Category: My stories

The bigger the ads for Black Friday, the lamer the deals, and the bigger the fights over them.
It used to be a shopping rush for the first sales of the holidays.
Now, places mark up their prices or delay their discounts until the Friday after Thanksgiving.
Then came pre-Black Friday discounts, previews, early access, and so on.
A constant state of war erupted in the mall.
Meanwhile, employees snatched up the three laptops that were on sale, hidden under the counter while they kept telling customers: “Sorry, but we’re all out. Would you like to buy something else instead?”

Home is where the heart is, but what if you’re Barney Clark, the first long-term human recipient of a mechanical heart pump?
Is it where your excised dead organ has been stored, awaiting your demise so you can be buried with it?
Or is it where your mechanical heart resides, in your chest.
Because if you look at the schematics of the Jarvik-7 model of mechanical heart, you’ll see a set of short cables and tubes connected to a base station.
Barney wasn’t going anywhere far any time soon.
Until, of course, he died, and then went to the cemetery.

When you want an apology from someone, you can ask, but it’s easier to extract an apology with a professional-grade extraction tool.
Then, you can test how genuine that apology is with rigorous scientific tests.
If the apology is genuine, you can bottle it and store it on your shelf, or put it in your trophy case.
If the apology is disingenuine, then you need to use your apology extraction tool with more force, skill, or finesse.
Brandish your tool menacingly. Shake it in their face. Cackle a bit. Maybe lunge at them once or twice.
You’ll get your apology.

I have post-its on my monitors like Leonard Shelby in Memento has tattoos.
Keep it brief.
Nobody wants your ideas.
I’ll get back to you on that.
Do not trust.
Make a list and stick to it.
Don’t take the bait.
It’s only a job.
Not my problem.
Go ask the boss.
They’re not your friends.
Years of fighting, years of abuse.
Years of being put down.
These are the scars across my career.
These are the echoes in my head.
These are the warning signs on the barrier that keep me from jumping over the edge and into oblivion.

Fendy Sound is dangerous waters, piloted by brave ferryboat captains, who charged a fortune for a crossing.
So, Fendy Island built a bridge to the mainland
The town celebrated their new permanent connection to the rest of the country.
Except Mungo Dirge, Captain of the Ferryboat Guild.
“The bridge toll is less than ours!” complained the ferryboat pilots. “We’re ruined!”
“Fill the Elissa with dynamite, sail her over to the main pile, and set her ablaze,” he ordered. “We’ll have our business back.”
So, they loaded up the Elissa with dynamite.
Which exploded at the docks, annihilating the other ferryboats.

Ted isn’t a good administrator, but it’s so hard to fire people from this state-run research hospital.
Also, he’s the nephew of one of the boardmembers. He’s not going anywhere.
Especially after we lured him into the new South wing of the hospital that’s under construction.
We tied him up and immersed him in fresh concrete.
Smoothing out the slab to make sure there’s no sign of Ted was a challenge, but not as much as making it look like he took a trip out of town and simply vanished.
His phone started ringing, but thankfully, the battery died quickly.

It took a long time for Trina to recover from the attack.
After years of therapy, she got over her fear of homeless people.
Now, she was filled with searing hatred for them, and what they did to her.
At first, she’d dress up as a nun and hand out poisoned sandwiches to beggars.
But they wanted money, So, she handed out counterfeit money.
She made big plans for the city’s charity Thanksgiving feast.
Forty-three jugs of tainted gravy.
Thousands of people died. It was like Jonestown.
Trina went from body to body, offering prayers, and trying not to grin.

Ever been in a water balloon fight?
Buy a bag of balloons, fill them with water, fill up a pillowcase, and start throwing them at everyone else?
It’s fun. And a great way to keep cool in the summer.
But not fun on the bus. Or the subway. Or on a plane.
Still, I buy the balloons, and fill them up.
But I fill them with urine.
I get on the Lexington Avenue line, and wait for the train to fill up with suits.
“Next stop, Wall Street,” the voice announces.
I reach into my pillowcase, grin, and begin throwing.

It’s not every day you see a unicorn. They’re an endangered species.
Just my luck, I’m looking at one through my rifle scope.
It’s standing between me and the deer I’ve been tracking.
It knows it’s in my way. It’s doing this to piss me off.
It’s taunting me. Daring me to shoot.
I unchambered the round and lowered my rifle.
Bastard.
That’s then the unicorn charged.
I tried to raise my rifle and fire at the beast, but the son of a bitch gored me and threw me into the thicket.
No wonder why these nasty fuckers are endangered.