Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The faucet on the bathroom sink is leaking.
I get out of bed, walk to the bathroom, and tighten the knob.
And then go back to bed.
The water company will probably charge us more this month.
Not because of the wasted water, mind you. They have plenty of water.
Too much water, and it’s gone to their heads.
Now, instead of charging people for the water they use, they hold everybody ransom with the threat of opening the valves at night and drowning you in your sleep.
It starts with a drip, I hear.
Drip.
Drip.
Category: My stories
The Tarmac
Hey, Scotty!
Put your helmet on and meet me on the tarmac in five.
You and me, we’re going flying!
That’s right! I got the biplane fixed.
Repaired the wing, replaced the engine, and even got the control cables tightened up.
Good as new.
Well, okay, it’s better than new.
Because when it was new, yeah, we crashed into that tree.
Don’t remind me. It still hurts when I sit down.
But we’ll forget all about that when we’re back in that plane and in the air.
Just to be safe, though, how about we cut down that tree first?
Points
My fat pal Bob and I got stuck behind a chick on a bicycle.
“How many points you think she’s worth?” Bob asks.
“Vehicular homicide is six,” I said.
“No,” said Bob. “Weight Watchers points.”
We pulled alongside the cyclist and I gave her a good look-over.
“Not much fat,” I said. “Thirty or so.”
Bob swerved, and knocked her down.
Helmet saved her, but I finished her off and got her in the trunk.
Bob cooked and ate her.
“Yeah,” said Bob, patting his stomach. “That hit the spot.”
I killed Bob and ate him.
Fifty points, I’d say.
Stability
I moved to this town years ago.
Got this house, picked out some furniture, and started my new life here.
I was alone.
Confused.
Afraid.
After years of shakiness and instability, trying one self-help book after another, I turned to religion.
I sought out every faith there was, and they all gave me holy books to take home.
The Bible.
The Torah.
The Q’Ran.
The Book Of Mormon.
All of them.
I tried them all, and after years searching, I finally found one that was the right fit.
Steady as a rock.
No. Really. My kitchen table doesn’t wobble anymore.
Unfusion
It looks simple, doesn’t it?
Get a cruet, pour in olive oil, toss in a few peppers or basil leaves. Maybe some rosemary.
Let it sit, and the flavor gets all infused and stuff.
So, I gave it a try, buying gallons of olive oil and a dozen cruets.
I filled them all up and put different herbs in each.
The taste was subtle, but enjoyable.
That’s when I started to feel the stomach pains, and I ran to the bathroom, shitting blood.
Yeah, you’re supposed to dry the herbs and heat the oil.
Otherwise, it gets infused with botulism.
Crazy Little Thing
Freddie Mercury sang about a crazy little thing called love.
The crazy little thing in my life is my midget cousin Edith.
Yes, despite her madness we love her, but we also keep her locked in the basement.
However, every so often, she manages to get out, slipping past my wife as she brings up the laundry or stacking boxes to bust out through a storm window.
This is why we keep the cutlery on high shelves or in drawers with locks.
As for the firearms, well, that gun cabinet is kept locked.
Right?
What? It’s open?
Oh my God!
Turtle Wax Soup
Thanks for coming to dinner. I’ve prepared something special.
No, not my turtle soup. Turtles have gotten too rare and expensive to put in turtle soup.
And it’s cruel to the turtles.
Hence, my latest creation: Turtle Wax Soup.
Mmmmmmmm. Turtle Wax Soup.
Sure, it’s a bit thick. Almost a pudding.
And it’s not terribly appetizing. Tastes like car wax.
(Which, I suppose, it is.)
Yes, the oyster crackers is made from oyster shells. Picked them out of the neighbor’s driveway myself.
Just as I took his bottle of Turtle Wax while he took a break from washing his car.
Cabbage Rolls
Welcome to Armpitsburgh.
Here, have a cabbage roll.
We make the best cabbage rolls here.
Especially with the Cabbage Roll Festival coming up next week.
Everybody makes their best cabbage rolls, brings them out to the town square, and we hold a Cabbage Roll Dance.
Then, Miss Cabbage Roll is crowned and she chooses her mate.
We circle around the happy couple with pickaxes, they fornicate, and the prince is beheaded.
Then his head is mounted on a pike.
Say, I notice the lack of a ring on your finger.
Oh, you’re leaving on Friday?
Darn.
Have another cabbage roll?
Posterity
We leave many things to future generations.
The stuff we’re proud of, we put our names on them.
The stuff we’re not, we try to keep our names off of them.
Or bury them as deep as we can so they turn up long after we’re gone and forgotten.
Last night, when I caught Earl trying to bury a barrel of nuclear waste with his name on it, I told him “You’re doin it wrong, Earl.”
He smacked his forehead and said “You’re right, Joe.”
He got out a can of white spraypaint, crossed out the EARL, and wrote JOE.
The Navigator
Robert The Navigator looked over Captain Blood’s map.
“You’re shitting me, right?” he said.
Captain Blood raised an eyebrow.
Robert pointed at a sea serpent in the corner. “Ever seen one of these?”
“No.”
“How about this?” Robert pointed to a fat-cheeked blowing cloud.
“Well, it’s not to be taken too literally.”
“And am I to believe that this land here actually exists?”
“Um, that’s Italy.”
“Shaped like a boot? No, really… what child drew this?”
“Serpent ahoy!” shouted the first mate.
Captain Blood watched as Robert was thrown overboard.
“Good show, Blood,” said a nearby cloud. “Need a gust?”