Category: My stories

Amy may be the prettiest girl in town, but she’s also the most hateful.
Hate literally oozed out from her pores.
A yellowish-green snot color, slick and slimy.
Before, if you got it on you, it had an interesting warmth and tingle, like a gentle Icy Hot.
It made her really popular among the boys.
Then, the hate turned into a nasty venom, and a few horny boys ended up in the emergency room.
Finally, it became a searing rage, and she left a trail of molten lava.
Until she burned through the melted sidewalk and vanished into the earth.

So, you want to go to the eighth floor?
No.
Go ahead, swipe your badge on the sensor and press the eight button.
Do it over and over.
I don’t give a fuck, I’m not going there.
Push and hold the button in. Yesssss… that feels so good.
See it light up?
Now let go.
Aaaaaand… the light goes out.
No eight for you, bitch.
Maybe I’ll let you go to seven.
Then you can haul your fat ass up the stairs to eight.
No?
Then I’ll take you to six.
Keep it up, and we’ll go to five, okay?

Every presidential candidate promises to move the US embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, but they never do.
There’s always some excuse that comes up when they change from a candidate to the officeholder.
Never mind that the US Consulate in Jerusalem, with its Arab-speaking staff and regular breaks for Islamic prayer times, is a de facto embassy to the Palestinians.
Congress passed a law mandating the move, but the President can delay the move, and always chooses to do so.
The Israelis came up with a solution.
They moved a black family next door to the Tel Aviv embassy.

The kidnapper was a total cliche.
White unmarked van.
Fake beard and glasses.
Lured the kid in with candy and a story about a lost puppy.
Just a few seconds with a chloroforum-soaked rag, and he had his prey.
He’d soundproofed his basement, and tested it by turning on the stereo as loud as he could, and trying to hear it from the front door.
Perfect.
“Nobody can hear you,” the kidnapper says. “You can scream for hours, and nobody will hear you.”
“Siri, call nine one one,” said the kid.
He’d forgotten to check the kid for a phone!

I defollowed the Trump supporters, because they supported a serial fraudster and failed businessman riding a reality-television popularity wave.

I defollowed the Cruz supporters, because they supported a homophobic misogynistic evangelical hypocrite.

I defollowed the Sanders supporters, because they supported an unprincipled charlatan who ran as a Democrat only for the campaign money and party mechanism.

And I defollowed the Clinton supporters, because they supported a amoral failed diplomat with blood on her hands, who vilified victims of rape and sexual abuse while claiming poverty from within a New York mansion.

My timelines empty, I took up gardening.

Mmmmmmmmm… peppermint!

Here, in The Kingdom, we swear our loyalty to The Crown.
No, not The King. The King is just the man who wears The Crown.
The Crown uses The King as a host, speaking through the body and consuming it slowly.
Until a new King is needed.
Prisoners from the jail.
The sick. The old.
And those who refuse to swear their loyalty to The Crown.
You can try to resist The Crown’s power, but it’ll just hurt more.
Give in.
Let The Crown take over.
Just as it has taken The Kingdom over.
And wisely ruled us for centuries.

In a fight between Batman and Superman, who wins?
Not me.
I’m an insurance agent. And I have clients in Gotham and Metropolis.
Every time these goons go at it, my phone rings off the hook.
The dead, the injured. Life insurance claims. Medical claims.
Property claims, too. Collapsed buildings. Totaled cars. Shattered windows.
And looting. Always the looting.
Every new policy I resell now includes Batman and Superman under “Acts of God.”
I guess it’s impossible to sue Batman and Superman.
The phone rings. Must be another fight.
I pick up the phone.
“Wayne Industries Insurance Agency,” I answer.

Bob started his own business a while back.
He’s sick of paying taxes, so he looked into an offshore tax haven.
He bought a boat, loaded his company on to it, and pulled up the anchor.
“NO MORE TAXES!” he cheered. “SCREW YOU, AMERICA!”
Things went okay for about a day, until government lawyers showed up.
“This extension cord is plugged into an American power source,” they said. “And your cell phone uses an American cell tower.”
So, he mounted solar panels, bought a satellite phone, and proudly cheered again.
Until he hit a rock and needed the Coast Guard.

My team doesn’t tells me when something changes.
It’s not that they forget to tell me.
When I walk into the room, they stop talking.
Or, if it’s important, they stop me in the hall and just stare at me.
Then they follow up with blank emails and memos.
Once, they hired a singing telegram, and the dancing girl stood there and stared at me.
Then, they hired a skywriter to fly his airplane around without releasing any smoke.
Another airplane flew around without a trailing banner.
As long as they keep filling out my paychecks properly, I don’t mind.

I bought a memory foam mattress.
It’s comfortable. And I sleep well.
At least I thought I did.
Turns out, I toss and turn all night.
But the foam absorbs my memories.
So I forget the discomfort and restlessness. And the pain.
That would be fine, as long as I don’t forget anything else.
I assume that the memories aren’t totally gone.
They’re in the mattress. Deep in there.
Years of lost sleep.
Years of my life, good and bad.
Years of time with you.
Whoever you are, because for the life of me, I can’t remember who you are.