Category: My stories

• Lizzie
• Richard
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Tom
• Planet Z

The next topic is Safe

NORVAL JOE

Mrs. Withybottom shouted from upstairs, “Father’s awake and he’s thrashing around.”

At her voice, a butler stepped into the entry and frowned.

Linoliamanda asked, “What shall we do?”

Billbert took out his phone, “I’m calling an ambulance.”

An eternity later, a fire engine and ambulance roared up the drive. The paramedics raced up the stairs with a stretcher.

Huddled below the stairs, they clearly heard one of the medics shout, “His blood pressure is falling. We need to get him to the hospital right now.”

Moments later they were hurrying down the stairs with Mr. Withybottom strapped to the gurney.

SERENDIPIDY

I had no idea what the smell was, but although it was rather strong, it wasn’t particularly unpleasant, and it wasn’t the sort of smell you’d normally associate with car problems.
So, I simply carried on driving, anxious to get home and start cooking supper for the family.
Finally, I pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.
The smell was much stronger now, and it seemed to be coming from the engine bay.
Turned out to be some sort of animal… Cat, dog, fox? I really couldn’t tell.
Perfectly roast, on the engine block.
That’s supper sorted!

TOM

Stress Test Lungs on Fire.

The doctor through away the first EKG. He cried “Once more with passion! “, the treadmill rose towards the ceiling. I became quite light headed, a flight of angles circling round my eyes. Giant gears spun below my feet like some medieval engine of the inquisition demanding truth rooting out my paper-thin cover story. “Blood pressure nearly at critical Escape velocity, breaking free from the gravitational pull of our celestial body.” Yelled the nurse over the roar of the wind. “My toast, will be roast, If you crank that infernal machine an angle higher.” I gasped. Somewhere a fuse blow.

LIZZIE

The very moment the Ferris wheel started rotating, there was this weird grumbling sound, followed by a sharp metallic groan. He yelled “get me out of here” to no avail. His blood pressure hit the roof when he heard a snapping sound. That was it, he was going to die. The wheel tilted to one side and crashed against the rocks. Yes, “thank you, god, I just broke my back, my legs and an arm, but I’ll be fine”. Why, you may ask. Well, insurance. A fortune. He never told anyone about that wrench he had stuck in the engine.

RICHARD

— Fear of Flying —
I’ve always been terrified of flying.
I know you can probably quote statistics that say it’s safer than crossing the road, or more people die from being kicked by donkeys than in plane crashes, but I really don’t find that reassuring.
As far as I’m concerned, there’s a million things that can go horribly wrong on a flight. What if an engine were to catch fire, or the plane were to be taken over by terrorists?
It’s not as if you can take cover, or make a hasty exit to safety!
Perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen to be a pilot!

PLANET Z

I barely drive my car, and when I drive it, I don’t go too far.
It’s a plug-in hybrid, and I’m almost always driving on electric.
I barely go a thousand miles a year.
I get an alert that my car is five months overdue for maintenance.
I dismiss it, but there’s a little icon on the dash with a warning symbol.
It’s not a check engine light or a low tire pressure alert, so everything is fine.
If it’s not, the car wouldn’t start, and I can call the shop to come pick it up and fix the problem.

Everyone knows that Mel Brooks hired Richard Pryor for Blazing Saddles, but the studio couldn’t get the drug addicted Pryor insured, so Mel had to hire Cleavon Little to be the sheriff while Richard wrote the movie.
But do you know that Mel wrote all the black jokes and Richard wrote all the Jewish jokes?
Then, when asked, they took credit for each others writing.
Because, you know, racism.
And what better to write than a false narrative?
Well, these days, you wouldn’t know.
Mel tends to take credit for everything.
Well, anything that he didn’t do with Carl Reiner.

So, the pandemic made everyone stay at home.
Except for essential workers, in hospitals and the police and all that.
But also those dealing with food supplies.
Still not everyone was safe.
Meat processors and other suppliers were occasionally shut down when their workers tested positive.
Same with fuel and trucking.
This drove the price of meat up.
To the point that plant-based meat substitutes were now cheaper than real meat.
Despite the price and the health benefits, people still wanted meat.
Looking at their cats and dogs, wondering…
Does that canned cat food and dog food taste any good?

Here at the detention center, we pride ourselves on efficiency.
It used to take a stack of paperwork to process a subject, but we’ve reduced the number of forms necessary, eliminating as much as possible through digital records.
And we’re testing a fully-automated process.
No paperwork, all biometrics-based and handed by robots and conveyor belts.
Officers drop the subjects off.
They get scanned and fitted into a cart, moved through every step in the system until their ashes are dropped in a container for transfer to the pit.
Sometimes, they resist. Like you did.
Get back in the cart. Now.

My grandfather ran a chain of drycleaning stores.
One hour drycleaners in Cermak Plaza.
He was known for keeping a monkey in a cage.
“We don’t monkey with your business?” a sign said.
While the monkey whacked off.
He took it for a walk, and it bit a woman.
We ended up with the cage.
And put a guinea pig in it.
For a week.
It crawled out through the food dish gate and cut its leg, bleeding to death in a closet.
I remember screaming with tears, but the strange thing is, I don’t remember it having a name.

The hospital was stuck with a dead old man in its morgue and a dementia-ridden widow.
They left messages at the number on his file, and one day they got a text back with an address to send the body to.
It turned out to be the local zoo’s service entrance.
“They preyed on me for years,” an angry voice said. “Let the animals prey on him.”
The hospital said that was unethical.
“So was he. Put an ad in the paper for necrophiliacs. Ten bucks a fuck. When you have enough, burn him.”
After that, the number was disconnected.

The problem with “Punch a Nazi in the face” is that I think by now, nearly all of them are dead.
And when there were a few alive, the fucking ALCU was defending them in court, lying about them having been Nazis, and so forth.
“Demjanjuk was a kindly sweet old retired autoworker.”
Uh huh.
“Rudolph Hess was just following orders!”
Erm… he was giving them, too, asshole.
Fucking lawyers.
Maybe it should be “Punch fucking lawyers in the face.”
Lawyers, you know who they are.
They have degrees and law licenses.
And in England, they have silly white wigs.