The first man to be drummed out of the Army was forced to march from one end of the camp to the other to the sound of drums. (His jacket was turned inside-out, too, but that was already in practice among the dishonorable.)
In the Civil War, soldiers had their heads shaved and rank insignia torn from their jackets. Officers told the troops not to touch the drummed-out soldiers, but more than one was found dead after the ceremony.
These days, the Army’s much more civil.
But the Mafia sticks guys in oil drums and tosses them into the harbor.
Category: My stories
Coming Down The Pike
The word “turnpike” got its name from guardsmen standing at either side of a road and lowering their poleaxes to block the road until a toll was paid or a pass was shown.
These days, the pike has been replaced by a mechanical barrier or by cameras which scan for an electronic toll-paying device and capture the license plate numbers of violators.
Still, somewhere in that tollbooth, there’s a fierce-looking halberd leaning against the wall.
When the machines fail. Society breaks down, and the zombies win.
The tolls must be paid, and they certainly don’t collect themselves.
One brain please.
Hello, Friend!
When I run into a friend I haven’t run into for a very long time, I find myself subconsciously rolling down my sleeves and raising my collar in a misguided attempt to conceal the scars and skin grafts.
Thank heavens I have the sense to always wear gloves, a low-brimmed hat, and sunglasses to block any view of what my thick beard and mustache doesn’t already obscure.
Underneath the layers of clothes, hair, and palm fronds strategically held by my manservant Richard, I ponder how to address this long-lost friend properly.
“Hello,” I shout, tip my hat, and I run.
The Creature
Don’t get me wrong.
I hate the creature as much as anybody else.
If there’s a crowd shouting KILL THE CREATURE! you’ll find me at the head of it.
Far ahead of it.
Running from it.
Yes, I am the creature.
And I hate it. I hate it with a passion.
We draw lots at the city council meeting once a year.
Mine said “YOU ARE THE CREATURE!”
Damn.
I went from chanting KILL THE CREATURE to running as fast as I could, my neighbors in pursuit with torches, pitchforks, and digital cameras for posting the carnage to YouTube later.
Earbuds
I remember when the Walkman first came out.
They came with cheap foam pads on a flimsy plastic frame to wear.
These broke easily, and, over the years, just got flimsier and cheaper.
I don’t think I ever had a pair that lasted over a week.
Now, they’ve got these fancy silicone earbuds you stick in your ear.
They don’t fall out as easily as the headphones fell off.
I’m told the sound is great with them, but I can’t use them.
I’ve already got hearing aids stuck in there.
From listening to those old cheap flimsy headphones too loud.
Drawing a blank
I’m trying to write a story, but I’m drawing a blank.
I imagine the blank in my mind, standing there, chewing the creativity out of the imaginative part of my brain to pieces.
I send my guards after the blank, and it is captured.
After torturing a confession out of the blank, I have it dragged out into a field.
Its legs and arms are tied to horses, and I ask the blank if it has any last words.
“Nope,” it says. “I’m drawing a blank.”
“Not me,” I say. “I’m drawing and quartering one.”
The horses pull it apart.
Phone Game
I grew up playing Scrabble.
We used to play on a board with little wooden tiles. The board went on a turntable so it could be turned to face each player.
Now, we’re playing Scrabble over our phones.
She plays GAIN, I build on it by adding an A to make it AGAIN.
We go back and forth like this, game to game.
It’s kinda like chess in a way.
Unlike chess, where all the pieces are out in the open, you need to track the tiles secretly for Scrabble to work.
I peek at her phone when she’s asleep.
Bored? Have an exorcism!
I asked my wife what she wanted for her birthday.
She said “Oh, just get me something crazy and expensive that I don’t need.”
Emo Philips once said the perfect gift for such an occasion is radiation treatment.
But that’s dangerous. Makes people sick.
So, instead of radiation treatment, I got her an exorcism.
Tying her to the bed was easy, but she started screaming and swearing the moment the priest came into the room.
“Happy Birthday,” I whispered into her ear.
She screamed and swore louder, so I told the priest “That’s the Devil talking.” before leaving the room.
Babel
Crawling out from the wreckage of Babel’s Tower, survivors call out for help.
Nobody understands anybody else. The Lord has shattered our language into many tongues incomprehensible to each other.
We grunt and point and shake each other in frustration.
One grabs a shovel and begins to dig.
“To bury the bodies?” I ask.
He doesn’t understand, just keeps digging.
We drag corpses into the hole, he shouts, and throws them back out.
Ah. Yes.
I see now.
I grab a shovel. Others grab theirs.
We join him and dig.
If we cannot reach Heaven, we shall certainly reach Hell!
Everything is a circle
Everything is a circle.
The table is a circle.
The table’s chairs are in a circle.
The cake is a circle.
The glass of milk is a circle.
Your eyes open wide. Like circles.
Your mouth is a circle, silent.
As you choke on the cake, your hands rise to your throat, and your face goes blue.
The lenses on my glasses are circles.
I watch you die.
I dig a hole in the back yard… another circle.
I push you in, fill up the hole.
I eat the rest of the cake, drink the milk, and go to sleep.