Category: My stories

“Leave no man behind” isn’t the official policy of our armed forces, but they do their best to bring every soldier, pilot, and crewman home that they can.
The obvious exception is when they get vaporized by nuclear weapons, as what happened when the North Koreans tried to reunify with the South.
Or when the Russians let ISIS acquire a pan-dimensional energy source and they sent most of Libya to a parallel dimension. Ain’t nobody coming back.
So, go ahead. Test this new light-speed spacecraft.
If it works, great. If it doesn’t, you get an empty coffin at Arlington, okay?

The old general used to give out his wristwatches as gifts.
He’d take off his wristwatch and hand it to you, saying “Here, have this.”
And you’d say “Thank you” like it was some Rolex.
But they never were.
They were cheap knock-off wristwatches.
Most of the time they were broken. Or had a worn-out leather strap.
Or something else wrong with them.
But a gift’s a gift, right? It’s the thought that counts.
Mine runs pretty well.
Well, ran.
Damn thing wasn’t waterproofed, and I wore it in the shower.
Maybe I’ll give it as a gift to someone?

Hardware sores and department stores in the city are so expensive.
Even the electrical outlet specialty store is out of my price range.
So, when I’m looking for a new electrical outlet, I shop at the outlet outlet store.
It’s in a mall outside of town along with all the other outlet stores for The Gap, American Tourister, and other brands.
Except that instead of fashion, the outlet outlet store has great deals on electrical outlets.
Sure, you have to pay a bit for the gas to get there, but if you’re buying in bulk, it’s well worth the trip.

I wanted to buy a frozen pizza at the grocery store, but all they had was Mexican-style pizza from Red Baron.
Isn’t the Red Baron a German legend?
Why is he making Mexican-style pizza?
And why am I buying a pizza from an enemy combatant?
That’s like Hitler Sandwiches or Bin Laden Ice Cream.
Mexican-style pizza, taking jobs away from American pizza.
We should build a wall. Out of pizza. To keep the Mexican-style pizza out.
And have the Red Baron pay for it!
But then, it’s the Red Baron.
He has a plane. He could just fly over it.

You do not fuck with the coroner of Smith County.
You do not want him to tell you “You are dead to me.”
If he doesn’t like you, he signs your death certificate, and you’re legally dead.
You lose everything… your job, your bank accounts, your credit cards, your house, your car…
Your life is dead and gone.
And you’re standing there, watching it all happen, and you can’t do a damned thing about it.
And nobody will help you, because you’re dead. The dead are beyond help.
I can’t help you either.
Because the coroner declared me dead, too.

The Democrats run primaries and caucuses to choose delegates to go to their national convention, and those delegates will select their party’s presidential candidate.
But they also have superdelegates, who are party leaders and elders who can choose whoever they want to choose.
The irony of the Democratic Party using anti-democratic election tactics is amusing.
And inspiring.
Because I’ve started my own party.
It’s the “We know better than you” Party.
Our primaries and caucuses are just meaningless polls and debates.
Every delegate is a superdelegate.
Because we know better than you.
And if you don’t like it, fuck you.

The Royal Surveyor was a borderline obsessive.
He obsessed about borderlines, and he took his job very seriously.
Every tree, rock, and clump of dirt went into his logbook.
Then, he handed it to The Royal Guard.
“This is the border to guard!”
The Royal Guard, formed from the most aggressive borderline psychotics, took the job very seriously.
Nobody crossed that border.
The king, afflicted with borderline personality disorder, got in one of his moods and decided to travel.
The Royal Guard blocked his path.
“We’re guarding this border!” they said.
The king had them executed.
And then barbarians invaded.

Every day, Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.
And every night, the creature crawled up from the well and came down the hill to fetch something to eat.
Usually, it was something small, like a chicken or a rabbit.
But sometimes, it would grab a horse or a cow.
Or try to snatch a baby.
“We should cap that well,” said the town elders.
“But where will we get water?” asked Jack and Jill.
“From the river, like everybody else,” said the elders.
Jack and Jill went up the hill with concrete mix…

They say if the shoe fits, wear it.
But I’m going swimming. I don’t want to wear it.
It’s hard to wear a shoe while swimming.
Especially one shoe. I’ll look weird.
And then when I’m done swimming, I’ll get sand in the shoe.
I hate it when I get sand in my shoes.
Or shoe, when there’s just one that fits.
I could hop on the sand with my bare foot, but I’d look even sillier than swimming with one shoe, or walking with one.
Leave it here on my towel?
No. Then someone will steal this shoe too.