Category: My stories

Counting Sheep

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I’ve been having trouble sleeping.
I’ve tried counting sheep, but I’ve only got one sheep.
His name is Fred.
“One,” I say, looking at Fred.
“Baaaaaaaa,” says Fred.
“Jump over the fence again, Fred,” I say.
“Baaaaaaaa,” says Fred, and he grazes a bit.
So, I brained Fred with a baseball bat, carved him up, and cooked him.
Fred was absolutely delicious!
I woke up the next day, rested and feeling full.
The next night, Fred was back, standing by the fence.
And he was just as delicious when I ate him.
Sure, it’s the same sheep, but who’s counting?

The Orange Hair

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While I’m at work, the cat sleeps on my pillow all day.
I know this, because his long orange hair is all over the pillow when I get home.
I brush it off, roll up the clumps, and put them in the trash.
I go through this every day, going to work and coming back to find that my pillow had been shed on.
Beats having cat piss or cat shit on the pillow, right?
So I called an exorcist.
You see, the cat died three years ago, and as much as I miss him, I want this to stop.

Hole in my sock

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I think there is a hole in my sock.
There was a hole in my underwear a few days ago, but it slipped and dropped into my pant leg.
I don’t see the hole in my pants anymore, so either the hole fell into my sock or it dropped out through the cuff and on to the ground.
I take off my sock and look.
No hole in my sock.
I check the other sock. No holes there either.
Then I see the blood.
The hole is now in my foot.
I hop to the bathroom and get a bandage.

The Milkman Cometh

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I remember when milk was five cents a carton and chocolate milk was six.
I always bought chocolate.
Years later, working at the milk processing plant, I now know the truth.
It’s just brown coloring we put in.
Per ounce, it’s less expensive than actual milk.
The packaging costs the same to print. Chocolate milk has a brown carton and the regular has blue.
My son starts his first day of school tomorrow.
Regular milk is 75 cents, chocolate milk is a buck.
So, he’ll get his classmates to pay the extra quarter.
Chip off the old block, he is.

The Rings

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During the Olympics, Hector stopped serving onion rings at his diner.
He also diced onions instead of putting them on hamburgers as loops.
The risk of five onion sections arranging themselves into the five rings logo of the Olympics was far too great, and lawyers were constantly watching for an opportunity to sue.
“Onions make you cry,” said the lawyers. “But we’ll make you hurt.”
Then they’d order a hamburger with onions and onion rings, just to rub it in.
Hector snapped, grabbed a lawyer, and shoved his face into the fryer.
The others, he stabbed.
And didn’t even cry.

The Useless

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After all of Roger’s hair fell out, he threw out his combs, brushes, shampoos, and hair gels.
He didn’t need them anymore.
However, he kept his hairdryer, since sometimes he liked to give himself a blast of heat.
And he liked to scare the crap out of the cat with it.
Sneaking up on a cat isn’t easy to do, but over the years Mister Whiskers had become somewhat deaf.
Roger even had an extension cord for the hairdryer.
As Roger pointed the device at the cat, it rolled over and exposed its fuzzy belly.
Roger sighed and pet it.

The Executed

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The execution is over, and the king congratulates the royal headsman.
“Well done,” he says.
The headsman nods, holding his hood.
Afterwards, he walks to his dungeon alcove, closes the door, and lays down his massive axe.
Then, he takes off his black hood and hangs it on a hook.
There is no mirror in this room… they are luxuries for the nobles.
So, he is saved from the horror of looking upon his rotten and gruesome visage.
Pulling the freshly decapitated head out of a sack, he replaces his rotten and putrid one.
And puts the hood back on.

Fuzzy Cheese

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Robert’s in his eighties, so you can’t blame him for having his share of “senior moments.”
The other day, he was carrying around a small wheel of moldy cheese, petting it and calling it “Mister Whiskers.”
Seems he was remembering an orange cat from his from his childhood, he forgot to put on his glasses, and the hairy hunk of Cheddar just got his broken imagination going again.
Still, it’s not as bad as when he tried to French the stove or hump the dishwasher.
We’d put him in a rest home, but we’re a little worried about the appliances.

The Scrubber

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As I lay back in the tub and relax, I look up at the shower head and the lufah scrubber hanging from there.
My eyes are cloudy from the steam and the stress of the day washing off of me, so when I look at the sponge at the end of the stick, it looks like a cross between Mr. Peanut and one of the California Raisins.
I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning. He’s squinting, for certain, but his expression is really hard to read.
Who cares, right?
So, I reach for the stick and scrub my back.

Advertising

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I don’t like advertising in bathrooms.
So when I see ads in the mens bathroom, I take then down, go into the womens bathroom, and put the ads up there. Then I take down the womens ads and put them in the mens room.
Nothing quite like walking up to a urinal with a leg razor ad staring you in the face, right?
I’ve also noticed that toilet paper is much nicer in the womens bathrooms, so I take the rolls from there.
Do I put them in the mens room?
No. I just take them for myself.
I’m cheap.