Using laxatives to lose weight is a bad idea.
Not only will you drain your body of essential nutrients, but you’ll damage your fragile digestive tract.
And then there’s the possibility that you’ll shit out your soul.
Most people notice when it’s slipped out. Treat it like a knocked-out tooth: keep it moist, and get to a priest. They’re in the Yellow Pages.
If you accidentally flush your soul away, that’s just too bad. Just be sure to wash your hands, and there’s plenty of jobs available to you: Wall Street banker, politician, and Department of Motor Vehicles window clerk.
Category: My stories
Taco Juggler
Are you the man who juggles tacos?
Because, if you are, well, I am the man who juggles burritos.
However, one day I hope to have the skill to juggle tacos. Like you do.
How do you do it without spilling anything from those taco shells?
How do you do it without breaking the shells?
And most importantly: how can you stand them?
Tacos are disgusting. Dust and flies can get in there.
At least a burrito is a closed environment. A self-contained universe of food.
But the world does not want burrito jugglers. Only taco jugglers.
Teach me, master!
Cole Porter
Cole Porter suffered a horrible horse riding accident in his thirties, and the doctors recommended that his leg be amputated.
Cole refused, and he lived in agonizing pain for years, unable to match his songwriting success from before the accident.
He eventually had his leg amputated, but Cole never wrote another song again.
The amputated leg, however, was now on its own. No longer shackled to a pill-popping sex-crazed songwriter, it went on to write many amazing songs.
The problem is, nobody could read the damn sheet music, no matter how steady the leg kept the pen between its toes.
Curse upon your camel
Achmed looked around the camp and picked out the fortuneteller’s tent.
“Easy,” he grinned.
The old woman grabbed Achmed’s hand as he was stuffing his pockets with coins and jewelry.
“Stop!” she yelled. “Thief!”
Achmed stabbed her with a dagger.
“A thousand curses upon your camel!” she hissed, and she died.
“Camel?” Achmed said. “If you could truly see the future, you’d have known that I don’t own a camel.”
He mounted his horse, and rode off into the night.
When his horse struck a sleeping camel, Achmed was thrown headlong.
The old woman’s laughter and blood filled his ears.
The Angels
Michelangelo said that he saw the angel in the marble, and carved until he was set free.
As for the basement of hookers that he’d brutally stabbed and eviscerated, well, Michelangelo claimed that he’d seen angels in them, but when he carved each of them up, he’d realized his mistake.
At first, the Pope wanted to have Michelangelo arrested and tried for murder, but instead, he asked Michelangelo if he heard any angels coming from his political rivals.
Sure enough, he did.
So, the Pope had the bodies quietly removed, and let the homicidal artist continue on with Papal patronage.
Mr. Moneybags
I’d never want all the money in the world.
If I had all the money in the world, that would mean that nobody else would have any. And they’d constantly ask me for some.
“Hey, Mister Moneybags, can you spare a few bucks? I want to buy a sandwich.” And I’d say “Of course.” And I’d pull out a hundred. “Can you break a hundred?”
Of course not.
I guess the world’s economy would collapse. Or turn to barter.
So, instead of all of it, I just want as much of it as I can get.
Just like everybody else.
Steven
My roommate Steve isn’t from around here.
Oh, and his name isn’t Steve.
In the local dialect, Steve’s name translates to “Can I have a motherfucking epidural now?”
You see, his mother tried to give birth to him naturally, but things went horribly wrong, and instead of a brief period of contractions and labor, she was wracked with agony for three days.
We call him Steve because that other name is just too hard to say, with all the clicks and pops and growls. Plus, it scares the cat.
Problem is, my name is Steve, too.
Okay, call me Steven.
The Crime
It was a sunny day without a cloud in the sky when Bert killed Ernie.
After all those years together, Ernie only wanted to share his bathtub with his rubber duckie.
And all those stupid, annoying questions.
The last thing Ernie said was “Why is it Sesame Street instead of Sesame Court?”
Bert snapped.
A few hours later, Bert called the police and confessed.
The police said they’d send someone to pick him up.
Three hours later, the police unit had gotten lost on the way.
The officer called Bert: “Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?”
Tattoos
VERSION 1:
Unlike ice cream trucks and their melodic chimes playing Turkey In The Straw or Pop Goes The Weasel, Ted’s Tattoo Truck announces its presence with Metallica’s Enter Sandman.
He usually parks it outside of schools and offers up a wide range of temporary tattoos, from snarling demons to Hello Kitty. But every now and then, a company will hire him to print up their logo or latest marketing buzzword for a corporate picnic.
His original plan was to offer real tattoos, but those take too long to create.
Temporary tattoos allow repeat business, and don’t piss off parents as much.
VERSION 2:
Do you hear that?
That’s not Pop Goes The Weasel, or Turkey in the Straw.
That’s Metallica’s Enter Sandman on the jangly jinglechimes of Ted’s Temporary Tattoo Truck!
It’s been a while since he was last at our school.
Our moms and dads were so angry. But Ted’s lawyer was angrier, and now Ted’s back! Hoorah!
What will you get?
A unicorn? A demon? A Hello Kitty?
A Harry Potter forehead lightning bolt scar?
I’m going to get Mom on a heart for my arm. Maybe get a whole sheet of them.
Because who knows when he’ll be back again.
JJE
Ever hear the phrase “judge, jury, and executioner?”
Well, in Tangle Creek, Alaska, that’s their justice system.
If Old JJ Barleyfield catches you committing a crime in Tangle Creek, your ass is toast.
But then, there’s not much crime in that old mining town… Fred’s the only resident there these days.
Well, was.
Fred must have caught himself committing a crime, because the mail delivery service found him dead the other day.
The paperwork he left behind was just scribbles that nobody could understand.
At first, the state coroner ruled it Suicide, but he scratched that out and wrote Justice.