A man in a trench coat steps into the alleyway, walks down the steps, and knocks on a steel door.
A peephole slides open.
“What the password?” a voice growls.
“Mendicant,” whispers the man in the trench coat.
“Thank you,” growls the voice behind the door, and the peephole slides shut.
Somewhere in the building, a man at a computer terminal is drumming his fingers, waiting.
Another man runs into the room and says “Mendicant.”
The man at the terminal types in the new password. The screen confirms the input.
“I hate having to change these things every ninety days.”
Category: My stories
Questions
Ned sent me a text message: “I have some questions.”
I sat down and waited for the questions to arrive.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
No questions.
Four hours later, still no questions.
I started to text back “What are the questions?” but I cleared the screen.
I’m not going to give in.
I’m not going to play this game.
If Ned has questions for me, he’ll ask them.
So I sit.
And wait.
What if Ned’s not responding because he’s in trouble?
Or lost?
Or hurt?
I sit there, worrying. Then, I text:
“I have some questions, too.”
The Lost God
Whuh, the God Of All Who Are Lost.
He has no priests, no followers, no temples.
Wander, traveler, and you are in the domain of Whuh.
The old bum, over there, under a crumpled, misfolded map as a paper hat, steering shopping cart full of broken GPS boxes, his chattering chorus of misdirection.
His eyes have seen many lands.
But he remembers none of them.
Do not ask him for directions.
Just walk. Walk in any direction.
You’ll find your way.
You’ll escape from the domain of Whuh.
The electronic chorus says TURN LEFT NOW.
The bum coughs and laughs.
Lord Foster’s Estate
Lord Foster’s estate is gigantic.
It is so large, by the time the man who mows the grass is done, the grass has grown back.
The groundskeeper asked for an additional man.
Lord Foster said no. The staff was large enough as it is.
The groundskeeper asked for a faster lawnmower.
Lord Foster said no. That lawnmower was fine for the job.
The groundskeeper asked if the lawmower could run at night.
Lord Foster said no. The noise was annoying.
So, the groundskeeper asked Lord Foster to come outside.
He tied him up.
And ran him over with the lawnmower.
Bacon Man
When Bacon Man
Has no bacon
He grabs a bottle
Of bacon-flavored syrup
Made by Torani
The syrup experts
And with his
Mighty fist
Twists off the cap
While cursing the world
For the lack
Of real
God’s-honest bacon
Within reach
“Where is my bacon?”
Shouts Bacon Man
“What is Bacon Man
Without bacon?”
Nobody answers
He stares
Angrily
At the bottle
Raises it
To his lips
And drinks
It’s not bacon
But it’s bacon enough
For Bacon Man
He drinks
And drinks
And drinks
Until the bottle
Is empty
Bacon Man belches
Drops the bottle
And sits there
Scowling
Mr. Eight Ball
Captain Infinity signed for the package, closed the door, and went into the kitchen for a boxcutter.
When he finally pulled out his new costume, he was horrified.
Black jumpsuit, white circle on the chest, and a golden 8 in the circle.
He dialed the customer service number on the invoice, and wasted the next 2 hours getting the run-around with the costume manufacturer and his credit card company.
The replacement wouldn’t arrive for two weeks.
He sighed, put on the costume, and met with the Avengers.
“Are we behind the Eight Ball today?” Iron Man sneered.
Captain Infinity fumed.
The Killing Stone
Ever kill two birds with one stone?
It’s not that hard to do, really.
Especially if they’re chickens. Bashing in their heads with a stone is really easy.
In fact, if you’ve got them trapped in the coop, you can pretty much wipe out the whole flock with one stone.
Dropping a large paving stone on a bamboo cage full of finches or parakeets will take out half a dozen easily.
Ostriches are another case entirely. Those, you have to wait until they’re asleep, and take really careful aim before hitting them.
Otherwise, they’ll kill one human with one kick.
The Gallery
Art thieves hit the gallery last night, stealing every painting out of their frames.
The owner of the gallery called the police, and then called the insurance company.
No answer.
The cops looked at the insurance policy.
“Oh, it’s from that company,” they said. “We busted them last month. It’s worthless.”
The gallery owner panicked and looked around…
The frames! The frames are still there!
He called his engraver and worked up new signage that showcased the ornate frames the thieves left behind.
Their avant-garde show “Focus On The Frame” was a success.
Until the dastardly frame thieves showed up.
Bigger dreams
Little Susie dreams little dreams of little things.
She’s starting to dream of bigger things.
Sadly, the bigger things don’t fit in her little dreams.
So, she’s trying to dream bigger dreams to fit them in.
Oh no! Those bigger dreams won’t fit in her tiny head!
“I need a bigger head for my dreams,” she said to her mother.
“Ask Santa for one.”
To make a short story shorter, yeah, Santa gave her one.
She’s the kid over there with the gigantic head, full of big dreams.
(Most of which involve being able to walk again without falling over.)
Blend
Would you like some coffee?
No?
Oh, you’d like some of this tea?
Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t give you any.
You see, it’s a special blend made just for me by this Chinese holistic herbal doctor I know.
I have no idea what’s in it, but he said it’s something for me and only me to drink.
What would happen if I gave you some?
I don’t know, but I can give you his card.
What? You can’t read it? It’s blank?
But, I can… um… I think I’ll pour out this tea and put some coffee on.