Category: My stories

Catering

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Usually, when there’s a big company-wide conference call, they bring in pizza or boxed lunches.
However, this time, they brought in crates full of glowing ham-sized seed-pods to put on every employee’s forehead.
“Hell no,” I said. “I’m not going to let you mess with my brain like that.”
The secretary put the pod away and handed me a box lunch.
The box had T on W written on it. Sure enough, inside was a turkey on wheat with a side of coleslaw.
Of course, the bitch didn’t say anything about the nanoprobes.
I mean, Unit Seventy regrets any insult.

The Bathroom Police

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It’s not every day you see 200 kids being lectured by a gigantic toilet.
Officer Flushy goes from school to school, teaching kids about the joys of washing hands, conserving toilet paper, and turning in kids to fix up with heroin in the bathrooms.
The program worked for other school districts, so we figured we’d give it a try.
Nobody told Officer Flushy about Big Mike, though.
He’s twenty foot-tall retarded kid from the woods. We think he’s half-giant.
He can’t read or write, but at least we’ve managed to toilet train him.
Much to Officer Flushy’s public, humiliating chagrin.

Make the monkey whine

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Once upon a time, I had a habit of molesting chimpanzee babies.
There’s just something wrong about me. Broken.
And the poor, innocent chimpanzees suffered my sickness.
I’d have gotten away with it, but one of those chimpanzees wound up in a language experiment and they taught it sign language.
The moment that chimpanzee saw me, it signed BAD MAN! and RAPIST! and EVIL BANANA HURT!
My lawyer said that the monkeys were trained to sign these things. The monkeys meant to sign NICE MAN! and FRIEND!
We sued the researchers for defamation. And won.
But in my dreams… CHIMPANZEES!

This is the way we have always done this

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The office goes silent as two acolytes open The Ark and the technician withdraws a cardboard box.
“This is the way we have always done this,” says the department secretary.
As the technician approaches the copier, the acolytes open the access panels.
While everyone chants, the old toner cartridge is removed and the new one slides from the box and put in its place.
“This is so stupid,” I mutter.
Oops.
“BLASPHEMER!” shouts the secretary.
“BLASPHEMER!” shouts the technician.
“BLASPHEMER!” rings though the halls.
Run!
(I’d transfer to Accounting, but the trial by walking across hot coffee burners scares me.)

Money

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I know one guy who’s just rolling in money
No, I’m not rolling in money. And even if I were, I don’t think rolling in money is a very productive thing to do.
Invest it. Spend it. Save it.
But roll in it?
That’s just weird.
Then there’s the guy with money to burn.
That’s just fucking crazy. Burning money.
Sometimes, he dangles the money over the flame to tease me.
Once these two guys got together, and they ended up rolling in burning money.
I grabbed what I could, buried the charred corpses, and bought a ticket to Reno.

Not taking names

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I’m here to kick ass, but I’m not going to take names.
I forgot to bring a pen and paper. And it’s hard to take names on an iPhone when you’re kicking ass.
Sure, the phone has a decent keyboard, but it’s only good when you’re standing still.
Kicking ass jiggles your phone around a lot, and you’ll make a lot of spelling errors.
So instead of kicking ass and taking names, I’m just going to kick ass and then let the police check your wallet for your ID.
You left it at home?
Fine. He’ll use your dental records.

Behind Enemy Lines

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The architect designed a beautiful cathedral for the city, but the builder was slightly deaf, so when he heard “Confessional Booth” he thought he heard “Concession Booth.”
Things looked normal until the builder handed the job off to the decorators and the spot where parishioners were supposed to confess their sins, ended up a gaudy-colored alcove with glass counters under which candy bars were displayed.
The archbishop was outraged.
Until he saw how much revenue the large popcorn and Coke combo pack was bringing in.
“Besides,” he said to the cardinal, “We’re sick of hearing the same old crap confessed.”

The Cockroach

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The only words I know from the song La Cucaracha are the opening words.
I don’t know Spanish, so the supposedly rich satirical madness of the song has eluded me for all my life.
I’ve looked online for the lyrics, but you can’t trust Wikipedia these days. And those automatic translators end up garbling the words.
So, I went to the library and asked the librarian for help.
She sat me down at a table, clapped her hands, and a Mariachi band came by my table to play.
Pen in hand, I copied down what I could.
And tipped them.

Gravy Boat

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“Why do they call it a gravy boat?” I asked.
“Because there’s tiny German submarines in it,” said Grampa. “I bagged my share of Nazis, but there’s always one around the corner.”
Grampa was never in the army or navy. He drove his Buick into one of their Supreme Court-upheld Free Speech marches, and it was a miracle nobody got killed.
Well, okay. Maybe not the right use of the word miracle.
Anyway, they took away his license, and we’re stuck with him now.
I watched a tiny periscope rise… and then sink.
Just butter for my mashed potatoes, please?

The Viking Attack

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It was around two in the morning that Mike the security guard got it in his head to protect the office building from Viking attack.
Maybe it was his medication, or it could have been the booze.
Probably both.
He didn’t have a backhoe to dig a moat or pile up earthworks, but he did manage to park the golf cart in the lobby to block the doors.
Soda machines were far too heavy for him to move, but couches from the lobby were perfect.
When he was fired, he disputed the termination with: “Well, no Vikings got through, right?”