My uncle Dexter would disappear every Friday night, and then return for Sunday brunch.
Sometimes, he’d have cash stuffed into his pockets, and other times he be flat broke and sporting a black eye or two.
“Your stupid Uncle Dexter plays the ponies.” my mom would say. “Stay away from him.”
So, that night, I followed him from street to street, until he reached the racetrack.
He wired up all the horses to a massive keyboard, turned on the power, and played them like a pipe organ.
It sounded awful, but not as bad as my sister practicing her violin.
Category: My stories
MLK
In Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech, he shares a lot of dreams he had about racial equality, equal opportunities, and freedom for everyone.
It’s an inspirational speech that still gives people hope in the struggle for civil rights across the globe.
However, if he’d have been taking Vicodin, like I am taking now for a busted elbow, he’d have had dreams of dinosaurs with laser guns fighting in volcanoes, because this crap really fucks up your brain.
I’m not sure that would have helped with civil rights, but it sure would have made for an awesome movie.
Gremlins
The nurse told me that I can’t eat anything after midnight because I am having surgery early tomorrow.
But the truth is that I am a gremlin.
Feeding a gremlin after midnight turns them into an evil scaly predator that causes havoc and mayhem.
And getting a gremlin wet causes them to pop out warped clones.
I smile, close my eyes, and say “wet or dry, a sponge bath is a sponge bath.”
It’s certainly better than the food, which explains why there aren’t any evil scaly gremlins walking around causing havoc.
Or is it because visiting hours are over?
Power Off
When my wife went on vacation, she told me to have a good time, take care of the cats, and not break anything.
I’m batting zero for three.
I broke my elbow, haven’t had a very good time in the hospital having my elbow rebuilt, and it’s hard to take care of the cats from a hospital bed.
I haven’t told her any of this because she hasn’t turned on her phone, and I don’t have the number of the place where she staying.
Oh well. it’s a vacation, right? So, have a good time – that’s what really matters.
The Cord
When I arrived at the emergency room on Saturday, alone and helpless, my phone battery was dying.
My friends contacted the hospital gift shop, and by the time I reached my room, a spare charging cord was delivered.
That phone was my lifeline to family and friends.
On Monday, my mother-in-law arrived with my laptop, and I pulled out a spare cord from the laptop bag.
Just then, a careless orderly broke the gift cord.
It lasted just long enough to do its job, and then sacrificed itself so the orderly wouldn’t break anything else important, like my other arm.
It’s Bath Time
I stood naked in the bathtub, a black plastic bag tied around my broken right arm.
Sitting down slowly in the warm soapy water my first real bath in a week.
It felt so good the water on my skin, the heavy stink of the hospital bed slowly scrubbed away by the washcloth in my wife’s hands, gliding over my body.
I lean forward, and she scrubs my back.
I lean back, and she scrubs my chest.
My neck.
My legs.
My good arm.
She leaves me there in the tub to soak and think.
Just breathe, and weep helplessly.
The Pills
Today, I broke my elbow.
I got careless on my bike and fell.
Tomorrow, I will have orthroscopic surgery to set the bone with pins.
Until then I am laying in this hospital bed, texting friends with my good hand and writing crap like this.
Sadly, the medication is not strong enough to make this story interesting.
All things considered, I’d rather none of this be interesting. I’d rather have had a twisted or sprained elbow and a taxi cab home.
Or no injury at all.
The nurses here with my pills I’ll ask for stronger stuff. (for your sake)
Honk
Honk, the God of traffic jams, watches the city from Metro Control, smiling at the video feeds of his followers. He feels a tiny buzz of power with every prayer the populace sends his way, palms slapped against steering wheels to call out his name in frustration, fury, and faith.
Red…
Red…
Red…
Green?
He points at the city map, dispatching construction crews to places where cars can still move.
“Go forth and obstruct,” commands Honk.
The crews head for the garage and prepare to squash the heathens with orange cones red flag.
Honk laughs and smiles upon the city
That’s Super
Remember when Superman would hear someone shout “HELP,” and he’d run into a phone booth, and then run back out as Superman to save the day?
Well, there are no phone booths anymore.
So, how does Superman change?
Potable toilets.
Which, if you think about it, is what he should have been using all along.
Unlike glass phone booths, portable toilets have opaque walls, and no matter how fast Superman is when he changes, there’s still the possibility that someone’s going to catch a subliminal dose of Supercock or Superass.
I assume that’s how Lex Luthor became such an asshole.
Drooling
My job is to write technical documentation.
Because we have so many global customers, I need to write in a manner that makes it easy for translation engines to translate my documentation into many languages.
To help me, I bought a Global English style guide.
The more I use it, the more I realize that I have poor grammar and write in rambling sentences that translation engines choke on, spewing out confusing nonsense.
This is turning me into a neurotic drooling mess, unable to communicate.
Wait. Am I drooling?
Oh my God! Please don’t let my last word be “drooling!”