Downtown.
Waiting for a bus.
Nobody around.
Except for a bum, pushing a grocery cart.
Don’t sit down. Don’t sit down.
He stops, sits down on the bench, and pulls out a bottle.
Shit.
“Empty,” he said, tossing it into the cart. “Make a wish.”
“I don’t believe in wishes,” I said. “You have to take matters into your own hands.”
I looked around, then down at my hands.
“Are you sure?” the bum asked.
I looked at the bus schedule. How much longer? Dammit, I wish-
The bum smiled at me.
“Wish granted.”
The bus arrived, I got on.
Category: My stories
Sports
Back in high school, if you weren’t lettering in a sport, you had to take gym. Although, gym classes weren’t called gym.
Instead, it was called Life Sports. Activities you’d likely take up when you got older.
Except that I fucking hate golf. And tennis. And softball. And basketball. And lifting weights. And running.
Pretty much every activity I hate. Except horse riding. But they didn’t have horses. Thank God.
What do I like to do? I like to walk and throw darts in the pub.
That’s it.
Now get your fucking horse out of here. It’s blocking the dartboard.
Mama Mia
Deep in the forest, you’ll find an old witch named Baba Yega.
She lives in a hut that walks around on chicken legs.
How this came to be, I’m not sure. But it probably has to do with dodging property taxes. And relocating to better school districts.
Better, as in better sources of kids to eat. Ones with high truancy rates, because she can just bag them while they play hookey.
In fact, principals often invite her to come eat their students.
“Just the dumb ones, please,” say the principals. “We need to maintain high scores to keep our funding.”
Kiss Me
Johnny went through the whole bar, kissing everyone who had on a Kiss Me, I’m Irish button.
Some kissed him.
Some pulled away.
And a few screamed and slapped him.
One girl’s boyfriend threatened to punch out Johnny’s lights.
But the boyfriend had on one of those Kiss Me, I’m Irish buttons, so Johnny kissed him, too.
And the boyfriend punched out Johnny’s lights.
The incident got in the paper, then started a debate on dressing provocatively and free speech.
It wasn’t like shouting fire in a movie theater, but they wore those buttons, right.
Promises, promises.
Johnny’s still laughing.
The Grinch of St. Patrick’s Day
Is there a Grinch of St. Patrick’s Day?
There sure as hell is, dammit.
His name is: me.
When I see fields of clover, I don’t look for the four-leafed mutants. I just turn up the volume on my iPod and fire up the riding lawnmower.
When someone offers me green beer, I throw it back in their face. Real beer is black, as black as night, and can’t be colored green.
And when someone says there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I punch them in the face.
Because, well, it really pisses me off.
One Way
NASA never called it a one-way mission to Mars.
They called it a colonization mission.
But the crew knew that once they were on their way, they’d never come back.
NASA launched a series of cargo pods at Mars before launching the colonists.
The plan was to build the colony with all those materials.
Instead, an asteroid took out the lead cargo pod, and the debris knocked the others off course.
The colonists were carrying some supplies, but not enough.
And even if emergency supplies could be launched, the launch window had passed.
NASA finally called the doomed mission “one-way.”
Feeding Time
I know that my pet python doesn’t love me.
It’s just a snake.
But it’s big and beautiful.
And I love it.
I used to feed it mice and rats, but the pet stores won’t let me buy them anymore.
And the medical testing breeders are so damn expensive.
The city shelter euthanizes so many puppies and kittens every year.
I made them a deal.
They paid me to take care of the dirty business, and I wouldn’t answer any questions.
Some of them wanted to watch.
I said no.
This isn’t a sideshow spectacle. It’s nature.
Show some respect.
Bow Wood
The best musical instrument bows are made out of the Pernambuco tree. They hold their shape for centuries, and they draw the most beautiful sound out of the instrument they are played with.
Sadly, the Pernambuco, or the Brazilwood, is a rare tree in Brazil that has been exploited to near-extinction.
Thankfully, traditional bow craftsmen are working to conserve the Pernambuco and plant new groves of the tree.
But rival carbon-fiber bow makers, threatened by all that is natural and pure, go around chopping down the Pernambuco and burning them for firewood.
The lesson to be learned?
Play the oboe.
Boston Marathon
The political science professor used to say “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”
Now, he just sits in the special care ward, not saying a thing.
He crossed the finish line at the Boston Marathon when the bombs went off. The concussion and head trauma messed up his brain something fierce.
Still, they give him meals and baths, and physical therapy to keep him from withering away completely.
In case he’ll get better. Which he won’t.
The one bright spot in all of this was: It had been his best time ever.
Too bad he’ll never beat it.
The Devil’s Cock
Once, I knew a guy with a small penis.
Really small.
So, he prays and prays for a bigger penis, but God doesn’t answer, God doesn’t listen.
But me, I do.
“Gimme your soul, and I’ll give you a huge cock,” I said.
No, he didn’t fall for the giant chicken trick. Few guys do anymore. Instead, he worded his request carefully, eleven inches long.
I wrote up the contract, he signed it, and I fixed him up.
Eleven inches long.
And four inches thick.
It takes so much blood, the guy blacks out every time he gets a hard-on.