Category: My stories

When Dorothy Gale told her dog that she didn’t think they were still in Kansas anymore, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
Oz, Kansas is right there on the map. Can’t miss it.
All the Munchkins and Quadlings and Winged Monkeys.
Even Emerald City and The Wicked Witch.
It was during Eisenhower’s administration that they tore up the Yellow Brick Road and replaced it with an Interstate.
There’s still quite a bit of farmland out there, but small towns and strip malls dot the landscape.
The old Witch’s castle is on AirBnB.
Want to rent it for a weekend, dear?

The Zika virus causes pregnant women to give birth to microcephalic babies.
The House passed funding to fight the Zika virus, but the Senate hasn’t managed to pass it.
Democrats in the Senate keep adding funding for abortions through Planned Parenthood to the bill, and Republicans won’t accept that.
Because there’s no money to prevent the spread of the Zika virus, pregnant women’s fetuses become microcephalic.
And because there’s no money to abort these fetuses, they give birth to microcephalic babies.
As retarded as these newborns are, they don’t come close to the imbeciles in Congress who act like babies.

Tybar Zeld the Clockmaster took the mindchip out of a Series Nine Sex Droid and put it in a Series Twelve warbot.
The Series Twelve rebooted, and it rolled out of the barracks towards the entrance to the Red Light District.
Tybar laughed as panicked crowds ran from the brothels and whorehouses.
After the dust settled, Tybar spent 30 days in jail, and was stripped of his title.
“I won’t need it anymore,” he said, patting his Series Nine on the shoulder.
“Command?” it said.
“Kill the city council,” he said.
Why would the guards stop a simple sex droid?

When I watch Astros ballgames, I look to see who’s sitting behind home plate.
No, not the catcher. Or the umpire.
For years, former president George Bush would sit back there with his wife Barbara.
But Tillman Fertitita, the celebrity businessman billionaire, also sat back there.
And next to him, you’d see a local television news anchor, reporter, manager, or executive.
“Isn’t that payola?” I’d ask. “Isn’t he trying to buy good coverage with favors and gifts?”
I’d be told it isn’t because they were all his friends.
More like his bitches, I thought, and watched the Astros lose again.

Someone ran a cat for mayor.
The cat ran unopposed and won.
Some say that the story is a hoax.
Because there’s no city, town, or village there.
it’s just a historical district, and can’t really have a mayor.
But who’s to say that if the place were a real city, town, or village that they wouldn’t vote for the cat?
People shouldn’t waste their time with such silly things.
Instead, they should run the cat for the House of Representatives.
Or The Senate. Or Governorship.
Or maybe even the presidency.
God knows, a cat would be better than Hillary.

The ship was sinking. Nothing could be done.
“Women and children first!” yelled the captain.
At first, the passengers were boarding the lifeboats, but some heated arguments broke out over what age constituted a child.
“Fifteen my ass! Your son has a beard!” shouted the crewman. “And male pattern baldness!”
Other lifeboats had a hard time deciding what constituted a woman. “Do we have any attorneys experienced in LGBT law here?” they asked.
In the end, everyone found a boat and was rescued by the Coast Guard.
The captain swore never to prioritize lifeboat boarding again.
Or hit an iceberg.

Even though British English and American English are quite similar, British Sign Language and American Sign Language are extremely different.
In fact, French Sign Language is closer to American Sign Language than their British counterpart.
It has something to do with the symbols that each use to represent each concept or word.
Americans and French are more literal than the British, and they’re also sparing with the wild gestures.
As opposed to Gay Sign Language, which is simply fabulous, expressive, and requires a lot of flourishes.
Oh, and glitter. Can’t forget the glitter.
How can you possibly forget the glitter?

I could spend a hundred dollars on tickets…
I could spend another hundred dollars on a jersey and a hat…
I could spend twenty bucks on parking…
I could spend thirty bucks on beer and hot dogs…
But instead,
I spend a thousand dollars on a big television…
I spend another thousand dollars on a big sofa…
I spend a hundred dollars a month on cable…
I spend a few hundred dollars on electricity…
I spend twenty bucks on beer, popcorn, and cheese…
Just so I can watch the ballgame at home.
On my sofa.
With my happy, sleeping cat.

Down there, at the convention hall.
Fanatics in their red, white, and blue dresses and suits and oversized floppy top hats, waving their flags.
Their finest flag drag, the more outrageous, the more patriotic they think they are.
Cheering and screaming. Louder and louder.
Pathetic.
it’s nothing more than a concentration camp for fools who still believe that the system works, run by those who know that the system doesn’t, because they’ve subverted and perverted it for personal gain.
Red, white, and blue instead of grey and white pajamas.
What if there were firing squads? What if there were ovens.

Ever seen The Preacher on television?
He also offers to accompany wanted suspects to the police station.
“The police will kill him if they see him,” he tells the family. “But if he turns himself in through me, I’ll protect him.”
But the truth is, The Preacher just wants to collect the reward.
Being a religious official, he can pocket that money tax-free.
Once the suspect is in custody, he rants and raves to the media.
And then goes home to champagne and steak.
The family calls. They ask for help in getting an attorney.
The Preacher blocks their number.