Category: My stories

The monks bend over the floor and rub styluses against their sticks of colored chalk.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Slowly, the wheel forms, and together they create intricate symmetrical whorls and loops and bends and curves.
The monks hum and chant as they build the patterns.
Not once do they speak. Only through their prayers do they keep the flow.
They change direction all at once, like a flock of birds shifting in the wind.
Coming closer at the center, scratching circles of shifting color.
And then, they finish.
The master nods, takes out a broom, and sweeps the chalk away.

Whoopi Goldberg said that she’d leave the country if Donald Trump won.
Then, when Trump won, she said it was only a joke.
Eventually, her agent got her booked for a few gigs in Europe.
But when she tried to come home, her passport was declared invalid.
“Sorry,” said the embassy’s passport control officer. “Your passport was revoked. You’ll need to apply for a new one. Fill out this form, provide two forms of identification, a photo, and the fee.”
She waited four weeks, and then another four weeks after she explained why her driver’s license said Caryn Elaine Johnson.

It’s interesting to hear the “I was only joking!” or “I didn’t mean it!” statements coming from celebrities who used “I’m going to move to Canada if Trump wins!” threats as emotional blackmail or emphasis on endorsements.
So, they make an emotional plea, back it up with a threat, and their word is worthless?
If a corporation sponsors their projects or hires this person as a spokesperson, how do they reconcile that this famous person’s words are spiteful and worthless?
I guess that says a lot about the value of product and service endorsements.
Celebrities are not your personal shoppers.

Who did I vote for?
Nobody. I voted for nobody.
Hillary took millions from regimes that want my people dead.
Trump is being cheered by people like David Duke who want my people dead.
Bernie is a self-loathing Jew who took on advisors that want my people dead.
Dr. Jill is a self-loathing Jew who cheered people who want my people dead.
Gary wanted to turn his back on my people and let them die.
Pardon me a moment while I say: fuck you all.
Go ahead. Top that. Make your excuses.
I fucking dare you. Pull my lever, asshole.

Every election, celebrities plead for people to register to vote.
Then, they plead for people to vote.
After a few days, they endorse a candidate and please for people to vote for that candidate.
Then, they insult and berate the people who won’t vote for that candidate.
Finally, they threaten to leave the country if their candidate doesn’t win.
So, when their candidate loses, will they actually leave the country?
I hope so. After all, they’re going to demolish their mansions and build affordable housing for their fans too, right?
No? They’ll just come back in four years?
Selfish assholes.

If it looks like I haven’t written anything, it’s because I’ve been using a brush to paint my writing on a wall that I’ve already painted with the same white paint.
Or I’ve written my story in chalk on a white chalkboard.
Red crayon on a red sheet of paper.
Tossing alphabet noodles into a soup, as they float around randomly.
Or tossing Scrabble tiles back into the bag.
Typing a story without any paper in the roller.
On a typewriter with a worn-out ribbon.
Hear the bell, slap the carriage return, and start again with a fresh new line.

Karbach is a local craft brewery that’s popular with hipsters.
They make all kinds of unusual brews, and their brewpub features unusual entrees and appetizers that go with their eclectic selection of brews around the country.
They’ve been growing quickly, and selling their beer to popular bars and local grocers, but still have problems meeting demand.
So, the ownership struck a deal with the massive beer corporation Anheuser-Busch, who have been buying out popular local brewers, like Goose Island.
Hipster bars reacted by dumping their inventory of Karbach and cancelling their orders.
The beer may taste smooth, but their reputation is spoiled.

Jared loved planes.
He studied hard, got a pilot’s license, and took flying lessons.
He talked it all the time.
He saved up his money, and he finally bought his own plane.
He was so proud of it. Told everyone.
Offered to take friends and coworkers for rides.
Signed up for a weekend fair where pilots take kids up for airplane rides.
But on the day he took delivery of his plane, he crashed it, and he died.
They say he died doing what he loved.
I just wonder what would have happened if…
Best not to think about it.

I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth.
Oh, sure, when I was a fetus in my mother’s womb, I had a silver spoon in my mouth.
But surgeons performed pre-natal surgery on me to remove the silver spoon before I was born.
Then, I was born without a silver spoon in my mouth.
As for the silver fork up my ass and the silver knife in my ear, well, the coroner assumed that Mother tried to steal a place setting from a fancy restaurant.
If only she had a coat with large deep pockets, I’d have lived.