Bobby was missing, and the kidnappers had left a note to stay by the phone.
The telephone rang, and Bobby’s mother picked up.
Bobby is safe.
Don’t call the police.
We want a hundred bucks.
“Only a hundred?” Bobby’s mother asked.
“We know the economy’s tough,” said the kidnappers. “If that’s too much, we’re okay with fifty. Or maybe twenty if you throw in a nice homecooked dinner.”
The kidnappers showed up later, gladly took the twenty, and squealed “Meatloaf! We love meatloaf!” when invited to dinner.
“Next time we’ll bring wine, okay?” the kidnappers said, and they all laughed.
Category: My stories
Tesla
When Fiorello Laguardia said “But Tesla is not dead, not really dead… only his body lays still.” In his eulogy to the great inventor, he wasn’t lying.
Hours earlier, LaGuardia stared at a massive underground array of dynamos, cables, and engines bathed in lightning.
“GREETINGS, FRIEND,” boomed the voice of Tesla, whom LaGuardia had just seen in the funeral home that morning.
“Shouldn’t I tell the people of this miracle?” asked LaGuardia.
A large box with a shiny tube turned to point at him.
“Never mind,” said the mayor, recognizing the Death Ray. “We’ll just hold a funeral procession, okay?”
Tornado Drill
The teachers told us that the tornado drills were meant to practice what we’d need to do in an emergency, but the real reason for them is so that in a disaster it’s a bit easier for the authorities to count up the bodies and identify them.
If everyone was running around screaming, the tornado would be tossing them all over the place. Even fat kids… I heard that after one tornado, a fat kid ended up tossed through a tree five miles away.
As for fire drills, okay, go ahead. Run around screaming. See if we care, you bastards.
Natural
Hanging over my typewriter is a famous quote:
“Be natural, my children. For the writer that is natural has fulfilled all the rules of art.”
So, I opened the window and tossed my typewriter, pens, and paper out into the street.
Leaving everything behind, I moved out of my apartment and set out for the hills.
There, in my cave, I worked on my novel, writing on tree bark using bird droppings and mud.
The publisher was shocked by my appearance, but took the submission.
And rejected it.
On the bright side, I did get cast in some GEICO commercials.
Messages
Ghosts carved messages on my arms at night.
Only when I showered off the blood did I see the messages clearly.
I ignored them, bandaged my arms, and went about my day.
So, the ghosts carved messages on to my legs… my chest… my back… my face…
More bandages.
I used up all my vacation time… should I call a priest… watching television… drinking… drinking…
Then, I realized… I don’t believe in ghosts.
I hired a nurse to tie me to the bed at night.
After that, the ghosts left me alone.
(But the nurse beat me with a hammer.)
Form
The neighborhood no-kill animal shelter has a form to fill out that they give out to people looking to adopt a cat.
The clerk hands me a clipboard and a pen, and I sit down in the lobby.
Two hours later, I hand the clipboard back.
The clerk’s eyes go wide as she looks over the form.
Sure, I’ve filled out my name and the details, but every checkbox has meticulously-drawn kittens peeking out from them, and the lines have been turned into unraveling balls of yarn being played with by more kittens.
“You’ll do fine,” says the clerk, smiling.
The Evolution Bazooka
Pastor Bailey doesn’t like evolution being taught in the local public schools, and he’s demanding that creationism be taught alongside it.
The faculty has refused to teach creationism, and the Science Department has put their heads together to prepare a formal response.
“BEHOLD!” shouts the wild-eyed Professor Jankins, brandishing a shiny silver tube. “THE EVOLUTION BAZOOKA!”
I tap my fingers on my desk. “Really, Stan?”
He laughs, points the bazooka at a potted plant, and pulls the trigger.
Nothing happens.
Later that afternoon, he realized the batteries had been put in backwards, and he turned a student into a chimpanzee.
Swami
I will never forget the day I went to my favorite Italian restaurant, sat down at my usual table, and a group of Indian swamis came in.
George the Waiter sat them at a table and brought out a large bowl of spaghetti.
Each in turn took out his recorder, played, and a spaghetti strand would rise from the bowl to the ceiling in a slender rope.
Over and over, the swamis made the spaghetti rise up.
I called over George, and said “Wow, isn’t that amazing?”
George grumbled. “Sure, it is, but those cheap bastards don’t tip for shit.”
The Unforgiving Tree
As the old man sat on the stump of The Giving Tree, he pondered all that he had taken from his beloved friend.
Her leaves to make crowns.
Her apples to sell for money.
Her branches to build a house.
Her trunk to build a boat.
And what had he given her?
Nothing.
Clutching his chest, he let out a gasp, and died.
The Giving Tree laughed. “Serves you right, you greedy bastard.”
She laughed for hours, until the old man’s sons dug up her stump and carved a coffin from it, as the old man instructed in his will.
Welterweight
Ever wonder what Welterweight means?
Lucius Welter was a boxing ring owner, and before every match, he liked to play teeter-totter with the boxers.
Any boxer who was too heavy to teeter-totter with Lucius was considered a Heavyweight.
And any boxer too light to teeter-totter with him was called A Lightweight.
The boxers who could teeter-totter with him without difficulty was dubbed “Welter’s Weight.”
Sadly, Lucius died from influenza when he was fifty, but they tied his corpse up into a sack and continued to use him as a counterweight until accurate scales became cheaper and the gym closed down.