If you change your mind from your current position to the exact opposite, don’t say that you’re pulling a 360. You’re pulling a 180.
It’s basic geometry. 180 degrees is half of a circle, while 360 degrees is a full circle.
If you pull a 360, you’re not changing your mind at all. But at least you’ve taken the time to see all positions.
Add 360 to 180 and you get 540 degrees. Add another 360 and you get 900 degrees.
Keep adding 360. You’ll end up looking the same direction.
Just dizzier and dizzier.
Please don’t barf on me.
Category: My stories
Bush
It’s all Bush’s fault!
Afghanistan? Bush.
The war on terror? Bush.
Terror? Bush.
Guantanamo Bay? Bush.
Iraq? Iran? iPhone? Bush.
The Crimea? Bush.
The economy? Unemployment? Bush.
The one percent? Bush.
Drone strikes on weddings? Bush.
No drone strikes on Kardashian weddings? Bush.
NASA retiring the space shuttle? Bush.
Racism? Sexism? Bush.
9/11? Bush.
The KKK? Bush.
The Third Reich? Bush.
The Kennedy assassinations? Bush.
The assassination of Julius Caesar? Bush.
Global Warming? Hurricane Katrina? Bush.
Tooth decay? Gum disease? Bush.
Bill Buckner? Bush.
The crucifixion? Bush.
AIDS? Cancer? Diabetes? Bush.
Bush? Bush.
Because, dammit… it’s all Bush’s fault!
Drafted
The first player that the team drafted went in for surgery yesterday. With the right hormones and plastic surgery, she’ll make a fine cheerleader.
The second player drafted was a potted plant. It’s in the lobby. Plenty of direct sunlight, but I think they’re overwatering it.
The third player is fine, but his conjoined twin isn’t into sports. They’re still working it out.
The fourth draft pick was the general manager’s wife. They shook him awake, and he thought it was his wife waking him up.
She’s better than their first three picks combined. Why didn’t he pick her first?
Haven’t Bowled
I haven’t bowled for years.
I can’t remember the last time I bowled.
I remember the first time I was at a bowling alley. I was in the day care room while my mom was bowling. They had coloring books and blocks and games and connect the dots.
But I don’t remember playing games with other kids. Just one connect the dots. It was of a cowboy. My mom may still have it.
The company is having a bowling night tonight.
Will I bowl?
No.
Put me in the day care room. With coloring book, blocks, and connect the dots.
Pudding Pop
You know what I love more than anything?
Pudding.
And not just any pudding. It’s got to be chocolate pudding.
Plain chocolate. No Fudge. No Dutch. No Milk. No Dark or White or Double. Just plain chocolate.
Sometimes I like a dollop of whipped cream on top, and other times I just want it plain.
Pudding pops? Hell no. That’s just frozen ice crap. I want creamy chocolate pudding.
Bill Cosby once gave me a pudding pop. I took it, screamed, and tried to impale him with it.
Lucky for him, they’re blunt.
He gave me the dry cleaning bill.
Wait For Me
If you wait for me on the other side, I will join you eventually.
After all, time is an eternity. And it’s only a matter of time before my time comes.
Wait for me. I’ll be there soon. You won’t have to wait forever.
I’ll be older. Maybe much older. You might not even recognize me, but I will recognize you.
If I can remember. Sometimes, I forget things. Important things.
Nothing is as important to me as you are. But what if… what if I forget?
Then I suppose you’ll need to remember for us both.
See you soon?
Dream a little dream of school
My teacher is angry because I keep falling asleep in class.
But when I fall asleep, I dream of being in class. Asleep in class. And I dream of my teacher in the dream is angry with me for falling asleep in class.
Which wakes me up.
“What did you dream of?” my teacher asks.
So, I tell him.
He is angry with me for falling asleep in his dream-self’s class too.
His outrage jars me awake.
And I am in class. My teacher is angry at me for falling asleep in class.
I wait for the dream to end.
The Last Call
It’s the end of the night.
I haven’t written a story yet.
I ask the bartender if he knows any.
He says he does. He heard a good one this afternoon on the way to the bar.
And he tells it to me.
“Wasn’t that great?” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
And I pay my tab and leave him a twenty.
On the way home, I think about the story the bartender told me, and how I can add one of my twist endings to it.
Wait. The story he told.
It’s one of mine.
Breakfast To Death
One cereal box sports a manic bee offering honey-flavored oat holes.
Bees sting. If you’re allergic, that shit kills.
Another box displays a chocolate-crazed vampire.
Vampires bite and suck your blood. Disgusting and deadly!
Then there’s the deranged sun with two scoops of raisins cradled in his sunbeams.
The sun causes skin cancer. And heat-stroke. And retina damage.
Didn’t Wheaties feature OJ Simpson once?
Man, that guy was a bloodthirsty bastard.
What is it with cereal companies using murderous characters to sell their overpriced boxes full of sugar and corn byproducts?
Fuck that. I’m going to have yogurt and bacon.
Hyphenate, Aspirate
For the longest time I thought that lowercase was spelled with a hyphen, but it’s actually spelled without one. And the preferred spelling is without a space between lower and case at all.
My mind reels. How long have I been doing this? When did I think that a hyphen was needed? Why didn’t spellcheck and autocorrect fix it all these years?
I open my custom dictionary, add the entry, and click Save.
What else have I misspelled all these years like some country bumpkin?
I shut down the laptop and write down a reminder on my notepad. In upper-case.