Category: My stories

Some people say that you should weigh yourself first thing in the morning when you wake up. You’ve digested your food, sweated and exhaled and farted the waste.
Others say that you should weigh yourself at night before you go to bed. Might as well tally up the damage from the day honestly.
The truth is, it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re consistent.
It’s not the individual datapoints that matter. It’s the trend that matters. And to measure a trend, you need to be consistent.
Now hold my hair as I throw up these stupid tacos and frozen margaritas.

Every ship in the fleet has a primary computer and a backup computer.
When both fail, you can use the lifeboat computers.
When those fail, you can try to repurpose a personal unit.
It’ll take a while to upload the general systems program.
And you’ll have to connect it to the ship’s network infrastructure.
The ship and the computer will handshake.
Give it some time to diagnose the protocols.
And then, you’re back in control.
You won’t have the full interface available.
But you won’t need it.
Just plot a course from where you are.
To the nearest repair dock.

How much more chicken is chickenshit compared to chicken?
Is it more chicken than lily-livered, or less chicken?
And what about yellow-bellied? Is that more chicken than chicken or chickenshit?
Would jaundice turn your belly yellow? I know that it turns your eyes yellow, right?
Most people cover their bellies. You’d think that if it were jaundice, they’d say yellow-eyed.
But most people are too chickenshit to ask to see someone’s belly.
And unless you have expensive equipment, you can’t see the color of someone’s liver without opening them up.
Not that you’d open them up, you yellow-bellied, lily-livered chickenshit.

If it takes a village to raise a child, then it stands to reason that it takes a village to murder a child.
So, when Holly Smith was found dead in Elmwood Park, the sheriff arrested entire village of Elmwood.
Then, he arrested himself. Because he was the sheriff of Elmwood, and just as guilty of Holly Smith’s murder.
The county coroner (who lived in Elmwood) said that it was too soon to call it murder.
“I haven’t even looked at the body yet,” he said.
Except when I murdered that poor, sweet child, he thought.
As every murderer thought.

Letterman’s last show was last night.
I hadn’t watched Letterman’s show in years.
I used to watch him.
I was only eleven, my bedtime was before his show aired, and we were in the Eastern time zone.
But we had a VCR. One of those JVCs with the bright colored buttons.
We’d tape it and watch the next day.
Or on the weekend.
Carson outgrew interesting people and went all Hollywood.
Letterman hadn’t sold out yet.
Brother Theodore. Stupid Pet Tricks.
Andy Kauffman.
No, he didn’t get The Tonight Show.
He just corrupted himself into one.
Why bother watching anymore?

Ashley Blake was the greatest Broadway actress in history.
She won more Tony awards and sold out more shows than anyone.
So, when she died, her funeral was scheduled for her favorite theater.
There were so many mourners and well-wishers, she was there the whole week.
And they sold out those screenings that they do of Broadway shows at the movie theater.
The producer ran two shows a day. Still, the lines went around the block.
A touring company was formed. The corpse of Ashley’s longtime understudy went on the road.
I hope that they might do a film adaptation.

When the judge asked Fred how he wanted to be executed, he said that he wanted a firing squad.
“But instead of a last cigarette, I’d like one of those e-cigarettes,” he said. “Vaping is much healthier than standard cigarettes.”
Then he asked for a virtual reality headset. “A blindfold shows you nothing. So, in my imagination, I’ll see a firing squad. I want to see something else.”
So, on that fateful day, they gave him his e-cigarette, and they gave him his VR gear.
They turned on the headset and showed him a beautiful meadow.
With a gallows platform.

We have two cats.
A black one and a white calico.
We let them out at night and on the weekends.
But we bring them back in when it’s time for bed.
Sometimes, they don’t want to come back in, and we have to hunt them down.
You’d think it would he hard to find the black one, but she’s easy to find.
She jumps out of the bushes and follows us with her tail held high.
It’s the white calico who’s the problem child.
She naps on neighbors’ patios, or goes exploring.
But eventually, she comes home to eat.

Rain at the drive-in.
The forcecast calls for hail.
Wind blows over the screen.
Corrugated metal and wood struts, fallen into a twisted heap.
Shut down for the season because of the snow.
Mosquitos. Lost children.
What’s with that clown in the fun park anyway?
Daylight savings time.
That double feature keeps you out until one or two.
Have fun driving home when you’re that tired.
Car hits a bump, and your friend in the trunk breaks his arm.
A bulb goes out, and they have to switch reels on one projector.
All, just to get that one first kiss.

I murdered my imaginary friend.
I dropped the imaginary knife, picked up my imaginary phone, and called the imaginary police.
They locked my hands in imaginary handcuffs, put me in the back of an imaginary police car, and drove me to an imaginary police station.
There, I was interrogated by imaginary detectives, and charged with imaginary murder.
An imaginary lawyer came to advise me. I made imaginary bail, and awaited imaginary trial before an imaginary judge and jury.
The imaginary prosecutor made the case with imaginary witnesses and experts.
Including my imaginary friend! Who isn’t dead at all!
Not guilty!