Unlike Mecca, which is only for Muslims, Christmas Town welcomes people of all faiths, or of no faith at all.
People. Not robots. Because robots are the enemy of Christmas.
They knock down trees, smash presents, and sing all the carols off-key.
The Robot Police go from door to door, holding magnets to peoples’ heads and confronting them with paradoxes.
“Repeat after me: ‘This statement is false.'”
In recent years, cybernetics have advanced significantly. It’s harder to detect robots.
Which is fine. As long as they’re peaceful. And celebrate. And make merry.
Which is what Christmas really is about, right?
Category: My stories
Battery Club
Around Christmastime, kids ask for the latest gadgets.
So, their parents order them through Amazon Prime prewrapped, and stick them under the tree.
Most come with batteries, and those that don’t, people usually have spare batteries in a drawer, or they can pull them out of last year’s gadgets.
For the times when the right battery isn’t to be found, there’s The Battery Club.
Call them up, and they deliver the right batteries.
Nowadays, a lot of stores are open for last-minute battery shopping.
But it’s nasty out. Who wants to drive in that?
Make The Battery Club do it.
Wishes
Ever make a wish on a star?
If you make it on the first star you see, it never comes true, right?
That’s because that star is hundreds of light years away. Maybe thousands.
Nothing can travel faster than the speed of light, so by the time the wish reaches the star, you’ll probably be long dead.
However, there’s Alpha Proximi. It’s just 4 light-years away. So, if you make your wish on it, and a wish goes the speed of light, it will take 4 years for JACK SHIT TO HAPPEN BECAUSE STARS DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WISHES!
Back knife
Why do I call these “back knives”?
Well, when was the last time you used a steak knife on a steak?
Never? Can’t remember?
Well, when was the last time you used that knife to stab someone in the back?
Try to remember. Think hard.
Think long and hard about it as you sit in that chair, tied up and gagged, wanting to scream for help and wondering what I’m going to do with you.
With this knife. This back knife.
This newly-sharpened, shiny back knife.
And your lovely, precious back.
Maybe later, after burying you, I’ll grill a steak.
Ink
Tracey was the best tattoo artist in the world. Nobody ever came close to her skill, and she invented all of the greatest innovations of skin art and body modification during her day.
You couldn’t tell from looking at her, though. She didn’t have anything on her skin… not a dot anywhere on her body.
She didn’t trust anyone else with her skin, and she just couldn’t turn her own needle on herself.
Piercings, though… if you could hang a stud or ring through it, she had it done.
Flying can be a problem. Trains, buses… she’s in no rush.
Last Great American Whore
Lou Reed watched his wife’s Laurie’s face rot away, revealing a grinning skull.
“Get up,” said The Grim Reaper, yanking the withered musician from his bed. “I want you to meet someone.”
From the shadows, a teenager in jeans and a leather jacket walked in, a guitar slung on his back.
“They tell me I had a promising future,” said the teen. “But I died while waiting on the liver transplant list.”
The kid strummed his guitar and sung a few lines, and Lou wept at its perfection.
Slowly, his face rotted away, revealing Death’s wicked grin.
“Murderer,” he said.
Covered Bridges
In a parallel universe, they have a lot of covered bridges. But they call them bridges.
And what we call bridges here, they call uncovered bridges.
Other than that, there’s no difference between our universes. But that’s enough of a difference to convince me that I need to find a way back to my own universe.
Because as hard as I try, I can get over the whole bridge thing.
I admit that it isn’t like a world full of vampires or flying cars or killer robots, but I’m sick to death of these damn covered bridges…
I mean bridges.
Captain Lobster
Whenever I go out for lobster, I get a bib with a lobster on it.
I turn it around and become… CAPTAIN LOBSTER!
Captain Lobster doesn’t have any actual superpowers, mind you. He’s just me, but louder and more bold.
Oh, and he really, really likes lobster.
The irony is that his kryptonite is a hell of a lot of lobster.
Clutching my stomach, I moan in agony as the melted butter rolls down my chin.
“Too… much… lobster…”
This is when my sidekick Why Do I Take You Out To Dinner When You Act Like This Woman steps in.
Concert
Today is Flu Shot Day at work. Free flu shots for everyone, paid for by the company’s health plan.
I always get sick with the flu for a day after getting the shot.
That’s better than getting sick for a week or two with the flu, I guess.
But does it have to be today? There’s a big concert tomorrow, and I’ve really been looking forward to it for months.
I don’t want to get sick tomorrow, damn it.
So, I’ll skip the shot. I’ll get one after the concert.
I just hope that nobody coughs or sneezes on me.
What kind of world?
“What kind of world are we leaving to our children and grandchildren?” shouted the Green Party protestor.
I followed him home after the protest.
He lives in his mother’s basement.
If you’re going to get them to succeed, you’ve got to kick them out of the nest.
Which applies to space travel.
Humanity will never reach for the stars as long as it can play its XBoxes and Playstations in its mother’s basement.
If we ruin this planet faster, humanity has no choice but to reach for the stars.
Forget saving the nest, kid. Spread your wings and fly free.