They said peace and love, and they offered me a flower.
I looked to Billy, who was standing behind the peacenik.
We do this a lot: I confront a stranger, Billy scouts behind them, and reports if they’re safe.
I can read lips.
“He’s holding a gun behind his back,” he said.
So, I shot the guy.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” shouted Billy. “I said he was holding nothing behind his back!”
“I thought you said ‘gun,'” I said. “Oops. Sorry.”
We dragged the stranger to the dumpster and threw him in.
I kept the flower.
“You need glasses,” said Billy.
Category: My stories
Grepton
The Grepton metabolism cannot handle large amounts of salt.
Nobody told Rufus this. Or told him the fact that Greptons exist.
He fired his rock salt-loaded shotgun at the the “college kids” who were making circles in his crops.
Instead of scaring them off, the salt killed the little bastards.
The Grepton Ambassador demanded Rufus’ extradition so they could charge him for murder.
The Deputy Undersecretary For Alien Affairs said “No.”
“They were my children!”
“No.”
Deeply hurt, the Grepton Ambassador left.
So, when you say Elvis is dead, technically you’re right.
But to Elvis, Earth is dead to him.
Boing
I wasn’t responsible enough for a dog or cat, let alone a pet rock.
“You’d throw it through a window,” said my mother. And then she’d tighten the straps and buckles on my harness.
As I sobbed, I noticed a glimmer on the wall.
A sunbeam reflected off of a buckle.
I named it “Boing.”
He followed me everywhere.
At night, I turned on the lights, and Boing danced on the walls.
Over the phone, the psychologist told my mother to bring me in.
Boing felt threatened, and he leapt into her eyes while she drove us to the hospital.
Jars
As we sat on the floor of the dorm room and passed a joint around, one chick said “What if we were brains in jars in some science lab imagining all this?”
I laughed and said “Then I imagine I’d like to do this.”
And we kissed.
Later that night, as we held each other in bed, the scientists read the voltage meters attached to our jars and watched the needles twitch.
“Five units of red,” said a researcher.
A technician stuck a syringe into a brain and administered the formula.
I woke up alone, and never saw her again.
Contractor
The general watched the wall of his headquarters shake apart and collapse.
The contractor smiled and said “This will give us an opportunity to learn from our mistakes and rebuild better.”
He was the first to die.
A year later, investigators found the contractor criminally negligent, and they imposed a heavy fine on his company.
Which was already bankrupt and out of business.
The fine would have barely paid the cost of the investigation and prosecution. Or the burial and death benefits of the soldiers who died during the attack.
At least nobody survived. Medical costs would have been astronomical.
Drinks
Some folks call it pop.
Other folks call it soda.
And there’s people in the South who call it coke, even if it’s Pepsi or some other brand.
Around here, we call it The Forbidden Elixir, although even saying that will get you hauled before Mayor’s Council for questioning.
Yes. Forbidden.
It wasn’t enough to warn people of the risks of tooth decay and obesity. Not that we miss it much, what, with the fountains of vodka and bourbon at every street corner.
Still, it would be nice to have mixers. Besides orange juice, limes and bitters.
Oh well. Cheers.
Spiterella or Swallowerella?
The prince held the glass slipper in his hands and smiled.
Sure, he could roam the kingdom, letting women try it on, but feet can be so disgusting.
Instead, what if it were something else that would identify the mystery woman?
Something he actually enjoyed.
The next day, he announced that a mystery woman at the ball had given him the best blowjob ever, and he’d marry the woman who could prove she was the one who did it.
Among the thousands was a scullery maid.
Pretty, but really… a prince with a commoner?
“Swallow and leave,” he said, laughing.
Itsy Bitsy
I’ve spent the last ten years trying to breed itsy and bitsy spiders together to make an itsy bitsy spider.
The problem is that itsy spiders don’t want to breed with bitsy ones, and bitsy spiders will have nothing to do with the itsy ones.
I’d use artificial insemination, but have you ever tried to artificially inseminate a spider?
You have?
Well, dang! You know how hard it is.
Imagine how hard it is when their bits are itsy!
Teeny-weeny… literally!
Once, I thought I had an itsy-bitsy spider, but down came the rain, and…
Well, you know the rest.
Basher
Blood River High School’s football team is a championship factory, led by Coach Bart Basher for forty years.
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts Coach Basher.
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts the kid on the ground, and he struggles up to his feet to rejoin the huddle.
It’s Thursday’s workout drill, and a kid takes a savage hit and goes down.
What was the kid’s name?
Who knows?
Every kid wears jerseys without numbers.
Nobody’s limping or lollygagging, despite the blood and gore and…
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts Basher.
Every kid shouts it back.
Except the kid without a head.
Candy Ass
We used to call Candace Winters “Candy Ass” back in grade school.
It wasn’t because she was any kind of weakling. She was huge and strong. The ultimate girl jock.
No, she got the name because every time she’d win anything, she sit on the loser’s face and shout “KISS MY ASS LIKE IT’S CANDY!”
The school didn’t stop her bullying because she filled the trophy case by the principal’s office.
Then, one day, the PA system announced:
“Candace Williams to the principal’s office.”
Everyone gasped.
It was just the school paper wanting to photograph her standing by her trophies.