Have you ever noticed that you never see werewolves eating Kentucky Fried Chicken?
I suspect that one of the eleven secret herbs and spices is wolvesbane.
I’m pretty sure that one of the others is garlic, although that has nothing to do with why vampires won’t eat Kentucky Fried Chicken.
First off, vampires are snappy dressers, and fried chicken is greasy and disgusting.
And secondly, vampires drink blood. They do not eat fried chicken.
This would not stop either a vampire or a werewolf from eating a KFC employee, of course.
So don’t forget your silver bullets, cross, and hairnet.
Category: My stories
Batman
Mom got me a Batman costume for Halloween.
“I’m Batman!”
I turned my bike into the Batmobile.
Then, I turned the basement into the Batcave.
You know. So I can fight crime.
I was on my Batcomputer when Mom told me to come upstairs for dinner.
“I’m Batman!” I growled.
“Does Batman want a hamburger or doesn’t he?” she asked.
I threw my cape in front of my face, dropped a smoke bomb, and grabbed a hamburger on my way out the door.
As I got on my bike, I growled another “I’m Batman!” and pedaled off to the Library.
King Size
Why is a king-sized candy bar that size?
No, it’s not because there was a king who liked candy that size.
It was because there was a king who was that size.
Well, a king who had a penis that size.
Which king? None other than the Reverend Martin Luther King, Junior himself.
You know how the King Family earns royalties on his speeches? Well, they do the same with king-sized candy.
That’s why you don’t see much candy in that size.
It’s all fun-size and junior-size.
What?
No, junior’s not named for him either.
His penis was huge, man.
Ghost Stories
Long ago, we used to tell ghost stories around the fire.
But now that we’re all dead and burning in Hell, we tell ghost stories in the fire.
The same stories. Over and over.
I suppose all stories are ghost stories when you’re a ghost.
Especially when the demons go around with whips to flog those ghosts telling happy stories, or stories about really good meals or memories.
You never get used to the flames. An impressive feat, really. Acclimation and desensitization never set in.
Hotter and hotter, while the ghost stories get duller and duller.
Here comes the whip.
The Witch
Gertie the Witch insisted on mixing potions from memory.
“I don’t need my spell book!” she’d screech at the Fire Department. “I’ve still got it all up here!”
He’d tap her forehead.. and noticed that her pointed hat was on fire.
The moment the firemen left, she was back in the kitchen.
Eye of bat…
Tongue of newt…
…or was it the other way around?
Her handwriting hadn’t been the best, even in her good days. And years of smoke damage had left the contents of her supply closet a grimy, sooty mystery.
I call dibs on her magic broom.
Greater Than Less Than
Some people learned that the greater than symbol is an alligator that eats the bigger number.
Other people learned that the less than symbol is an arrow that points at the smaller number.
My second grade Math teacher, Mr. Henson, taught us both.
“It’s up to you to decide,” he said.
The next day, when we arrived at school, there was a bloody trail leading into Mr. Henson’s room.
The room was a ghastly horror.
Last night, an alligator had broken into the school, and when Mr. Henson arrived, the beast attacked and ate him.
We all pointed and screamed.
The Abyss Above
“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”
Gromsch the Troll put down the dead paladin’s battered copy of Nietzsche, and for a while, he stared at his blood-soaked talons, opening and closing them.
“I fight heroes,” Gromsch muttered. “Will I become a hero?”
The paladin’s corpse did not answer.
Gromsch shrugged, slowly stood up, and crawled out of his cave.
The sunset and clouds were beautiful tonight, the most beautiful he had ever seen, and he wiped a tear from his eye.
And the Heavens above gazed back into him.
The Devil Is Near
When the Devil is near, radios and telephones pick up nothing but static.
WiFi, too.
He likes to go to Starbucks, just to mess with the hipsters on their Macbooks and iPads and iPhones.
Of course, the same thing happens when you go into a tunnel. Radio waves have a hard time getting through all that rock.
Before you start screaming “THE DEVIL!” over and over, check to see if you’re in a tunnel first.
If you’re in a tunnel, relax. You’re in a tunnel. It’s not the Devil.
Unless, of course, the Devil is in the tunnel with you.
Mummy Fighters
Allison filled the super-soaker with holy water.
Joe grabbed a pair of hand mirrors from the drugstore.
Ed has a hammer and a fanny pack full of wooden stakes.
Sally looked at them all and growled.
“We’re hunting mummies, not vampires!”
She lit a torch. “You know? Fire? Mummies hate fire?”
The others shrugged. “But we get paid more for vampires.”
Sally smirked. “You guys are idiots.”
She pulled out her cell phone and called the client. “My team’s gone nuts.”
The client hung up on her, and called the asylum.
“Four for pickup,” he said. “And bring silver bullets.”
Susie’s Monster
Susie was afraid of monsters, so instead of a bed, she slept in a hammock.
And instead of a closet, she kept her clothes in her dresser and an armoire.
“An armoire is just a freestanding closet, isn’t it?” asked Susie’s monster.
“Not according to union rules,” said his supervisor. “She’s got her bases covered. Even uses a clear shower curtain so you can’t sneak up on her.”
Over the years, Susie’s monster was jealous of the other monsters, who earned massive performance bonuses.
And then, after years of doing nothing, Susie’s monster was ready…
He was promoted to management.