“Why don’t you believe in me?” asked God.
I put down my drink and thought about my answer for a moment.
I mean, it’s God. And He’s drunk.
But then, I don’t believe in Him, so why worry?
So, I turned to my right…
He was gone.
I asked the bartender where God went.
He shrugged and put the tab in front of me.
Holy crap! God sure can drink, and He has good taste in what He drinks. Expensive, too.
As I pulled out my wallet, God pulled out his credit card.
“I was in the bathroom,” He said.
Category: My stories
Tolerance
After I broke my arm and underwent surgery to rebuild it, I was given Vicodin for the pain, and it worked. It kept the pain at bay when I took it regularly.
Forty minutes after taking a pill, I felt the rush and it felt good.
But over time, as I healed, the pain subsided. I built up a tolerance to Vicodin, and the rush stopped coming.
Take more? No. That leads to addiction.
Instead, ease off the drugs, and switch to Tylenol.
And then, when I’m better, and my tolerance subsides…
I hope I didn’t sell off my stash.
Sir Hugo Daft
Sir Hugo Daft’s compositions are the product of a musical genius and a bloodthirsty sociopath.
Refusing to limit himself to traditional instruments such as the cello or the flute, he dabbles with police sirens, car screeches, women screaming for help, and other noises meant to frighten and distract listeners.
He is just as proud of his seven Grammy awards as he is of his lifetime ban from terrestrial and satellite radio.
“You’re causing dozens of accidents a day with your music!” said the FCC Commissioner.
Daft smiled, accepted the ban, and waited for the Pentagon to buy his weaponized compositions.
She Owns It
Sally Jackson is such a bitch. She acts like she owns the school or something.
Which she’s entitled to do, since she does own the school building.
Her grandfather built this mall a few years ago, but it didn’t do all that well.
Just as he was about to declare bankruptcy, a tornado hit the town, destroying everything.
The only thing left standing was this mall.
Instead of rebuilding all those buildings, the town just packed it all into the mall. So she owns the school.
And the clinic which we’ll put her in if she keeps acting like a bitch.
The Traveler
The traveler became nervous as he saw the fog and shadows building along the path through the dark and strange woods.
Strange phantoms lived in these woods.
He looked up and saw the moon and stars through the clouds
Then the shadows all vanished
The traveler trembled with fear
Then another traveler crashed through the trees
Who are you? Screamed the traveler
I am you, he said
How
I am a time traveler, he said
He laughed and then left the traveler there to think about it
The traveler laughed crazily
He returned home
Ragged and trembling
From his journey
Crash
Despite the fact that Lieutenant Martin has horrible vision, he is the son of General Martin, so his application to Flight School was approved.
From day one, Junior’s been a bigger threat to our country’s air defenses than any foreign enemy.
He isn’t very good at landings, as you can see from this report on destroyed assets and casualties, but he does show an aptitude for packing and using his parachute, because it has deployed every time.
We’ll resolve this by sabotaging the ejection seat in his next solo flight.
Just hope that he doesn’t crash into your office building.
Jammed Up
Traffic. Jammed up solid.
Arthur brought his hands together with a clap, shouted YIELD!, and then pulled them apart quickly.
The cars in front of him flew to both sides of the street, clearing a path for him to drive through.
Only until after Arthur had passed through did people climb out of their cars or come out of their doors to survey the damage.
“Damn Wizards union,” muttered a taxi driver. His cab had been forced into a grocer’s sidewalk display of apples.
The insurance company wouldn’t pay for damages either.
He bought an apple and listened for sirens.
The Happiest Man
Looking at Walter, with this frown and slouch, you’d think he was an unhappy guy. But if you asked him, he’d say he is the happiest man on earth.
“But we’re on Mars,” I say.
Walter laughs. “I meant to say Mars. Force of habit.”
He goes back to working on whatever he was working on. Usually plans for expanding the biodomes or upgrading the existing footprint of the colony.
“Nobody likes to get displaced and moved for construction and upgrades. They bitch at me. But when it’s over, they thank me. I focus on that.”
And he laughs again.
My New Phone
The online store said that it would take 2 weeks to ship my new phone, but it arrived the next day, wrapped in butcher’s paper and bearing a hastily-scribbled label.
Inside the box, the phone was almost perfect, even if the cables and headset were sloppily wound-up.
There was also a note from my Secret Admirer, telling me I deserved the phone more than the guy she’d killed and taken it from.
Her number was in the address book.
“Call me.”
Instead, I called the police.
What if she admires someone else who wants a phone even more than me?
Good night, Elizabeth
The king’s daughter climbed into bed and closed her eyes.
“Good night, Princess Elizabeth” was composed by the Royal Music Guy as her personal lullaby, and the gentle strings and muted horns carried her into the land of dreams.
“She’s asleep,” signaled the Royal Music Guy to the orchestra. “Let’s go.”
Tuxedoed figures rose quietly from their seats and tiptoed out of the room.
“Why can’t she just listen to the song on an iPod?” asked the cellist.
“It’s a good gig,” hissed the bassoonist. “Don’t blow it.”
The Royal Music Guy whispered “Good night” and gently closed the door.