You said you never wanted to see me again.
So, I went down into my basement workshop and invented an invisibility cloak.
Which didn’t work out so great. It’s just a sheet you couldn’t see.
I mean, yeah, that’s kinda cool, but doesn’t really get the job done.
I thought about bringing you down into the workshop with me and then turning off the lights so you couldn’t see me, but I still wanted to see you.
That’s when I decided to go with a third option:
Keep that blindfold on, Janey, or I’ll have to tear your eyes out.
Category: My stories
Limits
Mom said that life is all about limits.
Some of are hard limits, like the speed of light.
Others are soft limits, like the speed limit on the highway. You can go faster than that, although you might get pulled over.
With experience, you learn which limits are hard and which are soft.
The cop isn’t impressed by my story, and he hands me a ticket for speeding.
I thank him and check the cargo.
The hyperdrive in the trailer is fine.
The boys at the lab are going to love this one, I think, and start the truck up.
Just Drive!
You know how in the movies, some guy gets in a cab, the cab driver says “Where to?” and the guy says “Just drive!” and the cab driver says “It’s your dime, pal.” and he pulls out into traffic and drives around?
Well, that happens to me all the time.
Every time.
For twenty years, I’ve driven a cab, and all I ever do is drive it in circles.
I offer to take people to bars or restaurants or hotels.
But all I ever get is “Just drive!”
I’m going to “just drive” right off of a bridge one day!
Froggy
Froggy went a courtin’, he did ride.
Sword and pistol by his side.
He was also a little drunk.
Okay, very drunk. Drunk as a skunk.
Except that the skunk he ended up courtin’ wasn’t drunk.
She was sober, and uninterested in Froggy.
Froggy wouldn’t take no for an answer.
So, the skunk sprayed him right in his gigantic bulbous eyes.
Froggy spun in circles, screaming bloody murder. We laughed.
We weren’t laughing when he pulled the pistol and began shooting wildly.
Killed three.
And really impressed the skunk.
(Later, Froggy sobered up, saw his bride, the skunk, and ran.)
The Shoe Tree
My parents resisted the temptation to give sarcastic answers to my stupid questions, but they caved in every so often.
“They grow on trees,” my mother said, exhausted from my asking where shoes come from for the tenth time that morning. “In fact, the tree on the corner is a shoe tree.”
She pointed to the plum bush.
“Why don’t I see shoes on it?” I asked.
“They grow at night,” said my dad. “Neighbors steal them.”
I spent a week camped out on the lawn, trying to stand guard over the shoe tree.
I got a case of pneumonia.
Descent
As I stood by the grave, there was a loud bang and the coffin’s descent halted.
The motorized winch had shorted out again.
We’ve been needing a new one for a while, but the boss is cheap.
And a drunk.
“Hand crank it,” I say to the crew, and head to the office.
“Motor blew again,” I say.
“Use the backup one,” he shouts, and he knocks over the empty bottle off of his desk. “Aw dammit.”
“This is the backup one,” I say, and, trembling, I smash in his skull with it.
No winch for him.
He’ll be cremated.
What a beautiful day!
Wally practically danced into the room, soaking wet and smiling as wide at his dripping hat.
“What a beautiful day!” he sang, gritting his teeth madly.
Down in the basement, Clem the Maintenance Supervisor watched in shock as the Sarcasm Compensator shook and rattled, glowing slightly red before spitting out a steaming ingot CLANK!
Clem put it on the cart with the other ingots, where they’d wait for the school to pick them up.
Sometimes, he’d pocket a really good ingot and sell it to a kid at a comedy club.
As if they needed any more sarcasm, right?
CLANK!
The Final Rule
I have a hollow tooth. It is full of poison.
If I am captured, I will crush the tooth, swallow the poison, and die.
Sure enough, I’m in the middle of a mission, and I get captured.
So, I try to crush it, but it doesn’t break.
I smash my face against the table.
Nope. But I do bloody my nose.
Eventually, I get the information tortured out of me, and I’m sent back as part of a prisoner exchange program.
“Tooth’s a dud,” I say.
The agent reaches in, crushes it with pliers.
“Nope,” he said.
And I die.
The Werewolf
Bob points his gun at the werewolf, pulls the trigger… BANG!
The Werewolf goes down and lies still.
Bob waits for a bit, then says “Get up.”
The Werewolf gets up. “Those blanks are pretty loud.”
Bob hands the Werewolf a small red pouch. “Poke a hole in that and grab it to your side when I shoot you.”
“Just get me on the cart and the hell out of town before they do anything worse.”
The Werewolf and Bob went from town to town with their scam, became filthy stinking rich, and retired happily.
(But everybody else was dead.)
The King Of Cakes
It is Mardi Gras, and it is time for the King Cake.
I find this purple and yellow pile utterly disgusting, and I refuse to take a piece.
The rest of the group greedily rips off hunks, devouring loudly, until one pulls out a crinkly diaper.
“What the hell is this?” they say, throwing the diaper to the ground.
“Well,” says Carol, “you’re supposed to bake a baby into the cake, and whoever gets the baby will have good luck.”
Foster spits out some toes. “A METAL BABY!” he shouts.
Everybody begins to vomit.
Me, I reach for the cake.