The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, or at least it’s supposed to be, according to the contract I bid on.
The road’s even worse now. The job shoulda been done by now, and I’m way over budget, but how was I to know about the weather problems, the commodities market run by speculators on good intentions, and the union going on strike on me… it’s not my fault, really.
I have no time for my other contracts, my business is about to go under.
I look down… and the road’s finished.
Time for me to walk it.
Category: My stories
The Answer
Bob Dylan says that the answer is blowin’ in the wind.
So, I figured that the stronger the wind, the better the answer.
That’s why our think tank leases offices in an airplane manufacturer’s wind tunnel.
I haven’t heard a single dumb idea since we moved there.
Of course, I haven’t heard anything since we moved there. The wind tunnel is deafening, and we wear earplugs for protection.
I tried to set up a whiteboard, but it kept getting blown over.
Maybe moving to the wind tunnel isn’t the answer.
Aha! That’s the answer!
The wind tunnel works after all!
Fist Full Of Mustard
When you spend your whole life in the dark, it’s important to have a system.
I keep mustard packets in my left pants pocket, ketchup packets in my right pants pocket, relish packets in my jacket pocket, mayonnaise packets in this shirt pocket, salsa packets in-
No. Really. Ask me for something.
Mustard? Right here.
Ask me again.
Ketchup? Right here.
See?
Well, okay, you can’t see, because we’re in the closet and the light’s off and it’s dark, but still, I’m ready.
Now I’m ready for anything! Let’s go out there and…
Um… hold on…
Who locked the door?
When it rains…
Mother used to say “When it rains, it pours.”
I’d walk out to the patio and say “Mom? That’s just Grampa on the roof with the hose.”
Mother never said much about that. It was bad enough that Grampa lived with us, making a scene at every meal, accusing Germans of poisoning his soup…
“That’s meat loaf, Grampa, not soup.”
“DAMN THE KAISER!” he’d shout, diving under the table.
The stories he’d tell me, well, they were magical. Tales of… well… I mean… magical stories…
Okay, fine. I ignored the crazy old coot.
Pass the meat loaf… I mean soup.
The Evening Hunt
I used to have trouble sleeping.
Yeah, I tried everything. Mattresses, high thread count sheets, pills, diets, exercise, music…
And pillows. So many different pillows. Piles and piles of pillows.
Different shapes, different materials.
What the hell is Space-Age memory foam? Smells like tar, feels like a marshmallow.
Awful.
That’s when I prayed.
All day, all night.
Days. Weeks. Months.
And then, my prayers were answered.
Standing there, an angel said “How can I help you get to sleep?”
I whacked him with a rock, plucked the feathers from his wings, and stuffed them into a pillow.
Never slept better.
If I had a hammer…
If I had a hammer, I wouldn’t hammer in the morning, evening, or all over this land.
Instead, I’d rent that hammer out to laborers who don’t have their own tools.
With the profit, I’d buy some more tools, like saws and wood planes and socket wrench sets, English and metric.
Then, if someone wants to hammer out danger or warning, they can do it with my hammer, as long as they put down a deposit first.
As for hammering out love between my brothers and my sisters, forget it. My whole family’s nuts.
And they never return my tools.
A Wise Man
A wise man once said that it you’re fat, surround yourself with people who are even fatter and you’ll look thin by comparison.
This works for people who are any kind of extreme in appearance.
If you’re tall, hang out with taller people.
Or if you’re short, hang out with smaller people.
Dark skin, light skin, any color skin, really.
If you’ve got green skin, find a freaking Martian to stand next to, and you’ll look less green.
Sounds crazy, right?
Not really. Because I’m standing next to a bunch of crazier people.
They have knives. And wicked, evil grins.
The Game Of Life
When I was little, I’d try to spin high numbers in The Game Of Life.
Spin! Make the car go faster!
Graduate college!
Spin! Make the car go faster!
Get married!
Spin! Make the car go faster!
Have kids!
Make the car full of pegs go faster faster faster!
Rush headlong along the winding path!
Away we go!
And then…
The game’s over.
Wasn’t that fun?
Want to play again?
That Game Of Life, wherever it is, gathering dust… I learned one thing from it:
Spin low, take your time and enjoy the ride.
Make it last. Make it count.
Going back to college
I’m going back to college.
After years of shit menial jobs, it was time I went back.
They’d been asking me for a while now, but my pride kept getting in the way.
You see, I was a football hero. Set school records and all.
Then, in the Rose Bowl, trashed my knees scoring the winning touchdown.
No pro career.
No diploma.
No future at all.
There were medical bills, lawyer bills.
When all was said and done, I pushed mops and brooms and stayed drunk.
Now, I’m goin back to college.
Classes? No dice.
To be a janitor there.
Curiosity
Curiosity killed the cat.
Then, Curiosity killed the dog.
Next came the goldfish. Curiosity put those in a blender and hit the big red button.
After that mess was flushed, Curiosity went outside with an air rifle and started shooting birds off the telephone wires.
She ran out of ammo right around the time we got home.
“Check on the babysitter,” I told my wife.
She went inside, found her tied up in a chair, and checked for a pulse.
“Weak, but it’s there,” she said.
Still alive?
Strange. Usually, Curiosity kills them.
I scolded her: “You’re getting sloppy, kid.”