After Bob graduated from Clown College, he wasn’t ready to join the workforce just yet. He couldn’t imagine himself shoveling elephant poop while waiting for his chance at the big top, so he stayed for Clown Graduate School.
He earned his Masters, and picked up his PhD.
Instead of the circus or carnivals, Bobo applied for a research grant.
Over the years, his lab made some amazing discoveries.
The optimal floppy shoe length.
Self-driving clown cars.
Memory rubber for self-folding balloon animals.
But every now and then, for old times sake, he smacked himself in the face with a pie.
Category: My stories
The Palace Hotel
Don’t steal another man’s shoes
At the Palace Hotel
They’ll throw you out of the window.
Don’t walk on the sidewalk
At the Palace Hotel
They’ll throw a bum out of the window
For stealing another man’s shoes
And he’ll land on you.
Don’t wear shoes
At the Palace Hotel
Someone will steal your shoes
And throw them out of the window.
Or
Someone will say that you stole their shoes
And they’ll take your shoes
And throw you out of the window.
Maybe you shouldn’t go to the Palace Hotel.
Just stay here, down in the alley.
With me.
The Walker
Every morning, I put on my workout clothes, start the coffee maker, and turn on the treadmill.
I put a desk fan and my laptop on the desk of the treadmill, attach the safety key to my hip, and get moving.
The only thing that gets in my way is Myst the cat.
If I lay on the sofa for a bit before my walk, she’ll get up on my lap and fall asleep.
It’s her way of trying to veto my walk.
That veto is easily overturned. I set her aside, and get moving.
I press START and walk.
Splashing Around
The sadness spreads to everyone.
We all tread water in a pool of tears.
Sometimes, we splash each other for fun. Make the best of it.
Other times, we splash in frustration. Or rage.
And then there’s the ones who will pull you under with them.
Trying to scream under the water, thrashing and kicking.
Into the dark.
We build a raft out of the drowned
Lashing them together with their clothes
And we paddle for the shore.
But we never see land.
Only more people treading water, splashing, and thrashing.
It goes on and on and on
Without end.
Hi Fluffy Cat
I go to bed early, my wife goes to bed late.
While I sleep, she watches TV, reads, and lets the cats go out and play.
Now and then, a neighbor cat comes by, and she feeds the cat.
Sometimes, it’s a friendly cat, and it comes inside to get warm.
Recently, an orange cat with a very fluffy tail has come by to visit.
I woke up at three in the morning and instead of our cats, I saw him, sniffing around on the bed.
“Hi, Fluffy,” I said.
He meowed, and scampered off.
So much better than dreams.
Booth Duty
I got stuck with booth babe duty at the conference.
Me. A fat, lazy introverted slob.
A booth babe.
Shit.
So, I put a jellybean in a clear bottle and asked people to guess the number of jellybeans in the bottle.
People thought it was a trick question.
“One?” some asked.
“Absolutely,” I said, putting down the bottle. “We provide tools and interfaces that take the guesswork out of webhosting and reselling. No tricks, just simple and straightforward menus and wizards to make your job simple and easy.”
My partner gives a thumbs up and smiles.
Another wallet stolen! Sweet!
Dying Mother
My mother is not well. She is dying.
She doesn’t want to see me.
And my father agrees with her.
My brother, his wife, and their daughter won’t go.
They live far away, not that they’d go if they lived in the same city.
Or next door, not that they would do that.
My aunt, the parasite, won’t go.
She stole everything she could from their mother, my grandmother, and there’s some things she just don’t do.
And then there’s me.
Sitting here. Trying not to think about it.
Or them. Or me.
Or what I’ve done.
And I wait.
Flatlander
I love West Coast cities.
San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle all have walkable places to find a quick bite to eat, or enjoy the good weather, or just lay back and let the day go by.
The problem with these places is that they’re hilly, with lots of steep inclines and declines.
I find it hard to maintain my balance going up or down.
Which is why it was so strange when I stepped wrong on First Street in Seattle, a totally flat sidewalk.
I earned the red badges of courage, every scrape and bruise from my fall proudly displayed.
The Long Sad Wait
I miss you.
I see that in the corner of my screen, where the messenger window peeks out from behind the mail client.
I drag my fingers across the trackpad and tap.
It’s just the message I last sent to her.
And she hasn’t responded.
For days, weeks, months she doesn’t respond.
And then, maybe a hi. Or hello. Or a how are you.
I try to respond, and I say all the things, and ask her…
How are you?
But she doesn’t respond.
And we’re back to silence. And the pain.
And the long, sad wait for something more.
Numbers
Bobby Smith and his brother Buddy listened to the radio as the draft official called out the lottery numbers.
They were twins, born ten minutes apart. Couldn’t tell one from the other.
Bobby born five minutes before midnight, Buddy five minutes after.
September 14th came first. Then, April 24th.
Bobby’s birthday.
Buddy’s number, April 25th, didn’t come up until near the end.
Buddy offered to take Bobby’s place, but Bobby refused.
Buddy showed up at the indoctrination anyway, and he volunteered.
They trained together, they got shipped out together.
Buddy came home… or was it Bobby?
The war didn’t care.