Category: My stories

Marilyn Monroe sang that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but she never sang about a girl’s worst enemy.
So many enemies to choose from, really.
Booze, Pills. A bad childhood.
And no children of her own.
Endless fame without true love.
Everybody knew her name, but nobody really knew her.
Wanting, always wanting.
And getting, getting so much, but never getting what she wanted.
Or needed.
So, she had her diamonds. Diamonds all around.
But diamonds are hard and sharp, and they cut deep.
They call her immortal, a Hollywood legend, but she’s just as dead as everyone else.

Blades of grass
Growing through cobblestones.
We pull up the stones
And then the grass.
We find the wet side of the stone
And press it back into place
How can it be
That the stones fit before
But they resist their return?
Does the street breathe?
Do the stones
Freed of their bonds
Stretch and expand?
We press each stone back into place
By hand
Or pressing rod
Never with a hammer’s blow
Because we do not want
To shatter a stone
And have to find a replacement
Which fits
Better than the stone
Which fit just fine before

What’s the difference between a sore loser and someone who stands by principles, no matter what?
I’ve got to agree with Ted Cruz on refusing to endorse the man who mocked his wife and his faith.
The concept of “party unity” after a modern mudslinging primary process is inherently dishonest.
On the same hand, Bernie Sanders claiming to be principled is a joke, too.
He is an Independent in the Senate, but ran as a Democrat.
That’s not principle. That’s opportunism.
I hold my nose, and instead of voting, I kick over the booth.
May they all burn in Hell.

The Rolling Stones say that you can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.
This is coming from a band that has always gotten what it wants for over fifty years.
Pussy. Booze. Drugs. Midget clowns on fire.
Whatever the hell they want, they get it.
If it doesn’t exist, someone invents it on the spot.
Even the drummer, Charlie Watts, gets whatever the hell he wants.
The fucking drummer!
No other drummer in any other band gets what they want.
Such arrogance. What they need is a smack in the mouth.

Whenever the Moscow Ballet performed in New York, security services told the dancers that if they defected, they would never see their families again.
This didn’t bother Irina. She’d be escaping her wicked Uncle Vanya.
So, she didn’t mind that threat at all, and she escaped through a bathroom window at the theater.
“I defect!” she shouted at the cameras.
The Russians raised a stink, but Irina got her way.
She joined the New York City Ballet, and settled in with a foster family.
Until one day, The Russians sent a gift:
“Hello, pretty,” said Uncle Vanya. “Dance for me.”

If Mohamed Bouhlel had run over Jews in Jerusalem, Mahmoud Abbas would call him a martyr.
If Mohamed Bouhlel had run over Jews in Jerusalem, Mahmoud Abbas would dedicate a monument to him.
If Mohamed Bouhlel had run over Jews in Jerusalem, Mahmoud Abbas would paying his family a thousand dollars, your tax dollars, to his family as a reward. Every month.
If Mohamed Bouhlel had run over Jews in Jerusalem, Mahmoud Abbas would encourage children to follow his example.
But Mohamed Bouhlel ran over people in Nice, so Mahmoud Abbas condemned him.
How noble of that terrorist bastard, right?

They call Dallas the City of Hate.
After Kennedy was shot and killed there.
Is that the metric for hate?
Shooting presidents?
Well, in that case, a president was murdered in Buffalo.
McKinley, right?
Why is that not the City of Hate?
McKinley was shot just as dead as Kennedy, right?
And what about Washington DC?
Two presidents were shot and killed there.
Lincoln and Garfield.
Several more shot at.
Jackson, Reagan, and Ford.
Anybody else? Am I missing someone?
Washington DC, by far, earns the City of Hate title.
Not that the others are all that loving, mind you.

Back in the old days, if you wanted to ride a dragon into battle, you had to hatch a dragon’s egg, train it, feed it, and house it.
Now, thanks to Uber, all you need is to call for a dragon, and one will arrive.
Sure, you can pay for options, such as flame breath or extra large size, but they’re usually just for show.
You’re only supposed to ride the dragon to battle and then get dropped off.
If you survive, you can hail another dragon.
Don’t forget that battles will increase dragon demand, so prepare for surge pricing.

“Salmoning” is where a bicyclist goes against the flow of traffic in a bike lane on a one-way street.
It is not where the cyclist leaps out of the bike lane into the road to pass another cyclist. That’s called “Getting hit by a cabbing.”
Nor is it when they pull over to a fountain, lay their eggs, and then suddenly die. There’s no word for that.
Finally, Salmoning is not where you offer salmon to passing bicyclists. That’s just creepy.
Plus, they always ask for cream cheese and a bagel.
Do I look like a deli, honey? Keep pedalling!

Your mission is to save my soul, be I alive or dead.
Do what you will.
Bless me. Immerse me.
But you will find no soul remaining.
It is here, in the stories.
Which I envisioned every day.
Dipped a side of my soul into my blood.
And pressed these stories into time.
One by one.
Always searching for a side yet without stain.
It takes longer every day.
Soon, there will be none left to tell.
I am out of ink.
I am out of facets.
I am out of time.
My testimony complete, let me rest forever within.