The teacher collected the permission slips, smiled, and began to chant.
Smoke filled the room, and a swirling portal opened in the middle of the blackboard.
The students rose up from their desks and flew through the door into the Shadow Zone.
Once the last student went through the portal, the smoke cleared.
The teacher sat back in his chair, put his feet on the desk, and enjoyed the silence.
The students would be back when the candle went out.
Candle?
Oh oh. He forgot to light the candle.
He pulled out his cell phone and called the union representative.
Category: My stories
Sponges
My cats are refusing to admit which one shredded kitchen sponges.
Damn cats. I bet they did it together.
I soak a sponge in hot sauce to train them not to shred the sponges, but they washed out the hot sauce and shredded them.
Locking the kitchen cabinet didn’t work either. Sneaky cats!
I stopped buying sponges, but my cats figured out how to order things online, and they ordered sponges.
Now, I get all my food via take-out, and I hired a maid to clean.
No more dishes. No more sponges.
But now the cats want to shred me!
Trust
Some days, when I get home and lay back on the sofa, it takes a while for Bruwyn the cat to join me and drape himself over my leg for a nap.
Other times, I’m barely settled in before I find my leg pinned by a furry purring sack.
Either way, I’m happy to let the cat nap on me.
Until I run out of iced tea. Or need to go to the bathroom.
I feel guilty for making him move, but over time, he comes back to flop over my leg sooner and sooner.
That trust feels even better.
Good Soup
As much as I love the finer things in life, there’s nothing I love more than a simple store-brand can of vegetable soup with a cup of rice for dinner.
No, I won’t pass up a good sushi dinner, or wave away a steak if you’re offering, but there’s just no beating soup and rice on a lazy evening.
Just dump the rice in the rice cooker, add water, and then push a button. An hour later, microwave the soup in a bowl and dump in the rice.
Oh, and don’t forget to call a cab for the two hookers.
The Old Men
Old Man Winter complains a lot about the bitter cold and his joints hurting, but that’s nothing compared to having to look at Old Man Spring’s ghastly bleached-white hairy shins.
And once you stumble across Old Man Summer laying out at the beach, well, you’ll wish you’d been born blind.
Old Man Fall tends to just stay in his rocking chair on the patio, drinking cheap beer and watching the leaves turn.
He’d be the most agreeable of the bunch if he didn’t sit there with his rifle, threatening to shoot people if they don’t get off of his lawn.
Warm
Sometimes, when it’s cold and dark and rainy and windy, I like to put on shorts and a T-shirt and carry the trash out to the dumpster.
It’s a minute walk to the dumpster to drop off the trash, and then a minute back.
Just enough to feel the chill.
Then I slide open the patio door, walk inside, and slide it shut again.
It feels so good warming back up again.
I lay back on the sofa, and I pull the blankets back over me.
It feels even better, to be reminded how good it feels to feel warm.
Reno
Johnny Cash once sang that he shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.
So, I stayed out of Reno. Even if he was on tour on the other side of the world.
Just couldn’t take a chance, you know.
Now that he’s dead, I go to Reno all the time.
I walk along the sidewalk, smiling wide, and laughing when someone tells me that acting like a greenhorn will get me shot.
“No way,” I say calmly. “Because Johnny Cash is dead.”
They draw their guns and scowl.
I hope they’re not related to him. Or clones.
Super Pirate
It’s hard enough hosting a Super Bowl party, but my drunk friend Sylvia decided to bring Pirate Lord Redbeard along as her date, and things were getting tense.
He kept calling for grog, but all we’ve got is light beer.
Then, someone pissed him off by saying “On the other hand” when you can see clear as day that he’s got a hook on his other hand.
“Sorry, I got off on the wrong foot there” was their attempt at an apology.
Redbeard stomped the jackass with his peg leg and stormed off.
Well, shit. Better prepare to repel boarders.
Crawdads
THIS IS THE 4,000TH EPISODE OF THIS PODCAST
I love crawdads.
Back in college, Ellen taught me how to eat crawdads, and I’ve been eating buckets of them ever since.
Nardo the cat loved the crawdad smell on my fingers, so I’d set aside a few tails to bring home to him.
He’d meow and beg and snap at the bits of crawdad I offered him.
“No more,” I’d say, and he’d lick my fingers for awhile.
This is my first crawdad season without him. And our two black cats don’t like crawdads.
I ate the entire bucket myself.
Except one, left atop the pile of empty shells.
Pieces Of Eight Medal – Talk Like A Pirate Day
Most pirates spend their downtime at their favorite watering-hole, dockside brothel, or the local jail awaiting trial.
On the other hand (assuming you have another hand, and not a hook), Walter the Pirate had always dreamed of winning an Olympic gold medal.
He was a pretty good windsurfer, and none of his shipmates could beat him at Ping Pong, but he was best at freestyle swimming.
But what national team would sponsor him?
France?
England?
They had bounties on his head.
Eventually, Somalia sponsored him. (Somalia loves pirates), but he was disqualified for having a dagger clenched between his teeth.