The hall of mirrors aren’t warped at all. You look perfectly normal in them.
If you can see yourself.
They’re very dusty, so I give you a rag and Windex to clean them all.
The warped slanty room means there’s foundation issues. I have a few quotes from contractors for you to sort out.
I added a slide. Nice and slick, no friction burns at all.
But it goes up. Good luck climbing that.
Finally, there’s the air jets to blow up women’s skirts.
Or Scottish mens’ kilts.
I won’t judge.

The number one rule in the business is: it’s only business.
You stick to your territory. You stick to your business.
Keep the peace. Everybody makes money.
It’s okay to make money. Make a lot of money.
Just not too much money,
You make good money, things are good.
You make fuck you money, the law fucks you.
Yeah, you can try to buy the law.
What did we do? Kill them?
We’re cable companies, not the Mafia.
Send a guy out with their search results.
Nice sites you visit there.
Play ball, because we got you by the balls.

Imagine Zorro.
All dressed in black. And a cape.
But instead of a sword, he has a dustbuster.
He charges into a place, vacuums up all of the food crumbs and dust and stuff, and then runs away.
Not quite the hero to the people, but still serving a valuable role in the community.
After a few encounters with the military police, Zorro decided to trade his dustbuster in for a sword.
But swords aren’t as good at picking up food crumbs and dust.
Even though you can spear crumpled-up paper and food waste and drop it in a bin.

Sir Patrick Stewart is sexy.
He is sexy to women.
And he is sexy to men.
If science discovered a third gender, or science invented one, he would be sexy to them, too.
Modern eye charts have a photo of Sir Patrick Stewart.
“Read this chart,” the eye doctor says.
If you don’t say “sexy” then you are declared legally blind.
They take away your driver’s license on the spot.
And you get a dog. A cane. And black glasses.
In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is not king.
Unless he thinks Sir Patrick Stewart is sexy.

Elaine loves to go to pawn shops.
There’s some good bargains there, but she also likes to imagine the story behind each item.
Was it a family heirloom?
A grandmother’s wedding ring?
A grandfather’s pocketwatch?
Why did the person have to give that thing up?
To pay for college?
A drug habit? Gambling debts?
Or some awful medical hardship, and bills to pay?
How much of this came from that person, shedding one treasure after another.
Did she read about them in the paper? See them on the news?
She tries on a simple gold necklace, and then buys it.

A thousand years ago, the palace was a thousand years old.
So many empires, so many cities rose and fell. but The Palace of The Gods lived on.
Invaders came to fight the empires, expanding their own empires.
If they burned the city, they built a new city in its place.
All the while, the palace stood and watched everything.
Some dared to storm the palace, never to return.
The next day, at the gate, a pile of bloody bones and armor and swords.
Banners on the walls spelled out the day’s orders:
“BURY THE DEAD. DO NOT TRY AGAIN.”

Is it true that Isaac Newton came up with the idea for the Law of Gravity while resting under an apple tree? Maybe.
Is it true that Isaac Newton came up with the idea for the Law of Gravity when an apple fell on his head? Possibly.
Is it true that Isaac Newton came up with the idea for the Law of Gravity when Robert Hooke chopped down the apple tree and it fell on his head? Probably not.
But we know that it wasn’t a pear. Or an orange. Or a banana.
Is anything that certain in this world?

When the order came to work from home, It was nice out, so I used my patio as a home office.
I’d check the hourly forecast and the local radar for rain, and I’d try to wait until the last minute before moving back inside.
Now that it’s summer and hot out, I work from the living room, and I don’t go outside except to harvest some chives and mint.
I don’t bother checking the forecast anymore.
When the fall comes around, and things get nicer out, and if this virus is still going around.
I’ll check the forecast again.

The birth went smoothly, and Sarah was born.
“So beautiful… so beautiful…”
Sarah’s mother asked for an hour to hold her.
Then, she asked for five more minutes. Just five more minutes.
The couple who were adopting Sarah agreed, and the doctor nodded to them.
He added a little something to the IV, and Sarah’s mother fell asleep with her baby in her arms.
The nurse picked up Sarah, and handed her to the new parents.
Sarah’s mother slept soundly for hours, dreaming of the perfect life with Sarah.
And when she woke up, she screamed to wake the dead.

Killers always leave something at the scene of the crime.
Sometimes, it’s intentional, like a note to the police or FBI.
Other times, it’s unintentional.
Forensic evidence.
A hair. Some skin dust. A fingerprint.
The Gemini Killer left nothing but his victims.
Always two. Usually twins.
Just like the Gemini.
And he killed them. Killed them both.
Well, more like got them to kill each other.
Whispering in their ears, breaking them down.
And filling them with so much hate.
Setting them against each other.
Then, the moment of truth.
Two murders. Two killers.
Without leaving a trace of himself.