Category: My stories

Regular verb, active voice, present tense: Debbie does Dallas.
Present participle: Debbie is doing Dallas.
Present participle, passive voice: Debbie is being done by Dallas.
Past tense, passive voice: Debbie was done by Dallas.
Regular verb, active voice, past tense: Debbie did Dallas.
Regular verb, active voice, future tense: Debbie will do Dallas.
Regular verb, active voice, future tense, profressive: Debbie will be doing Dallas.
Regular verb, active voice, future conditional tense: Debbie shall do Dallas.
Imperative: Debbie, do Dallas.
The excited grammarian kept droning on, proving that there are things far worse than jerking off in an adult theater.

The governor was a sports fanatic.
He loved to go to all of the games.
Baseball, football, basketball… college and professional, it didn’t matter.
And when he went to the games, he was at the game as a fan, and not as the governor.
State business could wait for the game to finish.
This was fine for legislative duties, because that could wait.
But the prisons scheduled executions with the sports schedule in mind.
While the governor was enjoying the game, the executioner threw the switch.
People protested.
“They didn’t vote for me,” he told the press. “So, fuck ’em.”

When I was little, we had two dogs: Snickers and Blackie.
Instead of walking them, we’d let them out in the apple orchard that was behind the house, and usually they came back in on their own.
However, some times they’d chase rabbits or squirrels, and we had to call them back in.
This was fine when there weren’t many houses in our new subdivision, but as more houses were built, a black family took offense to what they thought we were shouting.
So, after that, we had to walk them on leashes. And only wore white sheets on Halloween.

On The Day Of Atonement, you’re supposed to beg forgiveness from all those you have wronged.
Me, I figure that anyone I wronged fucking deserved it, so why should I beg forgiveness? They should beg me. Especially if they don’t want me wronging them again. With my baseball bat.
Some people make it a real hassle to track them down, so I wait for right before The Day Of Atonement, and then I punch them.
Then, I beg forgiveness for punching them.
Or, for breaking their nose, when they try to punch back.
(I got a cousin who does noses.)

They say that good ideas are a dime a dozen.
From the looks of what’s showing at the movie theaters, playing on TV, filling the bookstores, and streaming on the Internet, everybody’s given up on the good ideas and gone where the money is:
Bad ideas.
And the worst thing about bad ideas is that they inspire people to come up with even worse ideas, which them inspires ideas even worse than those.
In the end, we are surrounded, and we drown in a sea of bad ideas.
But I keep my pockets full of shiny dimes, just in case.

When you think about it, the presidency is a temporary job.
Although you could say that it’s more like a contract job.
It lasts 4 years, but can be extended to 8 years if you get decent reviews, and enough people think there’s nobody else that can do it better.
Well, there’s the whole dying in office thing. Or if you quit for whatever reason. But they keep a temporary around to cover for that.
There’s a hell of a lot of perks to go with it, for certain.
But let’s start you off with this office assistant opening, okay?

Every can of chicken noodle soup is a balance between chicken, noodles, and soup.
Too much chicken, and it’s just a can of meat.
Too many noodles, and it’s just a can of wet noodles.
Too much soup, and it’s just a can of broth.
For years, the scientists at the Campbell’s Soup Company experimented with the amount of chicken, noodles, and soup in their cans.
Until one day, they had the perfect balance.
“SUCCESS!” shouted the Chief Soupologist.
To celebrate, he had a bowl of soup.
Tomato soup. With grilled cheese sandwiches.
Because he couldn’t stand chicken noodle soup.

There were celebrations in Teheran, Riyadh, Cairo, Beirut, Damascus, and mosques throughout the world.
The “Zionist occupier”, as they called it, had fallen.
In public, Western countries condemned the action, but privately, they sighed relief.
They didn’t want any incidents in their own countries.
Synagogues were burned, community centers attacked, and Jewish blood spilled.
Millions of miles away, out in the asteroid belt, The Samson Project woke up.
It sent out signals, received no responses, and activated its rockets.
Twenty massive rocks dropped out of orbit and steered for earth.
There would be no last laugh.
Just dust and death.

Baseball started with pink ribbons for breast cancer awareness.
Then pink bats, And pink gloves.
Pretty soon everything was pink.
Their uniforms, the bases, the balls, and eventually the grass and dirt.
Even the hot dogs and beer were pink.
“A portion of proceeds will go to cancer awareness,” said a spokeman.
After two seasons of the pink, scientists noticed an upsurge in cancer rates.
The pink dye was a carcinogen.
Thousands more died, and millions suffered.
Except for the spokeman, who had taken the money and retired to Bermuda.
Keenly aware of skin cancer, he used plenty of sunblock.

In order to appear sophisticated and savvy, whenever there’s a company dinner at a restaurant, I go to the restaurant’s menu online and decide what I want to have before I get there.
Then, I memorize the items.
Instead of accepting a menu from the waiter, I say “I already know what I want.”
And I order from memory.
“Have you been here before?” people ask.
Yeah, I come off looking so damn sophisticated. Except when I get food poisoning.
Then, I go online to the hospital’s website, and decide which doctor I want to have before I get there.