The town hung criminals from a tree outside the courthouse.
People came from miles to watch.
Over time, it became an event.
Hawkers shouted LEMONADE and PRETZELS as they pushed their carts through the jubilant crowd.
The town decided this was in bad taste and ended the public hangings.
Instead, they made the hangings private.
The new county arboretum is a beautiful building, built around the old hanging tree.
Hangings are now private events. Invitation-only.
No people coming from miles to watch.
No pushcarts. No lemonade or pretzels.
Just the witnesses, the criminal, the hangman, and a bottle of champagne.
Category: My stories
Put To Sleep
Once, he was the youngest of our cats.
He ran circles around the others, who hissed and swatted at him with arthritic paws.
Now, he is the oldest, and it’s his turn to go to the vet.
He will be put to sleep.
No, this is not a euphemism for euthanasia.
He will be literally put to sleep.
And then flash-frozen.
Just like the others.
Deep in the salt dome under the city, the Pyramid Of Bast is being constructed, one brick at a time.
One soul at a time.
When completed, perhaps she will arise.
And all will rise.
Interrogation
We bind his ankles and wrists with wire, put him in the chair, and shove a burlap sack over his head.
The manual then said: “When he wakes up, yank the hood off of his head.”
Fred read that wrong, and the moment the guy woke up, Fred yanked off his head.
What a mess.
At least the head was in a sack, but the rest just bled everywhere.
Afterwards, we wrote the author, suggesting that a tarp be put down under the chair, or at the very least some large rags or towels you don’t plan on using again.
Sing, Motherfuckers!
His powerful X-Ray Vision, stalemated by another superhero with O-Ray Vision in a game of naughts and crosses.
Faster than a speeding bullet, even faster than a bullet driving sensibly under the speed limit.
He once sued Dr. Pepper for malpractice… and won!
He sold vowels wholesale to Pat Sajak, who resold them on Wheel Of Fortune at a huge markup.
He once crossed an oboe with a bassoon to create an oboassoon, which Keith Richards uses as a bong.
“Grease” became a musical when he stood up in the audience and shouted “SING, MOTHERFUCKERS!”
That’s me, dammit!
SING, MOTHERFUCKERS!
Bananacalibur
That’s no ordinary banana in a stone…
That’s Bananacalibur!
Sure, the Lady Of The Lake may have tossed a sword at Arthur, but when pulled it from the stone, The Clown Of The Crown stuck a banana in the hole.
What? What happens to the person who pulls it from the stone?
I guess they get a free banana.
Hey, just be careful what you do with the peel when you’re done with it.
If you slip on it, you become the next Clown Of The Crown.
And the Clown Of The Crown has some mighty big shoes to fill.
Gestures
When a dog bows with its tail in the air and ears cocked forward, it is an invitation to play.
Get down on the ground and try it yourself. See what your dog does.
We had to teach this to the Bzzzzkt, who had mistaken this canine behavior for a Tktktktkt Death Beetle threat-crouch and had wiped out a large number of pets, living and cybernetic, in the colony domes.
It’s only fair to forgive them, as we mistook their friendship gesture as a form of anal rape.
Besides, the constant barking was getting annoying, and dog meat’s rather tasty.
Barriers
Three Halloweens ago, the Spirit and Living worlds reunited once again, but never fully separated when the Holiday was over.
Zombies, ghouls, mummies, and other frightful creatures were still crossing over.
The world was awash in these troublesome and smelly interlopers.
So, scientists came up with an answer, and they managed to close the barrier once again.
Completely.
With Death vanquished once and for all, you’d think people would be happy.
Instead, we’re getting older, sicker, and unable to eat anything.
Maybe when Halloween comes again, the barriers will weaken, and we can finally taste the sweet mercy of death.
The Third Thumb
I once heard of a psychic claiming they had a “third eye.”
Well, then I’ve got a “third thumb.”
You see, I’m a movie critic. The Celluloid Spy.
And I’m afraid of the dark.
Yeah, I hire mailroom interns to stand in for me at movie screenings.
My trademark trenchcoat, fedora, and fake beard make sense now, right?
So, when you wonder if the critic saw the same movie you did, you’re right: I didn’t.
But here’s the thing. I’ve been perfectly accurate in my plot synopses and ratings.
Stupid kid, getting hit by that truck.
Never saw that coming.
For The Soul
A friend told me to read “Chicken Soup For The Soul” so I went to the bookstore.
There were so many other books about chicken soup for various souls.
Shelves and shelves of books.
I don’t have time to read them all.
I was intimidated by all the different books, so I left the bookstore and went to the grocery store.
I reached for Campbell’s Chicken Soup, but then I saw Chicken And Stars, Chicken And Rice, Chunky Chicken And Noodle, a store generic…
Shelves and shelves of soup.
Wait… hold on…
Oh, I forgot: I’m allergic to chicken soup.
Temple
When he retired, Max built a workout shed and wrote THE BODY IS A TEMPLE over the door.
He exercised every day. Rain or shine, heat or blizzard.
One day, while walking to the workout shed, he felt a strange feeling behind his right ear.
Everything went black, and Max dropped to the ground, dead from a stroke.
Max had kept to himself, so it was the overflowing mailbox that was the first sign something was wrong.
The mailman went into the back yard and saw the body covered with flies and other things.
Temple? No.
More like a buffet.