Winston’s last words were “hold my calls.”
And then, an hour later, he died from a heart attack.
Winston’s phone rang while the orderlies were moving his body down to the morgue for processing.
“Hey! Hey there!” shouted the phone, over and over.
It was Winston’s voice shouting as the ringtone, and it scared the fuck out of the orderlies.
“I warned you,” cackled Winston’s ghost.
Then his spirit wandered off to the emergency room, where he placed bets with the other ghosts on who would live or die.
Which was awkward when those dying patients became ghosts too.
Category: My stories
Detroit
Everybody says that Detroit is dying, but nobody knows when to pull the plug.
Detroit isn’t any help. Detroit is in denial, insisting it’s fine, as the urban decay rots deeper and deeper.
None of its relatives are in any position to help out either. All those sister cities you see on WikiPedia don’t answer Detroit’s calls.
Neighbors? Forget about them.
Chicago is drowning in blood.
Washington is out of cash, so don’t count on a bailout.
Maybe the easiest decision will be what to do with the corpse, because the fire department left long ago.
Hand me a lighter.
Cloudspotting
During descent into Denver, for the final ten minutes of the flight, the seatback screen shows a relaxing video loop of slowly-drifting clouds.
I’m sure there’s hidden messages in those clouds, intended to keep passengers calm.
I watch the clouds pass slowly by, trying to pick out any shapes I can find.
Back in Ohio, I was a champion cloud-spotter, picking out shapes faster than anyone else.
“There’s a boat!”
“There’s a horse.”
“There’s a dragon.”
“DRAGON!” I shouted. “RUN! RUN!”
My friends didn’t need to be told to run.
We made it to the shelter before the flames hit.
Airplane Mode
Whenever I had to fly somewhere, there was something wrong with my seat’s in-flight entertainment center.
Sometimes, the screen is broken, so I don’t see the movie.
Other times, the audio jack is broken, so I can’t hear the movie or music.
Or it’s a cheap airline, and there is no in-flight entertainment.
That’s when I bought a smartphone that could play music and movies.
Of course, you have to turn off the phone antenna for these things. They call it “Airplane Mode.”
I flip the switch and match the airplane icon appear… and then the screaming baby sounds start.
The flight
I don’t know what is shaking harder: this plane or me.
I hate flying. I really hate flying.
Well, okay, it’s not the flying, as much as the taking off, landing, and turbulence.
It scares the crap out of me.
I’ve tried hypnosis, music, pills, and booze. None of it works.
So, I just suffer and write.
In fact, I write my best work while on a flight.
The worse the flight, the better the writing, my publisher says.
She pays for my tickets, pills, and booze.
The airlines all want me as their resident writer.
I want to retire.
The Hat
I bought a deep green OREGON ballcap at the Portland Airport so I could blend in.
Nobody wears them here. It’s all hoodies for the locals.
Nobody uses umbrellas here. I guess it’s so people have both hands free to order coffee or apologize.
We went to a Trail Blazers game at the Rose Center, and that’s where I lost my hat.
It’s okay, though. Someone will find it, and it’s a one size fits all hat, so it will fit them perfectly.
If someone sees this story, please do not return the hat.
It’s not mine. It’s yours now.
Flying Reindeer
There’s nothing I hate more than when parents lie to their children and make them believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny, and Ben Affleck movies that don’t suck.
They’re all a lie.
North Pole? Santa?
All the crap we buy and give as gifts really comes from China.
Based on the wretched environmental conditions in China, imagine how much worse the North Pole would be.
It would be a toxic nightmare of a wasteland.
But then, it would explain the flying reindeer.
Would you want to step in any of that chemical crap?
I’d mutate and learn to fly, too.
Holiday Letters
The Post Office started Operation Santa Claus a few years back, where people could volunteer to answer letters that kids wrote to Santa Claus and stuck in a mailbox.
So, I signed up for it.
Now, I get stacks of letters to read, asking for all kinds of things.
I respond to every one of them with a simple form letter:
SANTA DOESN’T EXIST
And I sign it with my name, then I stick my response in the mail.
My son thinks I’m nuts for wasting my time on this, but it sure beats the hell out of answering prayers.
Nobles
They’re called nobles because of their hereditary titles, not because of how they act.
The Duke beats his servants with a mahogany cane.
The Baroness ordered her chef to be boiled alive in his cauldron.
The Earl had all of his gardeners planted in her garden.
And then there was… The King.
Oh, the horrible, cruel and disgusting things he did.
I swear, he could have walked from one end of the kingdom to the other on the backs of all of his victims.
One day, we will be free.
One day, we will own our lives.
Until then… survive.
Mistake
Mother said that bread always manages to land buttered side down.
So, I buttered all the bread we had and, slice after slice, dropped it on the kitchen floor.
Some of it landed with the buttered side down, and some of it landed with the buttered side up.
I asked my mother for more bread, and she asked me why.
I took her into the kitchen, and she saw the mess I had made.
She gave me the spanking of my life.
These days, I look back and I laugh at my childish mistake.
I forgot to toast it first.