After the invasion, we spent trillions of dollars rebuilding the infrastructure we’d bombed and destroyed, sacrificing thousands of soldiers fighting the insurgents thwarting those rebuilding efforts.
Despite the unpopularity and the massive expense of the project, the politicians ordered the military and the contractors to continue.
Then, one day, a builder took off his hard hat, looked around at the beautifully-paved streets and newly-painted shopping malls and schools and houses and hospitals, and he said “It looks like we’re done.”
A security contractor nodded his head, and then said: “Nice place. But quiet. Is anybody left alive to enjoy it?
Category: My stories
Balanced breakfast
Jimmy walked into the kitchen, picked up a banana, and put it on his shoulder.
Then he got out a bowl, filled it with cereal, poured milk into it, and stuck that on top of his head.
He didn’t spill a drop.
Then he dropped two slices of bread in the toaster, waited, and juggled the toast in one hand while spinning a glass of orange juice with a finger on the other hand.
He walked back to the table and sat down.
Janice wanted a diet soda, but Jimmy growled “That’s not part of a complete and balanced breakfast!”
Love Potion Number…
Love Potion Number One was too acidic. Burned through the flask, ruined the countertop.
Number Two tasted weird. Like bathwater. And grease. Ew.
Three and Four were highly volatile. Evaporated the moment you opened them. Inhalers? Nah. Asthmatics would get confused. And horny.
Five turned the subject violent.
Thankfully, Six acted as an antidote, but turned their skin green. Kinda kinky.
Number Seven was a deadly neurotoxin. We sold it to the CIA.
Eight makes a good stain remover. See my pants? Spotless!
Oh well.
Care for some tea?
Good. I’ll pour.
And be sure to drink it all, darling.
The Bodyguard Is Totally Fucked
The beautiful
Amazing
Talented
Whitney Houston,
The butt
Of so many jokes
Over the years
And years
Of drug abuse,
Was found dead
By her bodyguard
In the bathtub
Of her hotel room
With a bottle of pills
In her hand,
And the first thing
That I think of
Is that the bodyguard
Is totally
Fucked.
His job?
To protect her!
Stalkers?
Paparazzi?
Her ex husband,
Bobby Brown,
That motherfucking
Son of a bitch!
He couldn’t protect her
From her worst enemy:
Herself.
She was in a movie
Called “The Bodyguard”
For crying out loud!
The bodyguard
Is totally
Fucked.
Pelicans
One day, all the pelicans vanished.
In their place, neatly-typed sheets of paper explained in perfect French how there was a serious design flaw with pelicans necessitating an immediate recall of all pelicans.
Those that could not be upgraded to meet basic safety standards would be replaced or compensated for at fair market value.
Unsigned. Undated.
The next day, pelicans reappeared.
Nobody could explain exactly what had happened.
Was it an elaborate prank by aliens?
Proof of the existence of God?
Why was the note in French?
But most importantly, why pelicans?
I still can’t tell what’s changed about them.
Count Dracula
The people on the TV say today is a day to reflect.
But I, Count Dracula, am a vampire.
I have no reflection.
I look in the mirror and I see nothing.
Should I be seeing something?
Ten years go, I go to my coffin, I rest during the day, and when I wake up, everybody is losing their shit on the TV.
People are digging through the rubble.
And they’re donating blood.
And all I can think about is “Well, this sucks. Now when I go out to drink, not only will I be a monster, but unpatriotic, too.”
Walking
Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.
There are a lot of grocery stores within walking distance from where I live.
It’s good exercise.
I walked to Kroger to get chicken and lemons.
Then I walked to Central Market to get bread crumbs.
I realized I didn’t have enough butter, so I went to HEB to get that, too.
I made lemon chicken that night. It was delicious.
But the next morning, I didn’t have milk for my coffee.
Dipped the chicken in it for the breading.
So, I used Bailey’s instead.
(Now we’re out of that, too.)
Stonebeard
King Stonebeard was dying.
All of the giants came to his mountain castle to see which prince would be chosen as king.
Instead of choosing one, Stonebeard walked up to his favorite throwing boulder and said “Whoever can pull this boulder off of this sword will be king.”
And with a final rush of strength, he drove it on to the sword.
All of the giants tried, but none could remove it.
Angrily, one of the princes picked up the boulder and hurled it out the window with all his might.
Then he put on his father’s crown and laughed.
Cracking
I heard about a scientist who constantly cracked the knuckles on his left hand every day for thirty years to see if there was any more risk of arthritis than on the other hand that he didn’t crack the knuckles on.
Both of his hands felt the same, but his fellow scientists felt like he was going to beat the crap out of them.
“Sure, his research is in arthritis and how cracking his knuckles would affect its progression,” they said. “But does he have to always have a menacing leer on his face as he walks around the lab?”
The Pitcher
Pablo Picasso’s last words were “Drink to me!”
But his caretakers misheard him, and thought he’d said “Drink me!”
So, they put him in the bathtub, chopped him into pieces, and ran him through the blender, toasting their friend Picasso with every bloody glass of the liquefied artist.
His bones posed a serious problem, since they were too difficult for the kitchen blender to pulverize, no matter how small they cut them up with the woodshed axe.
One of them suggested melting them with acid.
“How are we going to drink the acid?”
They tried anyway.
(Nobody drank to them.)