Category: My stories

Cold Feet

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The last thing you want at a wedding is for the groom to have cold feet.
Or the guests.
That’s why I keep the feet warm when I cater to cannibal weddings.
I made a special tray that keeps them at just the right temperature, but doesn’t dry them out.
I’m sure it would pass the Health Department’s inspection, if cannibalism didn’t throw up a red flag.
Or the fact that this island doesn’t have a Health Department.
Just cannibals.
Either I cater their weddings the way they want, or they will want me.
I’d rather serve than be served.

Printer

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The printer is jammed.
The printer always jams when I need it most.
Somehow, the printer knows I’m in a rush, and that’s when it chooses to jam.
Chooses. Yes, I said chooses.
In fact, I bet there’s a chip in the printer that tells it when I need it most.
It syncs up with the chip in my head. The X-ray resistant chip.
I know that you don’t believe me, but if you’d just let me open up my skull, I’d show you.
It’s not buried deep. Just a little hole, and you can peek inside.
Here’s a drill.

Pennies from Heaven

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Every time it rains, it rains pennies from Heaven.
Falling like bullets, they pierce umbrellas and shatter car windshields.
Dozens of people don’t make it to shelter and lay in the streets, bleeding or dead.
Birds, too.
After the storm passes, ambulances pick up the injured and dead, and we sweep up the broken glass, tow away wrecked cars, and bag dead animals.
We used to gather up the pennies and head to the bank, but now we bring them to the foundry.
They melt them down for the zinc and copper.
One day, they’ll finish the giant protective dome.

Roller Coaster Therapy

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I have this friend in the hospital that has a unique way of releasing all their frustrations and anger and fears.
They call it “roller coaster therapy.”
You get on a rollercoaster with your therapist, and you spend the next three minutes working out your problems while screaming and waving your arms and getting loop-the-looped.
By the time you get to the end of the ride, you’ve pretty much gotten everything out of your system.
Well, that’s assuming you get to the end of the ride.
Sometimes, they fall off of the sofa.
And that’s why they’re in the hospital.

Thong

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Professor Hastings began his Nobel Prize acceptance speech with a softly whispered “My thong is on backwards.”
I was all downhill from there.
Before Hastings could be subdued, he had stripped off his clothes and was dancing on the podium.
“What category did he win again?” asked a security guard.
“Chemistry, no doubt,” said a hostess, only just now realizing that it was Hastings that had offered to uncork and pour the champagne for the attendees.
Her throat felt warm. Her vision blurred.
And, like everyone else in the room, she started to worry that her thong was on backwards.

Turning Blue

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Tracey shouts that she’s going to hold her breath until she turns blue if she doesn’t get her way.
Fine, I say. Go ahead and do that.
So, she does. She holds her breath and after five minutes she turns a bright shade of blue.
She stares at me, her eyes bulging.
I stare back, sticking my tongue out at her and breathing normally.
“This air sure is delicious,” I say. “Since you’re not using any, all the more for me.”
I walk around, taking deep breaths, sighing with satisfaction.
Tracey’s passed out on the floor, turning pink again.
Dumbass.

Dr. Frankenpizza

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Every evening, after Dr. Frankenstein would fail to bring his creature to life, Igor ordered a pizza and have it delivered to the castle.
“What would you like on your pizza, Master?” Igor asked.
“Does it really matter?” Dr. Frankenstein sighed, sweeping the ashes off of the lab table, mopping up blood with a rag.
“Right, Master,” said Igor.
Thirty minutes later, a knock on the castle door.
Igor carefully sneaked behind the delivery boy and brained him with a club.
“Will this one do?” said Igor.
“Certainly,” said Dr. Frankenstein, smiling.
“And about the pizza?”
“Ugh. I hate pizza.”

The Death of Walter

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Walter ran with a tough crowd.
They were the Boston Mafia, jogging through their Framingham neighborhood in the morning, bodyguards forming a protective cloud.
Once, Walter was out jogging on his own, and he crossed paths with that Mafia group.
The bodyguards checked him for weapons, recognized him from the travel agency, and invited him along.
Now, in an era of online airline reservations, Walter still got steady business from this group. Cruises and extended vacations, a little something extra for a private villa for a week.
And Walter never testified against them.
They killed him anyway.
It’s only business.

Wishbone

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Tommy is my older brother.
He’s a bully. And a jerk.
Every year when it’s time to break the wishbone, he puts his thumb on it so it breaks in his favor.
This year, I made a wish:
I want him to be gone.
Totally gone.
When it came time to snap the wishbone, I started on it with my thumb high on the bone.
We struggled, and then I heard the snap.
I opened my eyes.
I had the bigger piece of the wishbone.
And… and…
My dad held the other piece.
“Congratulations,” he said, smiling. “Make a wish?”

Cashews

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Yes, this is a magical nut dish that I am posting on eBay.
I put peanuts in the nut dish, close the lid, and they turn into cashews when I lift the lid.
I don’t like cashews. I like peanuts.
Turning peanuts into cashews has no appeal to me.
Sure, it’s cool that it changes one thing into another in a manner that defies explanation, but as many times as I show my friends and scientists, I still end up with mounds and mounds of cashews.
And I don’t like cashews.
Want a nut dish? And want some cashews, too?