Doctor Odd really liked cold pizza.
The problem was, he’d order a pizza, let it go cold, and he wouldn’t want pizza anymore.
Or, he’d want a pizza, but the toppings weren’t what he wanted anymore.
He’d have a cold pepperoni pizza, and he’d now want sausage.
So, he’d fire up his time machine, make the order the day before, and he’d come back to the right cold pizza in the fridge.
He’d also use the time machine to check out cute child stars on their eighteenth birthdays.
But he mostly used it for the cold pizza and starting wars.
Category: My stories
Smiling Wide
She has steel teeth.
Stainless steel. Polished and shiny.
She smiles wide, shows them off.
“I can’t afford Gold,” she says. “But these are nice.”
Rings on every finger, heavy things.
Rings on every finger and toe.
Stones of every color. Or were they glass?
“They’re precious to me,” she says.
Shine a light, the colors sparkle.
She takes them off, one at a time, and cleans them.
Puts them back on, reciting a poem to remember the order.
She takes out her teeth and cleans them.
Puts them back in, smiling wide again.
I find myself smiling wide too.
Jars of Joy
I keep my joy in mason jars.
That satisfying click lets me know that it’s sealed tight.
To keep it fresh. To keep it for myself.
Every bit of joy I had, I put it in a jar.
Every bit of joy I’d take, I put it in a jar.
Shelves of them.
I dust them off now and then.
One day, I dropped a jar.
And it shattered on the floor.
It was empty. All of the jars were empty.
Because for all the joy I’d taken.
I’d never given any, and it left me with none at all.
Thoughts and Prayers
Thoughts and prayers.
People say that phrase all the time.
Especially when there’s nothing you think you can do.
Or, I suppose, practically do. Without inconveniencing yourself too much.
Keep Florida in your thoughts and prayers, they say.
What if I think that Florida looks like a giant dong?
Does that count?
Because, seriously, look at it. Giant dong.
You can’t unthink that.
Go ahead. Try to.
You can’t.
You’re been thinking that since you were three.
Funny then, funny now.
As for prayers, pray all you want… but you’ll never stop thinking that Florida looks like a giant dong.
The Tragedy
No, they were not all heroes.
They were not all innocent victims.
Some beat their wives. Others neglected their children.
Or left elderly parents to rot in nursing homes.
A lot cheated on their taxes. And defrauded their customers.
I mean, Cantor Fitzerald. That’s what they do for a living. Right?
One raped his secretary, then refused to pay for her abortion.
Didn’t matter. He, the secretary, and the baby all died that day.
No, they were not all heroes. Or innocent.
The real tragedy is that so many had to die along with the few that truly deserved it.
The Battle
I wouldn’t say I battle with Depression.
It’s more like laying down on the ground and ignoring the constant kicks to the ribs and the face.
The battle’s over. The war is lost.
The occupation regime is firmly in place and in control.
It’s the baseline hum in the signal.
I accept its constant presence.
There’s no wonder or discovery to it. No testing my boundaries.
It’s not like you put your hand on the stove.
Turn it on, and see how long you can leave your hand on there before you pull it back.
Not like that at all.
Scrooge and the ghosts
Scrooge woke up in a cold sweat.
“Ghosts,” he muttered, crawling out of bed and looking around. “Damn those ghosts.”
He threw open the window and called out to a boy walking down the street.
He asked the boy what day it was, and the boy responded “Christmas Day!”
Scrooge then asked him if he knew of the poulterers with the prized turkey in the window.
“There’s a Hindu mystic who lives next door to that shop.” said Scrooge. “Fetch him at once!”
Scrooge pondered how much an exorcism would cost… oh, he’d just take it out of Cratchitt’s pay.
Escalation for the holidays
The senior troubleshooters at webhosting support had Christmas week off.
Customers would schedule downtime for kernel and software updates.
Which invariably went wrong.
“I’m losing thousands of dollars every minute!” they’d scream.
Thousands they should have spent on a system administrator.
We were supposed to escalate only critical issues, but nobody answered.
So it went up the chain… supervisors, managers, senior managers, a VP.
The only person who’d get suspended or fired was the unlucky fucker who got the call.
The next year, it would happen again.
Thank goodness the bosses rewarded themselves with bonuses for their keen planning skills.
eSanta
Do you remember the days when Santa used to hitch up reindeer to his sleigh and fly around the world delivering gifts on Christmas?
I do.
Do you remember when Santa retired and handed over the business to Amazon and FedEx?
I do.
Do you remember when the skies were filled with drones, delivering packages while playing Christmas songs?
I do.
Did you notice the cameras?
Did you notice when troublesome people who tried to resist started to disappear?
I do.
And I don’t care.
We’re almost out of egg nog.
Hit the dash button.
And listen for the door.
Winter Wonderland
Walking in a Winter Wonderland is meant to be a happy song, and we sing it to lighten the mood as we march through the snow.
The soldiers threaten to shoot anyone who sings.
For miles and miles, the only sound is the crunching of the snow beneath our bare feet, the moaning… the occasional gunshot and thud, the quickened pace.
I mouth the words as I walk. For hours, the song in my head.
And then, I hear it: sleigh bells ringing.
A soldier pulls me out of the line, and he aims his rifle at me.
And fires.