I have never understood the song “America The Beautiful.”
Yes, this country has its beautiful places, but what is so majestic about a purple mountain?
All the mountains I’ve ever seen have green, white, brown, grey, and black on them.
Never purple.
If I saw a purple mountain, I’d think it would look like a gigantic bruise.
Like someone punched our country in the face or something.
How is a gigantic bruise from getting punched in the face majestic?
Oh, so you think I’m overthinking this?
Fine. Let me punch you in the face. See how majestic you look then!
Category: My stories
Elves Live
Happy The Elf woke up in the North Pole Infirmary.
His head hurt. Everything looked weird.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You had a rough Christmas,” says the lab technicians, putting equipment on a cart. “Everyone did. But you’re all fine now.”
Happy looked around and saw all the other elves in the Infirmary, in various states of stupor and lucidity.
Santa watched them through a one-way mirror.
“Poor bastards,” he said. “They have no memory of the Hell I put them through every year.”
“And neither do you, you old bastard” said a technician, sliding a needle into Santa’s neck.
Can you keep a secret?
Can you keep a secret?
I can’t.
That’s why whenever someone says they want to tell me a secret, I stick my fingers in my years and jump up and down, shouting I CAN’T HEAR YOU!
This makes things difficult at work. I work for the government.
Well, used to.
Because they say I can’t keep a secret.
Sure, I say I can’t, but then, I’ve never given any away.
That’s what my lawyer says. He says I have a good case.
The government wants to settle out of court.
If we keep the terms of the settlement a secret.
She Sparkled
I saw the strangest thing in the paper today.
The theater critic reviewed a local production of Shakespeare and was unsparing in their attacks on one of the actors.
Despite the slowness and awkwardness of the venue, the set design did get praise.
But what was most curious was their gushing praise for a local performer of renown, going so far as to say that they sparkled, not just in the play, but everything they did.
They were in the audience, not in the play.
I’d tell you who said this, but they’re just a critic: nobody remembers their names.
I baked you a cake
Today would have been your birthday.
I baked you a cake.
When I got to the cemetery, I wandered around until I remembered:
You were cremated and your ashes spread over your favorite park.
I get so forgetful these days.
So, I walked to the park with the cake.
Groundskeepers were there, clearing brush and raking leaves.
I tried to share the cake with them, but they didn’t speak English.
That’s when I saw the woodchipper.
I turned the exhaust spout into the air, threw the cake into the blades, and the sky filled with white.
Coconut. It’s your favorite.
Pay The Price
I was losing my hearing, but I couldn’t afford the surgery to repair it.
So, I got financial assistance from a corporation.
Now, I can hear again, but I also hear advertising.
When I walk by a restaurant, their ad plays in my ear.
“Michael, you deserve a break today,” says the voice, calling me out by name.
I want the ads to stop, but my doctor says the cost of ad-free implants is not covered by my plan.
And under his Doctors Union contract, he can’t remove them.
So that’s why I’m here with the mirrors and the drill.
Sitting very still.
The Captain
My title is Captain Of The Guard.
However, as I look at this week’s schedule, it’s meaningless.
Jacques and Fergusen are in training. They need to work on marching.
Oswaldo’s attending the Guard Convention, checking out new halberds.
Benoit called in sick, but he’s faking it. Didn’t schedule time off again. King doesn’t like rollover days.
Everyone’s out… except for me.
Not to worry: The same end-of-the-year staffing issues are affecting our enemy, too.
A lone attacker appears, yelling CHARGE!
I laugh, inviting him to sit down.
We shake hands, he sits. Invasion averted.
(This is why I am Captain.)
The Clown Bitches Need Oral
My life is a three ring circus.
A swarm of clowns flows from ring to ring, leering at the audience and pumping their hips in crude, suggestive ways.
Thrust thrust in your face, don’t look away, that just makes them laugh more.
The clown bitches don’t want your applause, they just need oral.
Drop your popcorn.
Drop your soda.
Drop to your knees.
The band is getting louder and you can’t hear yourself think.
Reach for the clown cock… pull it out… unwinding longer… and longer…
Tied-together handkerchiefs… then their dirty underwear.
All over your face.
(You can cry now.)
The Conspiracy
We recruited quietly.
Terminal cancer patients.
The mentally retarded.
The homeless.
The hopeless.
Each received two packages: maps showing their target, and a bomb to deliver to that target.
We wanted to coordinate attacks, but some of these people couldn’t wait… time was running out, and we had to collect some maps and bombs.
It was only a matter of time before we’d get caught.
So, we set them loose, and the impact was devastating.
Every soft target was hit. Corrupt politicians, greedy bankers, crooked parasites all obliterated.
Society panicked.
Then, when the smoke cleared, we waited.
Hoping for change.
Pardon
The President watched the news in horror as the plane hit the Empire State Building over and over and over…
His National Security Advisor tried to brief him as he walked to the Press Room, but there wasn’t much known yet, other than the fact that a plane had hit the famous skyscraper.
As he stood there, fielding questions without answers, the identity of the hijacker was released:
It was a turkey.
A reporter stood up. “Didn’t you pardon that turkey this past Thanksgiving?”
The President then recognized the bird and winced.
“I guess he got cooked in the end.”