All you could ever hope to learn is contained beneath the robes of Professor Vulge of Crimson University.
Vulge’s shroud, opaque veil, black gloves and socks are legendary.
Not even Vulge’s grad students, who call themselves minions, remember ever seeing Vulge… or hearing him.
Vulge just listens, and either points to the next student to present, or…
Oh, that dreaded, deadly gesture to the door!
Failure! Rejection!
It isn’t a semester without news of one… two… sometimes all of Vulge’s students hurling themselves to their deaths!
The administration is aware of this.
And made tuition payable in advance, and non-refundable.
Category: My stories
Dr. Quack
Of all the doctors I’ve had over the years, the best one was named Quack.
Yes, his name was Quack. And he was great!
When I had an ache in my foot, he cured me of it.
Okay, so he cured me by cutting off my foot, and I admit that was a bit extreme, but it hasn’t hurt since.
The ringing in my ear… solved!
The arthritis in my hand… solved!
The migraines…
Well, those, I’ve still got. I made an appointment with him, but his office was empty.
Except for his guillotine.
Mind pulling the cord for me?
Success
She kept a suitcase packed and ready.
Success was right around the corner. She knew it was coming. It would knock on her door at any moment.
It never came.
Oh, sure… Success sent emails and left phone messages and mailed her a few postcards begging her to come out and see him.
Remember the floral arrangements? She was allergic to flowers, but not these. Success was very thoughtful and did the research and found these flowers for her.
And she still wouldn’t leave. Success had to come to her.
“It doesn’t work that way,” wrote Success. “Goodbye, my love.”
Register
After my wife’s death, I was cleaning the kitchen cabinets in my Chicago apartment, I came across a small container of bouillon cubes.
The label said they were 18 years old.
This means they’re old enough to get a driver’s license, even though they probably wouldn’t pass the driving or vision tests.
And, being eighteen, they could also serve in the military, but I don’t think the military is openly recruiting potentially toxic substances.
But they could register to vote, as long as they register as a Democrat.
Right after they register my dead wife to vote, too.
Ah, Chicago.
Diction
September 19 is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.
All across the world, people say things like “Yarrrrr!” and “Avast, ye scurvy dogs!” and “Me hearties!” and silly pirate-speak phrases like that.
Especially to pirates they meet on that day.
Pirates don’t find this amusing.
It’s like walking up to someone from Australia and saying “Throw another shrimp on the Barbie!”
So when a pirate draws his cutlass and shouts “I’ll have ye guts fer garters!” the proper response is not to applaud at their impressive diction, but to run like hell.
Although, to be honest, pirates rarely wear garters.
Power of prayer
I knelt down by the bed and barely had said “Dear Lord” before I heard a loud booming voice shout:
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT NOW?
“God?” I whispered.
I SAID WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT NOW?
“I just wanted to say thanks, and I look forward to tomorrow,” I said.
BULLSHIT.
“Seriously, I’m cool,” I said.
WELL, HERE’S A FUCKIN BICYCLE SOME KID KEEPS ASKING FOR, BUT THE KID’S AN ASSHOLE, SO FUCK HIM.
And a bicycle appeared on my bed.
“Amen?” I said.
DAMN STRAIGHT.
It was kid-sized. Useless to me.
I donated it to charity.
Three Strikes You’re Dead
I took you out to the ballgame and bought peanuts and Cracker Jack.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “You know what peanuts do to you.”
You didn’t even look up from your program. “I left the Epipen at home. I don’t care if I ever get back.”
So, I handed you the peanuts.
The announcer asked everyone to please rise for the national anthem, but I could tell from your blue skin and the foam at the corner of your mouth that the convulsions weren’t far off.
After the third, I felt your wrist. No pulse.
“PLAY BALL!”
The Lame Of Thrones
I hear a lot of hype regarding this Game Of Thrones television show, but I don’t have much interest in it.
I mean, how many games can you play with thrones, anyway?
The first one that comes to mind is Musical Thrones.
(It’s like Musical Chairs, but with thrones.)
I can’t see how much fun that would be.
I mean, the king sits in his throne, the queen sits in hers. They win.
And if anybody else tries to sit in their thrones, they get their head cut off.
If I want to watch people getting beheaded, I’ll watch Al-Jazeerah.
Meet the Neighbors
My wife and I tend to keep to ourselves when we’re not working, so we don’t really know the neighbors in our apartment complex all that well.
Sometimes, we hear them late at night, playing the guitar. Or shouting.
So, it was a relief when we saw some guys emptying out the apartment next door into a truck.
“Moving out?” I asked.
“Yup,” said a guy.
The next day, the doorbell rang.
It was the police.
“Moving out? Those were guys robbing the place. Don’t you know your neighbors?”
An angry couple stood behind them.
I waved. “Now I do.”
Irony Rocks
The arts and crafts store sells stones engraved with words:
Welcome
Hope
Love
They’re meant to be placed in gardens.
But I like to put them in a sack, wait until midnight, and hurl them through noisy and rude neighbors’ windows.
The house full of fratboys, cranking their speakers every goddamned night.
The paperboy who comes around every week trying to sell me a subscription that I don’t want.
The jerks who never mow their lawn.
The ones with the dog that shits in my yard.
And, of course, my own window.
(So they don’t think it’s me doing it.)