Category: My stories

I don’t know about you, but I don’t think the Fantastic Four is all that fantastic.
The invisible girl never shows up to appointments. Sure, she’s always on time, but she never shows up. Because she’s invisible.
The stretching guy not only stretches his limbs, but stretches all his stories out to bore everyone at parties. And he stretches the truth when he tells them. Can’t trust a thing he says.
The guy made out of rocks has rocks in his head. Can’t remember anything you tell him.
And the guy on fire? I dare you to shake his hand.

I think back to my younger days at the dance hall.
When the music began, there was no keeping Sally off of the dance floor.
Yes, I know that she’s a Baptist, and Baptists aren’t allowed to dance.
But she didn’t go out on to the dance floor to dance.
She went out there to harass the dancers and shout “YOU’RE ALL GOING TO HELL!”
When the band took requests, people asked them to hit Sally with a trumpet or a guitar.
And they did. Maybe a little too hard.
These days, Sally tends to sit quietly, drooling a little.

Some historians say that Arabic mathematician Mohammed ibn-Musa al-Khowarizmi invented the zero.
But they’re wrong. the zero has been around since ancient Mesopotamia.
Hindus and Greeks knew them, too.
They just didn’t have a pretty symbol for it.
The truth is, al-Khowarizmi was baking some eights, and he accidentally dropped the tray.
Most of the eights shattered, but a few split along the center, creating pairs of zeroes.
Others split lengthwise, making pairs of threes, but he already had a batch of those cooling on the windowsill.
Pressed for time, he baked more eights, and flipped some sixes into nines.

Andy Kaufman isn’t dead.
He’s alive. Very alive.
It’s his comedy partner Bob Zmuda that is dead.
How so?
Well, they teamed up to create the Tony Clifton character.
They both could dress up and perform as Tony.
Andy appeared as him, then Bob appeared as him.
After Andy’s alleged death, Tony kept showing up.
People thought it was Bob performing as Tony.
But some thought it was Andy.
And when Bob appeared as himself, it was really Andy as Bob.
And now? Today?
Maybe I’m not me.
Maybe I’m dead.
Maybe I’m Andy.
Or, maybe.
Just maybe
You are.

When your dad takes you to the game, he tells you about all the players he grew up with.
Some of them are coaches now. Or play-by-play announcers. Or endorsing various products.
You think “Who gives a crap about the underwear that this guy has on?”
And you cheer on your team.
They win. They lose.
The owners trade some of them around.
Eventually, they retire.
And become coaches. Or play-by-play announcers. Or endorse various products.
An underwear commercial comes on.
You try to tell your kid about when that guy played the game.
But they don’t care.
Not yet.

Everybody on the whole cell block was dancing to the Jail House Rock.
Except for Bob and Joe. They were doing the Tango.
I’m not sure how they managed to get the rose to pass between their mouths.
Does someone grow roses out in the fields?
I know they check for marijuana and other contraband.
Is a rose contraband?
Perhaps one of the guards or administration secretaries got a bunch of roses for an anniversary, or a birthday?
Because I don’t think you can smuggle one in the usual way without damaging the rose.
Or wanting it in your mouth.

Don’t you hate it when you’re stuck in line at the grocery store behind some idiot?
They try to use a check, or argue over coupons or something.
The worst was when a register girl couldn’t find a round green squash on the code list.
The customer didn’t know what it was.
Why are you buying something that you don’t know what it is?
Did your doctor tell you that you needed more greens in your diet, and your grandson ran out of green plastic army men?
Eventually, they finished, thank God!
I got out my checkbook and coupon pouch.

Zephyr, the West Wind, brings storms in from The Lost Sea. We raise the watercatchers, and the rain falls into the cisterns.
Sirocco, the East Wind, brings pleasant smells from the flowers of The Rainbow Valley. We lay in the grass and dream.
Gust, the North Wind, brings the dust and grit of The Endless Desert. In less than a minute, flesh is stripped from bone. We raise the red flags, bring in the animals and equipment, and seal our doors until the wind stops.
Whoosh, the South Wind, hasn’t been heard in years. Nobody alive remembers what it brought.

I’m dying.
Buy a casket for me on Woot.
And a funeral package on Groupon.
Or maybe check Angie’s List if there isn’t one there.
You can get flowers from LivingSocial.
Amazon Daily Deals always has nice clothes.
Does Zillow handle cemetery real estate yet?
We can get the headstone from Ebay.
Just sand off the name and dates, but keep “In loving memory.”
I like that.
Invite friends and family from Facebook.
And stream it on YouTube. For those who can’t use Kayak to make travel arrangements.
Log off my Warcraft avatars.
Oh, and snip the leaf on Ancestry.

Why is 50 Cent called 50 Cent?
Is it because he’s a two-bit hood? No, that would be 25 Cent.
Maybe he has a lucky 50 cent piece?
Or it represents the 2 quarters they’d put over his eyes if he got shot. Again.
Wouldn’t they use silver dollars?
They say he took it from a thief who’d rob anyone for just 50 cents. Some say the guy turned 50 cents into 500 dollars at a dice game.
A music thief, stealing a thief’s name. Priceless.
I think it’s the price of his albums in the discount bin at Wal-Mart.