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.
Category: My stories
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?”
The Password
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.”
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.