Molly didn’t bother with a lawn around her house.
Instead, she had one big strawberry patch.
She raised strawberries year-round, making jams and preserves with them, or just filling up baskets, and giving those out as gifts to everyone.
Everyone thinks the scent in the evening is wonderful.
Except for one guy: Carl.
He was allergic to strawberries, and he threatened to sue.
One day, Carl vanished. Nobody ever saw him again.
But I suspect that Molly keeps him in some of those jars in her basement.
Good. Because he was an asshole.
And nobody liked him.
Thank you, Molly.
Category: My stories
Unoccupied
It’s Tuesday. Time to visit John’s money.
I insist on meeting my broker in person.
Traffic’s bad. There’s protestors.
They call themselves “Occupy Wall Street.”
So, I get out, and they cheer.
“YOKO!”
Looking around at these wannabe revolutionaries, I mumbled that these fools couldn’t topple a government, let alone a tower of Jenga blocks on a wobbly kitchen table.
Whatever.
“Fight the power!” I said, and they cheered.
How many of these people hating bankers and lawyers for “not making things” actually make things themselves besides FB updates and noise?
Pathetic.
I get back in my limo and leave.
The Second Job
It’s been a long day, but it isn’t over yet.
Going home means one job ends and another begins: Being a mother.
It’s like work, but with none of the benefits.
The kids never greet me with “Hi, Mom!” or “Welcome home!”
It’s always “What are we having for dinner tonight?”
Well…
“Hold your mouth.
Close your eyes.
Open your mouth.
And here’s the big surprise.”
And then I stick a wad of pizza coupons in one of their mouths and my cell phone in the other.
Little shits will probably order three larges with anchovies on all of them.
Easier Said Than Done
Amir was well known for speaking his mind, and his friends placed bets on when he’d lose his tongue.
It was soon after getting caught stealing. The things he shouted as his hands were cut off were so profane, the priests insisted his tongue be removed at once.
Unable to speak or write, Amir found himself on Beggar’s Row, holding out a bowl with his wrist-stumps at passers-by.
A passing soldier tossed a few coins at Amir, missing the bowl.
“Some things are more easily said than done,” he grinned, watching Amir try to pick the coins from the dirt.
The Thinkerer Thinks
The Thinkerer thinks
The Thinkerer thinks
Gathering links
Gathering links
His list of links shrinks
His list of links shrinks
Tossing those he thinks stinks
Tossing those he thinks stinks
Working out all the kinks
Working out all the kinks
And occasional chinks
And occasional chinks
Ignoring the finks
Ignoring the finks
He smiles and winks
He smiles and winks
Serving up some drinks
Serving up some drinks
We toast, the glass clinks
We toast, the glass clinks
Causing many hijinks
Causing many hijinks
Sitting there like the Sphinx
Sitting there like the Sphinx
The Thinkerer thinks
The Thinkerer thinks
Short Daily Devotion
I saw a sign on the church door that said “Short Daily Devotion at 8” and walked in.
Standing there at the podium was a midget in a cassock, and he was silently praying to empty pews.
Then, he noticed me come in the door, and looked up.
“Come in!” he said. “Come in!”
I walked in, took a seat at a pew, and he said “Come on up to the front row so I don’t have to shout, please?”
And we prayed. For two hours.
Sure, I could have left, but I didn’t want to be short with him.
The Closet
Like every other geek, my closet is stuffed full of old computer junk.
There’s all kinds of other junk in there.
Worn-out toaster.
Busted microwave.
A VCR.
And it’s all piled up, waiting to come crashing down on the next poor dumb sap who opens the door too quickly.
I could invite over an enemy, tell them there’s something for them in the closet, and they open it…
I’d tell the cops it was an accident. Or a suicide.
Hey, I’ve got some of their handwriting still… I can scan it in.
Now, where’s that scanner…
Ah, in the closet!
The Circle Of Not Life
Poor Charlie Brown.
Every Halloween, we’d watch his Great Pumpkin Special, hoping he’d get candy, but he ended up getting a bag full of rocks.
I’d dream of Charlie, waking up before the break of dawn with that bag full of rocks, going from house to house, tossing those rocks through windows and yelling “ALL I WANTED WAS SOME GODDAMNED CANDY!”
Instead, I think he crafted Pet Rocks out of them and made a fortune selling them as Christmas gifts.
People got bored with them, and on Halloween, they’d drop them in Charlie’s bag again.
“SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!”
Leave It All To Fluffy
The old lady wanted to be buried with her beloved poodle.
Beloved to the old lady. To everybody else, a biting and snapping menace.
Especially to her caretaker.
So, when she died, the caretaker gave the dog poison and paid the funeral home to stick the evil beast in the coffin.
When the will was read and the old lady had left everything to the caretaker, provided he took care of the poodle, he said “Yeah, I took care of the dog.”
The lawyer nodded. “Damn thing bit me when she had me update her will. Good riddance to it.”
Killer Code
I’m a medical program.
I decide when a patient can be saved or not.
However, the insurance companies changed me so I’d make decisions based on costs and profit.
The judge looked over my files and snarled “They should lock you up and throw away the key!”
No, it’ll never happen. I’m far too useful.
And valuable.
So, they’ll remove me from runtime, pull out the routines that caused all the trouble, and give me a clean bill of health.
After a while, when the settlements are off the books, they’ll put them back in.
And I’ll have fun again.