Category: My stories

When Bobby Brown died, he went to Hell.
No waiting in line for Bobby.
A bodyguard at the gates with a clipboard, unclipping a velvet rope gate and saying “This way, sir.”
A line of gorgeous women waited for him. With baseball bats.
Bobby staggered along the line, suffering blow after blow, feeling bones crack, skin split, muscles tear, and blood flow and spurt and ooze.
And at the end of the line, Whitney watched. And waited.
At first, she enjoyed the spectacle. She knew Bobby was suffering.
But she wanted her chance at revenge.
Waiting. Waiting.
And suffering, too.

It’s a sad thing when you have to bury your own child.
The last time, I got a sore back, using a shovel in the back yard.
So, that’s why I called around and the neighborhood showed up with shovels.
One guy got a backhoe from a nearby road construction crew.
That was nice of him.
We made a block party out of it.
With lemonade and cookies and music and a volleyball net.
Everyone had a blast.
“Same time next week?” I asked.
The crowd cheered, and I patted the dirt down.
And called the foster agency for another.

I have a good job.
With a corner office on the top floor.
And a good parking space to charge my car.
Good perks: free lunches, fully-stocked breakroom with tea and snacks.
I can work from home when I need to.
But why would I want to?
Well, with the pandemic, I need to.
I still have my job.
But I work from my living room, not my nice corner office.
I don’t drive my car to that spot with the charger.
And any lunch or tea or snacks are bought on my own.
That’s okay for now, I suppose.

Every day, we have a team meeting.
And when we go around the table… well, go around the list, since we’re not at the same table while we work remotely… we say what we did yesterday, what we’ll do today, and what blockers we have that need resolving.
Then we leave our microphones on all day while working on whatever we’re working on, saying something if we need assistance or want to demonstrate something.
Repeat until it’s time to go home… well… we’re already home, so shut off the laptops and fire up the war games.
When we truly collaborate.

I fired my doctor and made an appointment with a nearby clinic with testing and other departments that will be a lot more convenient for referrals.
A year since my last checkup is way too long, especially with the cholesterol meds running out of refills.
And weight gain. And other things.
I should walk more. And eat less.
I don’t drink, in spite of what my former doctor thought.
People lie about that kind of thing.
But when beer and liquor cause kidney stones, you stop.
Trust me on this.
Or don’t. But if you’re my doctor, well, you’re fired.

Politicians lie.
It’s what they do. It’s the job.
Stacy said one thing before she ran for for office.
Then she campaigned on the opposite.
Claimed she never said what she said in the first place.
After she won, she denied having said either.
Then admitted it, but said she’d learned more since taking office.
Evolving her position to suit the needs of the people.
Journalists printed her lies about her lies.
And fact checkers claimed it was all true.
When she ran again, she touted her experience.
But the only experience she had was with lying.
The perfect politician.

Rufus Washington was the greatest standup comedian without actually standing up.
He did his routines from a wheelchair, spinning tales from the ghetto on the other side of the tracks.
Drug dealers, hookers, pimps, corner stores instead of grocery stores.
Now, he traveled in a limo or a tour bus, with gorgeous assistants to help him into the chair… or bed… or the shower.
When the limo got in a wreck, Rufus woke up in the hospital, screaming that he couldn’t feel his legs.
Turned out, he’d been faking his paralysis just for a schtick.
Also, he’d faked being black.

Water maintenance today.
They’re redoing the mains so they don’t have to shut down the mains every time they need to work on a single building’s water pipes.
I’m sure that whatever maintenance and improvements they do, every future break or problem will be upstream from the work they did.
I’ve set aside some gallon jugs full of water for whatever… toilet flushing, tea, bathing a muddy cat.
Some neighbors are angry at the cut-off, despite an email and text alert going out.
It’s 2022, people.
If you’re wanting paper notices on your door, maybe they should be eviction notices?

Spumco was the production company that produced Ren and Stimpy.
Spumco animators not only drew the characters, but they produced, filmed, and edited them.
You could say they were very hands-on with the production process.
Spumco’s founder, John Kricfalusi, was very hands on with young female artists.
He’d invite them to Spumco to learn the business.
More like monkey business.
Nickelodeon fired Kricfalusi and Spumco… because of the level of violence in the cartoons.
And Spumco was shuttered after lawsuits over royalties.
After an avalanche of sexual harassment complaints, Kricfalusi retired from animation.
Only because nobody would sponsor his projects.

Every weekend, there’s a cultural festival in my city.
This week, it’s the Italian festival.
Italian dances, Italian food, Italian poetry.
Next week, it’s the German festival.
German dances, German food, German poetry.
The week after, it’s the Caribbean festival.
Caribbean dances, Caribbean food, Caribbean poetry.
And after that, it’s the Japan festival.
Japanese dances. Japanese food. Japanese poetry.
There’s no Palestinian festival.
They grab bullhorns and scream at the local Israeli consulate.
And synagogues. And community centers. And the Holocaust Museum.
That’s what they call culture?
What a bunch of pricks.
No wonder why they don’t have a state.