Violet is a strange girl.
Sure, she’s plain in all regards, from her mousy brown straight hair down to her shabby tennis shoes, but along the way you can’t miss the fact that she’s always carrying a tuba.
It’s what sets her apart from the rest of the girls.
I asked her once why she carries a tuba everywhere she goes.
“Because if I go somewhere without one,” she replies. “so flew places keep one handy. Present company excepted, of course.”
I am proud of my emergency tuba, stored in a box and labeled “IN CASE OF VIOLET, BREAK GLASS.”
Category: My stories
When We Were Relish
WikiPedia says that relish is “a cooked, pickled, or chopped vegetable or fruit food item which is typically used as a condiment.”
So, technically, that jar of chopped pickled cucumbers you smacked Alex alongside the head with is not a relish, as it was used as a weapon, not a condiment.
However, if you decide to decapitate Alex, cook his head, and serve it with the chopped pickled cucumbers on the side, then it’s still not relish.
Chopped pickled cucumbers do not go with cooked severed heads at all. However, based on its presentation, you could call it a garnish.
Mungidon Soup
When challenged by a bowl of mungidon soup, it’s best to have your back to the wall.
Mungidon soup is a clever and social soup, and often hunts in packs.
If you think that upending or shattering the bowl is all it takes to thwart an attack, you’ve thought wrong, you sponge-headed dunderstump. Mungidon soup is even more dangerous when outside of its bowl, tureen, or thermos.
Place your spoon in front of you, dip it into the soup, and consume it completely.
Blow on it if you can. This will soothe it before ingestion.
Otherwise, your intestines might explode.
Kleenex Tacos
I’d like to make tacos for dinner tonight.
I have everything I need for them:
Beef
Lettuce
Cheese
Sour Cream
Salsa
Onions
and Seasoning
But I have no taco shells. Nor do I have tortillas.
I can go either way in the eternal soft taco hard taco debate.
I remember back to my Debate Team days in school when I magnificently debated both sides of the issue and took home the trophy.
And stopped on the way home for tacos.
Today, without either shells or tortillas, I must make a third choice:
Kleenex.
(It was either that or toilet paper.)
The Girl Of My Dreams
She was the girl of my dreams.
Every time I’d go to sleep, I’d dream of her.
Adventure.
Romance.
Excitement.
I’d rescue her from all kinds of dangerous predicaments.
Then. when I woke up, she was gone.
“I’ve got to find her,” I said.
So, I looked. Everywhere.
I spent all I had on detectives to search the world for her.
When I found her, she attacked me with a knife.
“Why?” I groaned. “Why did you attack me?”
“You,” she said. “You’re the man from all my nightmares. Whenever you appear, bad always happens.”
And she stabbed me again.
Happen
I’m awake.
Did what I think happened happen?
No. It couldn’t have.
I look around the room.
There’s blood on the walls.
Blood on the ceiling.
Blood on my hands.
Blood on the sheets of the bed.
I don’t want to look at them.
I don’t want to see her under there.
I stumble to the bathroom and throw up in the sink.
Looking in the mirror, I’m covered with blood splatters… it’s on my face, in my hair…
I hear a moan coming from the bed.
Wait.
She… she’s alive?
After all that?
“Try harder,” she groans. “Kill me.”
Middle Age
Middle Age in the Middle Ages was younger than Middle Age here in the Modern Age.
Life expectancy has greatly increased, so Middle Age comes later.
Although for most, it’s still not in the middle. If you’re going to live to seventy or eighty, fifty is past your actual middle.
Back when I was young, I misheard someone say “Middle Age” and it sounded like “Meddle Age.”
Which, considering how much Middle Aged people meddle with young people, it sounded right.
“Don’t believe a word of it!” said the Middle Aged person. “Just do what I tell you to do.”
The Winner
I am the winner. Give me a medal.
I will not accept just a plaque. Unless the plaque is used for displaying a copy of the medal I am wearing.
I do not want a trophy. I do not own a trophy case, and a trophy deserves more than just a bookshelf.
Plus, I cannot wear the trophy around like I can wear a medal.
I will not let you give me just a ribbon. If you give me a ribbon, it had better be used to hang the medal around my neck.
Ribbons can’t stop bullets like medals, either.
Pet
It’s springtime again.
I want to go down to the stream and gather rocks and pebbles.
My pet turtle likes fresh ones in his terrarium every spring.
After school, I go down to the creek and fill the bottom of my bookbag with stones.
When I get home, I put my turtle in the sink and carry his bowl to the back yard to dump out the rocks and water
Then I bring the bowl back inside, wash it out, and arrange the new rocks.
A little water, and then I put the toy plastic turtle back in his bowl.
Raising
This neighborhood is a great place to raise a family.
Especially if you want to raise them from the dead.
Yeah, this subdivision’s built on an ancient Indian burial ground.
What? You don’t want to raise an Indian family?
You’re not racists, are you?
Oh. Good. Well, then… the block over there is built on the site of a Presbyterian church. Maybe they had a cemetery along with it?
Just look for the stones marked “Infant” or “Son” or “Daughter.”
Unless you find a name you really like, because, let’s face it: the walking dead are lousy with new names.