The noisy old lady in the apartment next to mine is always lighting those Jesus candles and leaving them in her window.
One day, I smelled smoke, and when I went outside to look, one of the candles had lit her drapes on fire.
I grabbed an extinguisher and knocked on her door, but she didn’t answer.
So, I kicked in the door, sprayed down her drapes and the candle, and called the fire department on my cell phone.
She screamed about an intruder and called the cops.
The cops took her away.
I re-lit the candle, and thanked Jesus.
Category: My stories
Mrs. Claus
When Mrs. Claus falls under the weather, the elves begin their search.
They keep a list of old women.
Good-hearted spinsters who didn’t have any children of their own.
People nobody would miss.
“Didn’t she move to Florida?” people would ask.
In decent health, maybe a little chubby, with gray hair.
Natural, not dyed or a wig.
Good teeth, decent enough vision.
Can you bake cookies?
Good. Keep an eye on the old man. Keep him happy.
What’s with those snowmen outside? Oh, they’ve been there for ages.
Best to leave those frozen-over corpses alone.
You’ll join them soon enough.
Do you?
Do you see what I see?
That’s Santa’s sleigh, crashed in our backyard.
Yeah, he’s dead alright.
Man, what a mess!
Blood and guts everywhere.
And… presents! So many presents!
Do you hear what I hear?
Sirens. But they’re pretty far off, and the roads are icy.
It’ll take ’em a while to get here.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Grab them presents and put ’em in the cellar!
They’re ours now. We found ’em fair and square.
Oh, and grab one of the reindeer carcasses.
Vixen, Comet… who cares?
We’ll chop him up for venison sausage and jerky.
That’s a wrap
No more actors, no more actresses.
It’s all digital now.
Even on the stage, it’s digital. Digital holograms.
No motion-capture needed. We got all that years ago and put it in a library.
We scanned everything in the world so there’s realistic sets to perform on.
And we make them more real than real.
The sound? The music?
It’s all digital. Virtual performers and orchestras.
We all watch at home, in simulated theaters.
The butter on the popcorn isn’t real. Neither is the popcorn, or the soda, or the candy.
Nothing’s real anymore.
Me. You.
Cut! That’s a wrap!
Perfect!
Thug Life
I am fat.
I exercise. I diet.
But I am sick of bland and boring food.
I tried the Thug Life Cookbook.
It is full of savory and enticing vegan dishes.
But my stomach couldn’t take it.
Too much spice. Too much heat.
I was sick all of the time.
This stuff is supposed to make me feel good and enjoy food.
But I feel awful all of the time.
I bought a bottle of malt liquor and poured it out for my fallen homies.
Then, I washed the bottle.
And filled it with chicken broth.
It looks about right.
The sidewalk of could have been
Outside of the Hall Of Fame is the Sidewalk of Could Have Been.
These were the stars of high school, college, and sandlots.
Some of them made it to the minor leagues or practice squads.
And a few are in their respective college or high school or state halls of fame, but not here. The real Hall Of Fame.
They had the raw talent, but not the skill.
They’ll tell you that they had both, but were never given a chance, but to make it as far as they did, they had plenty of chances.
Don’t stare. Just keep walking.
Self-Driving Cars
Fred worked in the research group that was developing self-driving cars for…
Well, I can’t tell you. But you can figure it out, I think.
I mean, it was in the news. And the papers.
The guy snapped.
He programmed in a Deathrace style game where the cars collected points for things or people that they hit.
Dozens of cars, trucks, and vans went berserk in the parking lot.
A few smashed through the glass wall of the company cafeteria.
Where Fred was watching the carnage, sipping his chicken noodle soup.
He shouldn’t have made himself worth a thousand points.
Not so fantastic
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.
Dance Hall Days
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.
The Zero
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.