Popular culture moves so quickly these days.
It’s hard to manufacture relevant and topical Halloween costumes in time to reach the market.
By the time something hits the shelves, it’s already passe and out of date.
Sure, you could make your own, but that takes effort.
And, once again, by the time you finish sewing and gluing, it’s already out of date.
That’s why Melvin uses his 3D printer to manufacture his costumes.
He uses a series of colored resins to fabricate the suit and mask and gloves.
Directly on to his body.
That way, the painful screams are genuine.
Category: My stories
Edgar the Whacker
They called him Roger the Butcher.
Never mind that he went by his middle name “Edgar.”
Or that he wasn’t a butcher. He was a plumber.
Nor was he butchering his victims.
He preferred to just whack them on the back of the head with a pipe.
But the papers didn’t like the name “Edgar the Whacker.”
So they call him “Roger the Butcher” because that sounded better.
Edgar had already picked out a domain name, registered a trademark, and established a social media presence.
So he started whacking reporters.
“WHAT’S MY NAME?” he shouted.
“EDGAR THE WHACKER!” they screamed.
Witch Hunt
Teddy got his first witch hunting license when he was thirteen.
Before that, Teddy’s dad would bring him along, but wouldn’t let him do more than carry an equipment bag.
“Thirteen is old enough,” said Teddy’s dad, handing Teddy a torch and pitchfork. “These were your grandfather’s, and now they’re yours.”
They set up a blind in the old creepy woods by a growth of deadly nightshade.
The witches came to harvest under the full moon.
Teddy bagged two sorceresses, and his dad tied them to the roof of the jeep.
They burned them at the stake in the backyard.
Four legged friend
Most people are referring to their dog or cat when they talk about a four-legged friend, or maybe something exotic like a pony, but when I say it, I’m talking about my pal Murray.
Look, Murray’s had a hard life, having four legs.
When he was born, his parents gave him up for adoption.
His dad was a gambler, and everybody thought he was weird when he’d say “Baby needs two pairs of shoes.”
And instead of getting a decent education, he spent most of his childhood in carnival sideshows.
So, back off, or Murray will kick your ass. Twice.
Ukraine
The Western Ukranians want closer ties to Europe and to have a Western democracy.
The Eastern Ukranians want closer ties to Russia and to have an Eastern democracy, which is really just a socialist autocracy.
Both point their fingers at each other and accuse them of being servants of the money-grubbing Jews.
Me, I want them both to fuck themselves and die.
Let them have their wars. Their massacres. Their war crimes.
The more, the better.
My people can move on to Spain or Israel or wherever they want.
And leave these Jew-hating scum to their mutual prison and cemetery.
Tom that’s toast
Tom is always buttering up his bosses.
Literally. He carries around a butterknife and an insulated cooler with butter in it.
The challenge is keeping the butter soft enough to spread, but not to allow it to spoil.
Nobody likes the smell or taste of rancid butter.
He could melt the butter and spray it with a power painter or a spray bottle, but he wants to butter up his bosses, not scald them.
What do the bosses think about Tom’s attempts to butter them up?
Security escorted Tom out the door this morning.
I guess it’s Tom that’s toast.
Early release
Centuries ago, the British would transport criminals across the oceans to Australia.
Recently, scientists came up with a plan to transport criminals to the moon.
Well, just the dangerous ones. The ones with life sentences and no possibility of parole.
The prison was automated, with robot guards, hydroponic oxygen and food generation farms, and so on.
The inmates were put to work building a moon colony for future residents.
Do a good job, and you earn a release.
And the plan worked. The colony was completed quickly,
The prisoners were all released… to the cold, airless surface of the moon.
Best seller
After years of trying to write The Great American Novel and failing, Fred gave up writing.
“Why?” asked Joe, Fred’s agent. “I know you have it in you.”
“No, I don’t,” said Fred. “But you do.”
“Me?”
Fred became Joe’s agent, and when Fred finished writing his novel, Joe shopped it around and got it published.
Best seller. Fifteen weeks.
Joe’s next nine novels were also best-sellers.
Joe got famous, and Fred booked him on talk shows and book tours.
They both made a good living.
These days, you’ll catch them on the golf course.
Joe lets Fred keep score.
George the Talent Scout
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He could spot good talent, though.
Several of the cabin boys he’d found at local schools had grown up to become great pirates.
George was proud of them, even though they weren’t exactly proud of owing their careers to George.
George would send them birthday and Christmas cards, out of genuine fondness, not out of some selfish attempt to network.
And those pirates would open the envelope, read the card, and know that someone cared and remembered them.
Even if that someone was an incompetent, bumbling screw-up like George.
Diseased solution
When you go to an amusement park or public event, do it when you’re sick.
That way, you immune system is already active and working on fighting illness and infection.
Otherwise, when you’re fine and healthy, your defenses aren’t ready for the many illnesses from around the world.
Would you rather have a simple cold, or a full-blown tropical virus that makes your eyes, ass, and ears bleed?
It’s like measles parties, but instead of exposing kids to an infected kid to build immunity, you gather adults to Disneyland or a Rolling Stones concert.
Biological warfare is so much fun!