I did one of those online surveys that told me that I was 97 percent evil.
What did I do wrong? Where did I go wrong?
Not the 97 percent, mind you. I’m worried about the 3 percent good.
How am I going to get a management position in Hell with that much good in me? 3 percent good gets you graveyard shift in the Comcast call centers in Hell.
I need 100% pure evil. Total evil. No good at all.
I’ll make supervisor. Management. Maybe even executive.
Just three percent good.
And I’ll start with you, my little prisoner.
Category: My stories
Area 25
Scientists say that Area 25 in the brain can be directly electrically stimulated to lift deep depression in most patients. It feels like a dark cloud is being cleared away, or a heavy weight lifted from their chest.
When the stimulation ends, the cloud and the weight eventually return, but they’re not as bad as they were before.
The scientists found Area 25 with MRI and careful testing, but I like to imagine them poking in wires, throwing switches, and saying “Area 7? Nope. Just gave him a hard-on and the smell of roast duck.”
Science should be fun, right?
Jack
So let me get this straight…
Jack ignores his mother, and he sells the cow for some magic beans.
She throws them out the window, and they grow into a gigantic beanstalk.
Then he goes up the beanstalk and lies to the giant’s wife, robs the giant blind, and then kills the giant?
The dude sounds like a dick to me. He broke into a guy’s home, robbed, and then murdered him!
But I’m not about to say anything bad about Jack.
Because that guy just might lie to my wife, rob me blind, and then kill me.
That dick.
Puritans
H.L Mencken said that Puritanism is the haunting fear that someone, somewhere may be happy.
As first, I thought that this was Cherophobia, the fear of happiness and gaity, but H.L Mencken was very specific about the happiness being in others, not the Puritans themselves, which is quite an understandable mistake if you know any Puritans.
Sure, they’ll deny it, but Puritans are a very unhappy bunch. And they want to share that unhappiness.
At least they’re nice enough to share, right?
If only they were willing to share ice cream and bubblegum like that.
Those unhappy jerks.
Book by its cover
You really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, the saying goes. But if a book is covered with wickedly sharp spikes, you should consider buying the Kindle version.
The same goes for books that have a cover that is on fire, although most bookstores won’t stock books that are on fire. And Amazon can’t deliver them fast enough. You’ll end up with a box of ashes.
As for the book that’s dripping with semen, well, that’s just plain gross. But then, maybe you should get it.
I mean, someone else enjoyed it, right?
Just wipe it off first, okay?
The Gates
When Elvis died (if you believe the news, that is), he didn’t just walk through the Pearly Gates. He drove his big ol Cadillac right through them.
Problem is, those Gates were made a long time ago, and they weren’t meant to pass a Cadillac, so it was a tight fit.
And Elvis, well, he had a problem with the booze and the pills, so it was a miracle that he didn’t scratch a fender or side panel.
The Gates of Hell, on the other hand, are wide enough to fit any vehicle.
(Just try and find a parking space.)
Matches
Superstitious Bob constantly struck matches for good luck.
The casinos didn’t like the idea of a guy striking matches all the time, like some kind of arsonist goon from the mafia, so they threw him out.
Same with the horse track. And the nearby dog track.
The dog fighting pit regulars threatened to let their dogs at him. Dogs don’t like the sulfur from matches.
He was down to the high school snail races.
And you know what? He got along fine with those guys.
Until he spilled some salt and tossed it over his shoulder. On to the racers.
Shaving
Oh, you want to know the real story?
Well, it started simple enough. Everyone on the team stopped shaving for good luck.
And it worked. After three wins in a row, the players all had stubble.
After two weeks, the coach said that they really ought to shave, but the players were superstitious and refused to give in.
After two months without a loss, the media got wind of the story, and it felt like every sports reporter was following the team around.
Eventually the school principal put their foot down and threatened the girl’s varsity basketball team with suspensions.
Easy Street
You think life is so good on Easy Street?
Well, you fool, I own a house on Easy Street, and life’s not so good.
Any window that’s not boarded-up is broken.
Half of the streetlights are out. The rest have been knocked over.
Stripped cars up on blocks, or sitting out on the curb.
Nobody comes around to pick up the trash. Mountains of trash.
Rats and vermin everywhere.
Naked children splashing in mosquito-ridden muddy puddles.
Disgusting.
Thank God I don’t actually live there.
I just own that house to establish residency in that ward for my city alderman job.
Crazy Driver
When the office moved to the North side of town, I didn’t own a car, so I commuted with coworkers who lived nearby.
One would stop at Whataburger every morning. I always ate breakfast at home, because we’d be late by a quarter hour, and get docked the cost of a Whataburger breakfast. I figured I broke even.
Another drove his wreck of a truck like a crazy man, weaving from lane to lane, and he’d shout ” Slow down, Mister Zoomy!” at anybody that would pass him.
Both were crazy.
But I was even crazier, riding with them willingly.