Category: My stories

Banana Pancakes

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I asked for banana pancakes, but what I got was a plate with pancakes wrapped around unpeeled bananas.
The AutoChef still needs some work.
Sure, it gets simple things like oatmeal, coffee and tea right. Dispensing pre-mixed isn’t a challenge at all. Just inject with the right amount of hot water, shake well, and pour.
But anything beyond basics results in something like this plate of pancake-wrapped bananas or a bowl of toxic mush.
Another thing we’ve got right is the AutoChef’s fragile ego. Insult the food, and it chases you with a cleaver.
No. Really. It’s nice toxic mush.

Forgetful

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Despite his many failures in all fields of Science, Dr. Odd maintains his keen sense of irony.
His greatest triumph in botany was the splicing and resequencing the DNA of forget-me-not flowers to cause them to naturally produce a compound similar to GHB.
One whiff of the flowers would prevent two to four hours of memory from sticking to the brain.
Dr. Odd forgot to wear a filter mask during his research, so even with extensive notes, it took years to complete.
And when he finished these sinister frankenflowers, he couldn’t remember that he invented them in the first place.

The Leap Of Faith

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At Windy Canyon’s edge, construction workers are putting the finishing touches on the Leap Of Faith ramp.
People can jump off of the platform and then get caught by safety netting mounted out of sight below the ledge.
Since it’s quite windy at Windy Canyon, it should have come as no surprise that the barriers and barrels had blown away overnight.
Before they could install the netting, a few people had already jumped over the side and fallen to their deaths on the rocks below.
Is it ready?
I can’t tell.
Want to jump off and find out for me?

The bases

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Everybody knows The Bases, right?
You do? Good.
Well, this being 2010, the bases have changed, and it’s girls running the basepaths of the guys.
First base is the guy’s passwords so you can check his email and Facebook to make sure he isn’t cheating.
Second base is the guy’s credit card. He’s supposed to pay for everything anyway, right?
Third base is his car keys, because when you’re drunk you don’t want to wreck your car.
Home plate? Why on Earth would you want to fuck a wimp who gives up his passwords, credit cards, and keys so easy?

The Tribe

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For thirty-two years, in this lush and beautiful valley, members of the Tse-E Tribe have been singing “Row Row Row Your Boat” continuously.
When one tribesman in the group tires or needs to eat or sleep, he leaves and another takes his place.
Not that anyone gets much sleep. These guys sing pretty loud, no matter how much wool you stick in your ears.
This will probably continue for a few more years. The younger generation tends not to stick around, and the remaining singers are old and frail.
No respect for tradition, these kids. Even if it’s really stupid.

Sylvia

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On my screen, the auction timer crawled down to zero.
I won! I won!
I paid the seller, insisting on overnight delivery.
They accepted. Unlike when I offered to buy it outright for a thousand dollars.
They said they’d risk their rating.
Jerk!
I’ve wanted this all my life. I can’t wait another day.
The next day, I grab the box out of the postman’s hands, tear it open and pull out…
Sylvia Plath’s oven mitts!
I can’t wait to cook with them.
I turn on the oven… and…
Oh, what’s the use?
Goodbye, cruel world.
(And enjoy the cookies.)

The Eye

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For as long as I’ve known him, Jose’s worn a black eyepatch over his right eye.
I’ve never asked him how he lost his eye, and he’s never volunteered that information.
He just looks at me with his one eye and grins.
After fifty years, I’m looking down at him in his coffin, both eyes closed and no eyepatch.
I asked the funeral home director about the eyepatch. Did they put an artificial eye in the socket before closing it?
Nope. Eye was just as fine as the other one.
I guess he liked it, and it just looked good.

Budget cuts

Budget cuts and belt-tightening had already impacted our agency’s ability to field operatives and gather intelligence from our enemies.
Looking at the reports of dead agents across the globe, I knew that the pennypinchers had pinched too hard.
All agents had been given suicide pills in the form of false molars they could crush and swallow.
Except that we’d gone with the low bidder, and those that didn’t accidentally crush the cheap replacements eventually succumbed to the poison when the enamel wore through naturally.
We had to pay a hefty fortune to keep the families quiet.
Penny wise, pound foolish.

Singing Teeth

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When I brush my teeth, they sing.
At first, I thought it was some kind of microchip in the toothbrush, like those expensive greeting cards.
But when I used another toothbrush, they sang just the same.
I asked my dentist about this, and he made sure that the valve on his laughing gas was sealed tightly.
Nobody believes me when I say that my teeth sing. They think I’m crazy.
But I’m not.
What’s worse is that when I forget to brush my teeth, they cry with blood.
“Now do you believe me?” I scream.
They think I’m crazier now.

Metaphysical Therapy

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Mother was a Freudian psychiatrist.
Every time she tried to analyze me, she’d say “Tell me about your mother.”
And I’d say “Um, mom? That’s you, stupid!”
She’d nod. And then I’d be sent to bed without dinner.
Later, after I busted my knee and had surgery, I ended up with a metaphysical therapist.
Instead of building strength in my knee with exercise, we debated the nature of all existence and if it was still my knee or something entirely new.
Not only did I end up totally confused, the damn thing still hurts like a son of a bitch.