General Clayton was a great soldier, and he earned many medals.
So many medals, in fact, he was unable to pin them all on to his chest.
That’s when he had himself cloned.
With all those additional chests, he could pin the medals on.
Of course, with all those additional General Claytons, they collectively earned even more medals.
More medals, more Generals.
It was an endless loop of generals and medals, until the Army ran out of medals to give to the generals.
Then, they all suddenly died of the same congenital heart defect.
Dammit. Now we need more cemeteries.
Category: My stories
Wedding Soup
While shopping for vegetable soup, I saw cans of Italian Wedding soup on the shelf.
Wedding soup? Don’t Italians have cake at weddings like everyone else?
Do cake topper brides and grooms float? Or do you strip them out of their clothes so they can skinny-dip in the soup?
The Italian Wedding soup? I thought that Minestrone was the “Italian” soup, but it turns out they serve that at divorces.
Italian Wedding soup is nothing but noodles and meatballs. Why not just call it noodles and meatballs?
Are gays and lesbians allowed to eat it?
I’ll stick to Vegetable, okay?
Italian Food
My grandfather served in World War 2. He liberated Italy, and when he wasn’t screwing whores and stealing priceless art works, he was chowing down on the best food he could get his hands on.
He brought back crates and crates of paintings and sculptures, only to lose them all when the Army followed up on the Vatican’s complaints about looting.
He kept one treasure, though: a recipe book, collecting up amazing dishes that kept his restaurant busy every night.
One night, a burglar shot him.
The book stopped the bullet.
Don’t ever say Italian food is bad for you.
Acting Crazy
Small. Thin.
Forget Captain of the Football Team, I was King of the Drama Club.
I had the lead in every production.
Tom Thumb.
Hamlet.
Peter Pan.
The spotlight was mine… MINE!
Until… puberty.
I got tall, clumsy, and… other things.
This year, instead of Peter, I’m “a” pirate.
Not even Captain Hook? OUTRAGEOUS!
That little shrimp, Marty Finkelstein, stole my role and my Tinkerbell, Cindy Van Hooten!
You know when Tinkerbell saves Peter by drinking poison?
Clap all you want. She’s not getting up.
And this isn’t a rubber sword.
Meet me and your doom at center stage, Peter.
The Gift
Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it as a gift to Man.
“If that’s a gift, why isn’t it wrapped?” asked Man
“It’s fire,” said Prometheus. “It burns wrapping paper and other things.”
“Will it burn me?” asked Man.
“Yes,” said Prometheus. “I suppose I should put it on a stick.”
Prometheus quickly fashioned a torch and gave it to Man.
“That’s neat,” said Man and he ran off to play with his new fire.
The fact that Prometheus had stolen fire made it impossible for man to take it back and exchange it for a fancy-knit sweater.
Dawn
Her name is Dawn, but she rarely wakes up before noon.
She’s a bartender in the busiest club in Chicago.
When she’s not serving drinks and trying not to fall out of what passes for a blouse, she’s out cold in her bed.
Guys ask for her number, and she’s always giving it to them. Well, she gives them the number she had before it was disconnected.
She never takes a night off, so the bar doesn’t call her in.
One night, she stays up to watch the sunrise. “How beautiful,” she says, and then she goes to sleep.
Milton
The poet John Milton was married three times.
His first wife, Mary, gave birth to four children, dying while she gave birth to the fourth.
His second wife, Katherine, died while giving birth to their daughter Katherine, who died soon after.
His third wife was Elizabeth, who was much younger than him, and she lived eleven years with Milton until his death.
A plaque on the wall of her home describes her as Milton’s “Third and best wife.”
She wanted to put “Just a breeding sow” and “Second and lamest wife” plaques up.
Instead, she bought a pretty new dress.
Robbery
When people asked Willie Sutton why he robbed banks, he never said “Because that’s where the money is!” as an answer.
No, the truth is that he robbed banks because that’s where the free toasters were.
“They must be really good toasters, too,” he’d say. “Otherwise, why would they hire armed guards to watch over them?”
If you pointed out that the armed guards were there to protect the money, he’d laugh. “Sure. Right.” And then he’d go to the store to buy more Pop Tarts.
“One day I’ll find that Milton,” he’d say, and then plan the next robbery.
The Dead Writer
Mark’s parents made a shrine out of his room.
All of his writing awards and achievements were framed on the wall.
They put his favorite pen on the shelf. He stopped using it when his hands shook too much to write with it.
His last keyboard was next to it.
He switched to voice recognition, but he lost his power of speech soon after.
Next to his microphone was the NeuroCap which picked up his thoughts and translated them into his final two novels.
The last words of the novel were: I love you.
But they might not have been.
The Duke
We found bullets, knives, and poison in the old duke’s body. Each was the weapon of choice of one of his sons:
Heinrich, the eldest, was proficient with a gun.
Brutus was an expert with the blade.
And Claus, the youngest, preferred to work with toxins.
So it was a surprise to all when the judge ordered Hilda, the Duke’s daughter, to be executed.
“She shot, stabbed, and poisoned him to implicate her brothers,” said the judge. “Take her away.”
The sons laughed as they threw their sister from the tower to her death.
She landed on the corrupt judge.