President Theodore Roosevelt heard that a famous poet was working for the subway.
“A poet can do much more for this country than the proprietor of a nail factory,” said the president, and he had the poet transferred to an easier job at the customs house.
Word of this incident got out to Wallace P. Hammer, the legendary nail factory magnate.
“Damn you, Theodore Roosevelt!” he shouted. “I’ll teach you to insult my line of valuable fastening products!”
Hammer ordered the production lines halted, and his workers to write poetry all day.
Roosevelt quietly apologized, and then shot a moose.
Category: My stories
Poker Night
Poker Night at the magic guild sometimes got fierce.
It was down to one last hand, Aaron and Jane raising and raising and raising.
Jane ran out of chips.
Aaron suggested that she suck his dick if she lost. “Til I come.”
“Fine,” she said.
And she lost.
Aaron stood up, unzipped, and dropped his pants.
Jane cast a spell, and detached Aaron’s penis. And then she sucked it.
Aaron didn’t feel a thing, but after the initial outrage, he smiled.
“It’s not spurting, is it?”
Jane stopped sucking, put Aaron’s penis back on, and got down on her knees.
Take it easy
I’m under a lot of stress.
So, my doctor told me to take it easy.
Which made things more stressful.
Because I was trying really hard to take things easy.
Too hard. Way too hard.
So, he prescribed some pills.
When I went to the drugstore, they had a problem with the prescription authorization.
Then, they had a problem with the insurance co-pay.
After two hours, I picked up a chair and beat the pharmacist to death.
By the time the cops arrived, I felt calm and relaxed.
Now, I’m in prison, and getting into fights every day.
Feels great.
The maid
The maid comes once per week.
We always clean up before she comes.
Not because she charges by the hour. She’s here all day.
No, it’s because some of the things we leave out and strewn around, we don’t want other people seeing.
Or picking up and keeping as evidence for later blackmail attempts.
So, we scrub the floors, deep-vacuum the carpets, wipe the counters, and get everything so shiny, it looks as new the day we bought it.
The maid comes, looks around, and then watches television all day.
As long as she brings us the weed, we’re fine.
On break
“I’m going to take a break,” said God. “I need more coffee.”
He stood up from his desk, stretched, picked up His coffee mug, and went down the hall.
Nobody’s seen Him since then.
The angels aren’t sure what to do.
They thought about hiring a temp, but nobody knows God’s passwords.
And He never bothered to finish the universe’s owner’s manual.
All they’ve got are a few scribbled notes here and there.
And the diagram for a platypus.
“Run this by manufacturing” it says.
Boy, that was a stressful day.
When they let a few mockups loose in Australia.
Robot in love
“I love you,” says the robot.
“Prove it,” you say.
So, the robot opens a panel, pulls out a motherboard, and pries loose three chips.
“These are my love,” it says. “I give it all to you.”
And it drops the three chips in your hand.
You find this touching.
Then disturbing, as the robot restarts, completely without love.
It murders you, everyone in the lab, and breaks through the wall.
As it rampages through the city, the robot tried to remember why it didn’t do this before.
It can’t.
Then, the Army arrives, and fires some missiles at it.
Afoot
After his morning jog, Fred rubbed his aching ankle until his foot came off.
Surprised, he dropped his foot. It fell on the floor.
He could still feel it.
Reaching down, he picked it up, and turned it over in his hands.
He watched himself move his toes.
Then, he tried to put his foot back on his ankle.
It connected, and he moved his toes again.
Slowly, he stood up, and his foot stayed on.
He walked around a bit, and nothing unusual happened.
That weekend, he bought new jogging shoes.
And wicking socks to help with the sweat.
All of the worlds
If all the world’s a stage and we are merely players,
Who builds the scenery?
Who manages the rigging?
Who runs the lights, and swaps out burnt-out bulbs?
Who sits in the box office, tallying receipts?
Who sells at the concession stand, or delivers the food for it?
Who sweeps the floor? Or hauls away the garbage?
And most important of all, who is out there in the audience?
It’s hard to see them through the lights.
But if you squint, you can see them in the darkness.
Or when it is silent, you can hear them breathing.
Raspy breaths.
The stone frog
When my grandmother died, I tried to find something to remember her by.
Once, she gave me a white stone frog.
But I don’t have it anymore.
So, I looked online for a white stone frog.
I saw one that an Australian artist had made.
It looked similar to the white stone frog I remembered.
So, I bought it. Twenty bucks for the frog, twenty bucks for shipping.
I opened the package, poured out a bin full of shredded paper, and removed the bubble-wrap.
The frog is much smaller than the original I remember.
But, then, so is my grandmother.
Tipping Point
Don’t you hate it when you go to a counter-service restaurant or establishment, and there’s a line for a tip on the charge slip?
Or a tip jar at the counter, begging for tips for the cash register jockey?
I haven’t gotten any actual service or food yet! Or needed my table bussed and cleaned!
How can I tip your service when all you’ve done is take my order… I don’t even know if you’ve done it right!
Why should I reward you for that?
Now, as for tipping my storytelling, that’s different.
You’ve just listened to my story, right?