Howdy, y’all.
I broke my elbow today.
Orthopedic surgery is scheduled for tomorrow.
They will reset the bone and put some pins in there.
So, the Weekly Challenge will be delayed by a day or two.
Thank you for your thoughts and patience, and the next Weekly Challenge topic will be “broken.”
I’ll post a formal Topic post once I am semi-functional and back home.
Category: My stories
Keep Sharp
Legend has it that the Grim Reaper sharpens his scythe by the light of the moon.
Bull.
First off, he’s got a whole set of scythes.
As for sharpening, he’s too busy. So he drops some of them off at my store every week and I handle that for him.
Sometimes, it’s a rebalanced handle. Ergonomic grips. Or reinforcing the blade mounts.
Nothing’s worse than having a blade come loose in mid-stroke.
He swings, he misses. That’s what you’d call “A brush with Death.”
With rotation and maintenance, it won’t happen again.
My service is a cut above the rest.
Half
The optimist thinks the glass is half full, while the pessimist thinks the glass is half empty.
Me, I drink everything out of a shot glass, and the bartender is always around to slide more my way, or he leaves the bottle there and we settle up the tab at the end of the week.
It doesn’t matter if the bottle’s half-full or half-empty either. The bartender keeps more in back, and his distributor runs an all-night liquor store a block away.
One time, all the shot glasses were in the dishwasher.
Except for the one in my pocket.
Cheers!
Shiver
I go down to the vault, turn off the lights, close my eyes, and meditate.
The robotic forklifts use magnetic guides on the floors and on the shelves, so they don’t need light.
Nor do they need to beep when the lights are off. If there was a person down here to warn, the lights would be on.
Their motors and lifting forks sound strange in the dark, shifting crates from the loading dock to the shelves, and then from the shelves to the showroom conveyors.
We keep it cold down here.
I shiver until I have achieved total peace.
Artists
We name our office printers after artists.
Matisse was very slow and you can see the dots in the rendering.
Pollock was just downright messy, leaking ink all over the place.
Van Gogh would cut off every so often.
Warhol never got many print jobs, but it served as an excellent copier.
Renoir’s colors were far too bright, and it cost us a fortune.
Breughel and Bosch were a nightmare to set up and keep running.
And the less said about Mapplethorpe, the better, okay?
In the end, we gave up and sent all of our print jobs to Kinko’s.
The Ghost
Mr. White’s always shouting “Great Caesar’s Ghost!” about stuff, but one day a bald dude wearing a bloody toga and laurel wreath appeared in his office.
He said something in what I figured was Latin, and even though I took a year of it in High School, I was totally hopeless with it.
“CALL A FUCKING PRIEST!” shouted Mr. White, cowering behind his desk. “WE NEED AN EXORCISM!”
Caesar held up a pizza box with a cartoony version of himself
He frowned, said “You think I look like this?” and then vanished.
Mr. White switched our company account to Domino’s.
Acquired Distaste
When I was young, I loved cottage cheese.
I’d put onion flakes and dill on it for flavor, but I didn’t mind it straight from the container.
It also didn’t matter if it was small curd or large curd. I liked them both.
Over time, I ate less and less of it, until I found myself forgetting the last time I’d had it.
So, I picked up a small container of the small curd stuff.
It was disgusting.
I tried different brands, but those also tasted lumpy and gross.
Onion flakes. Dill. A bed of lettuce.
Nope. Still tastes awful.
Taco-Faced God
God talks to me.
Me!
People think you’re crazy if you say God’s talking to you.
And I agree with them, because, like, why me? What’s so special about me?
God says I’m special. When He talks to me.
Thing is, he doesn’t appear with the big white beard. Or like George Burns.
He talks to me through tacos.
Sure, you see lettuce, beef, cheese, and hot sauce. But I see God talking to me.
Maybe it’s just the Taco Bueno kitchen guy hitting on me.
If it is, well, it’s so not happening.
(I asked for NO jalapenos, kid!)
Love of Money
The state quarters program was a hit with collectors, so The Mint tried it with presidents and dollar coins.
That program wasn’t a hit, and not only did warehouses fill up with uncirculated presidential dollar coins, but the bill that funded the program required that Sacagawea dollar coins be produced, too.
Also unwanted, helping fill up the warehouses faster.
This program went on for years, wasting money, until a radio show exposed the waste and Congress de-authorized the program, halting production.
Deep in the warehouses, an old Scottish duck climbs a shelf and swan dives into the pile, laughing hysterically.
Klingons
Back when I was in high school, there was a Klingon Language Club where they spoke that language from the Star Trek show and movies.
They wanted me to join, but I didn’t see any use for it.
A few years later, when we were at the graduation barn dance, a strange light appeared in the sky, and a Klingon warship landed in the parking lot.
The Klingon Language Club, dressed in full Klingon battle armor, greeted the ship.
Its cannons blasted them into atoms.
You know, because it was Kirk at the helm, slingshotted back in time.
Stupid geeks.