Joe was sitting in the cafeteria, eating soup, and was about to complain that it was too cold when someone shouted “FIRE!” and everybody headed for the exits.
Joe looked around for an EXIT sign, but the only one he could see was over the bowl of soup.
When he looked up from it, everybody was gone.
The smoke was getting thick in the air.
He dove into the soup.
And was never seen again.
When the fire was out, a firefighter looked at the soup.
He sipped a bit of it.
“Too hot,” he growled, and blew on it.
Category: My stories
I, Monster
When Sesame Street shut down, nobody knew what to do with the Muppets.
Some adapted quickly. Grover headed for The Castro with Bert and Ernie.
Guy Smiley’s on Oprah’s network. And Count Von Count is riding the vampire craze.
Others, well… they failed.
Sherlock Hemlock got killed working a case. Snuffleupagus ended up in a circus cage.
And Cookie Monster?
We shaved him and tried to teach him good grammar.
“Me want cookie,” the wild-eyed flabby midget growled.
“No,” I say. “I would like a cookie.”
“Me too!” he shouts, flailing his arms.
Hopeless. We’ll just sell him to Nabisco.
Drumming Out
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.
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These days, the pike has been replaced by a mechanical barrier or by cameras which scan for an electronic toll-paying device and capture the license plate numbers of violators.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.