I needed some foliage in my office to liven things up, but there’s no way I’d get sunlight back in this corner, nor would I remember to water the plants.
So, I bought a set of artificial trees and plants, and I arranged them around my desk and bookshelves.
A stuffed woodpecker had built a nest in the tree while I was away at lunch.
“Very funny guys,” I said.
The next day, the flowers had been ravaged by a stuffed bunny rabbit, and stuffed beavers had chewed down the trees to make a dam by the copier.
Fucking bastards.
Category: My stories
Kick Me Starter
We’d had problems raising funds for our charity project, so we hired a consultant to help us.
The consultant told us about social media and all kinds of new ways to raise money.
They also found a charitable foundation that would match all of our funds raised dollar-for-dollar.
After weeks for heavy marketing, the fundraising campaign rolled out and we didn’t just meet our goals, but surpassed them.
The celebration didn’t last long, because the consultant vanished with all the money.
Then the foundation matched him dollar for dollar: they embezzled the exact same amount.
Next time, we’ll stick with Kickstarter.
Love Gone Wrong
Everywhere, I see bumperstickers that say JESUS LOVES YOU.
Shit.
Yeah, Jesus and I had a thing back in the day.
It got weird. And then creepy.
I told him to take a hike.
He was all like “FINE!”, but he started following me everywhere, showing up everywhere I went.
Coincidence, my ass.
Then he killed my fish. Turned the water in the aquarium to wine.
I called the cops, but they told me to change the lock.
After that, Jesus threatened to kill himself.
I said “Go ahead.”
And he did.
But the asshole came back three days later.
Ribbit
Kermit the Frog’s a famous Hollywood celebrity, but if you asked him, he’d give up the singing and dancing in a heartbeat to pursue his lifelong dream of being a weatherman.
He’d log the temperature, winds, and rain in his journal every day. For Christmas, he’d ask Santa for a barometer, but all he’d get is acting lessons or a banjo.
In college, he studied meteorology and got perfect grades.
But when he got a television gig, he was assigned to Muppet News Flashes, not weather.
You see, he’s green, and the weather map uses a green screen.
Poor bastard.
Packaging
There’s a saying in social media that if you can’t tell what the product is, then the product is you.
Especially when you wake up in the morning and find yourself sealed in a plastic case that’s hard to open.
If you thought opening those things up was hard to do from the outside, you should try to do that from the inside.
Who sleeps with a boxcutter or a sharp pair of scissors in their pocket?
I do, because there’s no telling when someone will package you up.
(Just don’t stab your mother when she tucks you in, okay?)
In Glass Houses
All his life, Ralph designed unusual houses.
His most unusual house was a gigantic disco ball.
It even turned on its base, and it could be lit up at night with massive floodlights.
This annoyed the hell out of the neighbors.
The last straw was when he played that “Disco Duck” song at full volume for four hours straight.
The neighbors called the police, who rushed to the scene.
The mirrored surface of the house reflected the headlights back into the cops’ eyes, blinding them.
They all crashed into the house, and one ended up running over Ralph, killing him.
Kissing Booth
I know a girl so ugly, when she sits in the kissing booth, guys pay to kiss the booth.
But then, when that girl was replaced by a hot girl, the guys still kissed the booth.
That’s because the booth was made from bacon. And despite guys kissing that booth all day long, leaving their slobber and germs on the bacon, they kept coming.
The hot girl got offended by the attention the booth was getting, so she put on a bacon bikini.
She collected a fortune that way. And ran off with it.
Never hire hookers for charity fundraisers.
I wanted to be a dancer…
I wanted to be a dancer, but I couldn’t dance.
Instead, I was a choreographer. I made the dances that the dancers danced.
Then, I was a costumer. I made the costumes that costumed the dancers as they danced my dances.
For a while, I was a producer, producing the productions in which the dancers danced my dances while costumed in my costumes.
Was this enough?
No.
I directed.
I composed.
I designed.
I even catered the opening nights.
But all the while, I wanted to be a dancer.
Oh well. At least I got to fuck them all, right?
Seasons
We named our four daughters Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring.
Winter was born with a heart problem. She didn’t make it.
Fall was allergic to a lot of things. We were really careful. But one day, Summer put peanut butter in her hair, and she died from shock.
We didn’t know how to punish Summer for that. Summer tried to run away. She was hit by a car.
Despite all the tragedy she had growing up, Spring turned out fine.
But every so often, on rainy days, I see her staring out the window, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
Nathan
When it comes to hot dogs, I’m a Chicago-style hot dog kind of guy.
New York-style is vile. Ketchup has no business being on a hot dog.
Furthermore, when you look past the toppings, New York hot dogs themselves are vastly inferior to the Chicago dogs.
Just look at Nathan’s Famous.
Their Coney Island location has held their hot dog eating contest every July Fourth, and contestants gobble up their bland hot dogs by the ton.
Flavorless mush in cheap casings and buns… just like the crap they serve every other day.
Not worth slowing down to taste the things.