My left knee is a wreck. The surgeons cannot decide how best to repair it. So, delaying action, they take more X-rays.
I think they hope the radiation will cause a cancer that necessitates amputation. It would be so much easier to build a metal leg than repair this one.
Hiring a midget and giving him a samurai sword, however, was taking things too far.
The insurance company disagreed. In fact, hiring sword-waving midgets is covered by Medicare Plan A.
“Just try not to bend down,” says a surgeon. “He might try to chop off your head, despite the contract.”
Category: My stories
Shambles
Y’all there in New York City may be having troubles, but here in Shambles, Oklahoma, things ain’t too bad, really.
School’s doin’ good.
Church is full every Sunday.
Business is business, I reckon.
“Your Life Is In Shambles!” is the motto of the Shambles Picayune and that always gets a laugh out at the barbershop.
You might ask yourself how we be doin’ so good?
Well, that rope around your neck and this here pentagram on the floor is part of the answer.
The rest, well, you can ask Satan when we sacrifice your soul to him in a minute.
Sled
I live in the south where it’s warm most of the time. When it gets cold, I can feel it. Deep.
Growing up, I lived north where it snowed. The cold didn’t bother me then. I loved it. It was fun.
We didn’t have sleds or saucers. Instead, we hosed down sheets of cardboard, let them freeze, and slid down hills, holding tight.
We crashed. We laughed.
One kid wanted to bobsled like they do in the Olympics.
A portable toilet on it’s side, door hanging open, full of kids.
And spilled shit.
Thank God I was the one pushing.
Leprechauns
I’ve been doing some experiments with Leprechauns recently.
Just like werewolves, silver bullets kill them.
Just like vampires, a stake through the heart kills them.
Just like mummies, fire kills them.
Heck, pretty much everything kills a leprechaun.
Even Funyons. Those kill Leprechauns, too. Funyons!
These little green boogers are just a bunch of pussies, really.
I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when one of the leprechauns in my experiment keeled over and died.
Thank god they’re all dead. They started hoarding gold in my Caphalon pots and they scratched up the anti-stick coating.
Damn little bastards!
St. Pancake Day
Remember that crazy chick who got run over by a bulldozer in Gaza?
Truth is, she was one of those “late bloomer” girls.
Any bra she owned before she turned twenty was just wishful thinking.
She tried special diets, exercises, and even some weird gels and extracts she got from mail order catalogs.
None of them worked. Not even the hormones that transexuals use as part of their reassignment surgery.
Then one day, she woke up, and she had breasts.
Big ones.
“I’m not flat anymore!” she shouted.
Later that day, she went out to face the bulldozers.
Ironic, yes?
No Contest
I really don’t feel like eating anything.
Everyone’s telling me I’ve got to eat something.
“Here,” says a friend. “Have some pie.”
She puts a pie in front of me.
I don’t want to eat it.
So, I put my hands behind my back, imagine I’m thirteen again and I’m back at the county fair.
I’m in the pie eating contest.
My face goes down into the pie, and I slurp and chomp it up as fast as possible.
Licking the pie plate clean, I look up at my friend.
“ANOTHER!” I shout, laughing.
The funeral caterers only brought one.
Pie
Here at the Grandma Happy Pie Factory, we track our bottom line closely.
We don’t track our bottoms as closely, though, and a rash of broken chairs suggested that we were “testing” the product a little too much.
That, and the fact that the trucks left the factory a few dozen pies light every day.
Grandma called for a staff meeting.
The meeting room floor collapsed under our combined weight, and it took forklifts and cranes to pull our broken bodies out of the basement.
We take up an entire wing in the hospital… and they won’t feed us pie.
The Zombie Clown
Zombies are everywhere.
There’s nowhere left to hide.
I found a boat and made it to an island in the middle of a lake, but the zombies walked along the lake floor and started to come ashore.
So, I kept the boat at sea, which really sucks because I get seasick easily.
I have plenty of food, ammo, and fresh water. And books to read.
If I need more, I go back to shore and collect supplies.
I saw a clown zombie. A freaking clown zombie.
Sick, really, twisting his guts into the shapes of animals.
But, yeah, it’s funny.
Search Party
The Bolton kid vanished after school, so we got together a search party.
We had such a good time looking, when we found the kid in the woods, we shooed him away.
“We’re having too good of a time looking for you,” we said. “Quit ruining our fun! Get lost.”
The kid cried and ran off, and we started having fun looking for him again.
The Boltons were angry, however.
“How could you do that?” they shouted.
When they joined the search party, though, they realized how fun it was.
“I hope he never comes home!” shouts Mrs. Bolton gleefully.
Wherefore art thou?
The Verona town guard gave the Capulets and Montagues a wide berth during patrols.
“Wherefore art thou, Romeo?” shouted Juliet.
Romeo was behind a tree, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “I swear I’ll get you, bitch!” he shouted back.
Juliet swung the rifle around and squeezed the trigger.
Romeo yelped in terror as the bullet struck the tree he was behind.
“Come out and tell me how my beauty is like the sun one more time, you creep!”
Romeo heard Juliet’s father chastising her.
He made a quick escape… and took a bullet in the back.
“Good shot, Daddy!” Juliet cheered.