Some neighborhoods get the reputation for being good places to Trick or Treat, giving out full-sized candy bars and other goodies.
Others get a reputation for being lousy, with lots of porch lights turned off or sugar-free dentist office candy.
This year, word got around that my neighborhood was prime territory.
Communities rented buses and brought their kids here from miles around.
The streets filled up like a refugee camp. Screaming kids, roaming everywhere, bloody and frightened.
Relief agencies air-dropped insulin, dental floss, and ritalin.
The governor declared a disaster area.
Maybe next year, we’ll just do a haunted house.
Category: My stories
Santa’s Ghost
You’ve got your lights and your inflatable reindeer.
I’ve got you beat.
I own a robot Santa Claus that bows and says HO! HO! HO! and hands out presents.
I put it out on the lawn for Halloween.
Well, covered with a sheet. So it’s a creepy ghost. That hands out candy.
Oh, and I change the tape so it goes BOO! and screams now and then.
When Halloween is over, I remove the sheet, change the tape, and he’s back to being Santa Claus.
Sure, it’s a bit early, but he’s a heavy son of a bitch to move.
Airlines
Why is it that airline commercials show all these wonderful amenities and experiences in their airplanes, but none of that is available to anyone who is watching the commercial?
Even if you pay a little more for an upgrade, they still treat you like shit compared to the good old days.
I think the commercials are just the airline, advertising, and media executives telling the common people of the world all the things they have and we don’t deserve.
Same with Jaguar commercials, high-end watches and perfumes and yachts.
This message brought to you by the people better than you.
For a good time
I’ve written my number on every bathroom stall that I’ve ever used, nobody has ever called me.
I guess nobody wants a good time anymore.
So, I started writing “For A Bad Time” next to my number.
Still no takers. I guess people already have a bad enough time as it is, so why bother calling me for one?
I stopped writing my number on bathroom stalls. Disconnected the phone line completely.
I don’t even have a cell phone. I guess I got sick of all those telemarketers calling all the time.
Peace and quiet. Now that’s a good time.
Training Wheels
I can’t keep all the style guide rules in my head.
I fuck something up in every doc.
More than once.
When I get it to the front of my mental stack.
Something else slides back out.
I feel stupid. And weak. And old. And tired.
It’s time to put the training wheels back on.
It’s time to write up a checklist with everything I fuck up.
And then work through the checklist with every sentence.
Like a goddamned child. Like a goddamned retard.
And when I can write without the checklist.
I can take the training wheels off again.
World Cup
The sooner that the United States is out of the World Cup, the better.
Because anybody who gives a rat’s ass about the World Cup after the United States is out isn’t an American.
They may have been born here or have citizenship papers, but the odds are that they’re some dirty foreigner because no true American gives a fuck about the World Cup.
Football is football, dammit, not soccer.
See that McDonalds over there? The one that has those World Cup tear-off game pieces?
They might as well be a dirty run-down bogeda.
I’ll be at the Taco Bell.
Grilling on a rainy day
Two gigantic ribeye steaks.
Half price.
I bought them and brought them home.
But every evening, it rained.
Couldn’t grill them.
Until tonight.
Perfect low sun evening.
Not a cloud in the sky.
Rubbed the steaks with seasoning.
Smeared on the olive oil.
Scraped off the grill.
Loaded up the coals.
Sprayed on the lighter fluid.
And tossed on a match.
The coals went white in ten minutes.
That’s when I felt the droplets.
Shit.
It was a sunshower.
I got the steaks on.
Put on the lid.
Hissing droplets hit the top of the grill.
I won’t be denied.
Marvin’s Phone
One of the fondest memories I have of Marvin Zindler was when he was in the newsroom and his cell phone rang.
He couldn’t hear the ringer, but everybody else could.
“Answer your phone, Marvin,” said a coworker.
“What?” asked Marvin.
“ANSWER YOUR PHONE, MARVIN!” yelled the coworker.
Marvin checked every one of his white suit’s pockets, found the phone, and answered it. “HELLO?”
Here’s what I never understood: How the shit he could hear the person talking on the phone, and not the ringer?
I think he was fucking with us. Which was very Marvin. He was an asshole.
Ducks
Why is it so hard to get all of your ducks in a row?
Because ducks naturally prefer columns. When ducks line up to cross the road, it’s in a column, not a row.
Problem is, a column takes longer to cross the road. Ducks crossing as a row all reach the other side at the same time.
But then, a column of ducks offers a lesser profile, and are harder for you or your car’s radar system to see. So, if one gets hit, they all get hit.
When it comes to rows and columns, I don’t get ducks.
Cracked corn
Jimmy cracked corn, but I didn’t care.
Jimmy cracked corn, but I didn’t care.
Then Jimmy cracked a nasty joke at the mayor’s wife. I didn’t vote for the guy. So, I didn’t care.
Then Jimmy cracked the bank’s safe, but it wasn’t my bank, so I didn’t care.
Then Jimmy cracked a tooth while chewing ice. I’m not his dentist, so I didn’t care.
Then Jimmy cracked the nuclear launch codes. Almost started World War Three.
So, I cracked Jimmy over the head with a shovel.
His body’s in the crawlspace.
Now, I care. Because he’s beginning to stink.