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.
Category: My stories
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.”
Saving Throw
We’re having a fundraiser at work for the American Heart Association.
Make your own Ice Cream Sundaes.
Ice cream for heart research, right?
Makes as much sense as candy bars for Diabetes or strobe lights for Epilepsy.
I’m on a diet and can’t eat ice cream. But I love it so much.
So delicious.
So tempting.
NO! I cannot do this!
I must not give in! Stay strong!
I must make my saving throw against ice cream.
Work… work… work… do not think about the ice cream… work… work…
Then, I realize it’s time to go home.
Saving throw made.
Glass Beads
When you’re done working a glass bead in the torch, you can’t just drop it in a cooling blanket.
You need to cool it slowly so it doesn’t cool too quickly.
If the bead cools too quickly, it’ll break as it cools or weaken it so it will eventually break from stress fractures.
You need to cool it gradually to relieve those stresses.
That is why we must anneal it in the kiln.
It’s kinda like life, really. Taking time to cool down properly.
Now put down that knife and get off the ledge slowly, please. You’re making a scene.
The Lantern
Biff was into The Green Lantern.
Really into it.
Wore green underwear, a green shirt and a green cape.
His older brother Joe laughed at him as he ran around, pointing his ring at everything… the dishes… the cat’s litterbox…
“The Green Lantern doesn’t have a cape, retard.”
Then he’d grab Biff and yank his underwear up.
Biff would run to his room, crying.
Then, he’d sit on the roof outside his window and wishing… wishing…
One morning, he was helping an old lady cross the street, when a speeding cab ran them down…
Yep. A Yellow Cab.
Poor Biff.
Adrenalin Junkie
Bob’s an adrenalin junkie, but he’s also a lily-livered coward.
Unlike other adrenalin junkies who seek out extreme sports like skydiving and rock climbing and scuba diving, he’s barely able to make it out of bed without going all freako and diving below the covers again.
So, to get his adrenalin rush, he has it shipped to him.
Then, when he’s finally able to get out of bed and sign for the package, he scurries back to his bedroom and opens the box.
And then, staring at the contents, he dives back under the covers.
(Bob’s afraid of needles, too.)
Opulent
The bus station was opulent compared to this alley.
Yes, I use the word opulent to compare one hellhole to another.
Not the sort of word you expect from a common street bum?
I guess that means I’m no common street bum.
My journey from Saville Row to Skid Row is a sad tale, for certain, but pride and the length of that stop light prevent me from saying much more.
As a public service, I’ve scrubbed your windshield clean, and I ask nothing more than your thanks, but if your gratitude compels you, perhaps-
WELL FUCK YOU TOO, BUDDY!
The Dormant Clown
Dr. Potts released The Clown Virus last week.
Most people died mid-transformation, horrible grins on their pale faces.
But some survived, and now they roam the streets looking for the few remaining bottles of seltzer water, red rubber noses, and joy-buzzers.
A kind of social hierarchy has developed: The floppier and bigger the shoes, the more powerful the clown chieftain.
Then there’s the rare unexpressed carriers like me.
Potts had developed what he thought was an antidote foam, but it’s no cure. It just keeps the virus dormant.
I spray it into the pie-tin, and smack myself in the face.