Category: My stories

Rocketman

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“My power is infinite!” cackled Dr. Demonic, rubbing his hands together and throwing switches on a complicated console, the highlight of his dark, evil fortress. “The world will bow at my feet!”
“Infinite?” I shook my wrists. “Then why am I handcuffed to your Doomsday Missile?”
The villain growled. “Okay, so the chairs from Ikea didn’t have arms. And they had wheels. My finest moment, ruined by a hostage rolling around the floor? My powers of improvisation are infinite!”
He hit the launch button, and was incinerated by the rocket’s exhaust.
I didn’t have long to chuckle at his stupidity.

Kim

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Kim never wears orange now.
The last time she did, she looked like a pumpkin.
“PumpKim,” they called her.
That got her mad.
Everyone who called her PumpKim, she punched in the face.
Sure, she was fat, but in all the years she exercised to try to work off the weight, she got strong, too.
Lots of broken noses later, she ended up in jail for a year. It was supposed to be 30 days, but someone called her PumpKim in jail and got shivved.
I hope she’s not listening to this podcast. I don’t want my nose broken again.

The Candidate

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Crowds surrounded the candidate, or the spot they thought he was standing.
Throughout the campaign, everywhere they thought he was politically, he wasn’t.
So much so, with so many lies and double-deals, he’d ripped a hole in the fabric of space-time.
One step ahead, his campaign called it.
Displacement, the scientists called it.
The distance grew. Pretty soon, the candidate appeared miles from where they thought he was.
Despite this phenomenon, he was elected. When he took office, as he put his hand on the Bible, he vanished completely.
The hole closed over.
The judge said “Amen and good riddance.”

Seven Locks

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A locked chest?
The lock requires seven keys.
Legend says that each was handed to the King of each Continent, but we all know that’s crap. There was never a King of Antarctica.
So, I pick the locks.
Surprisingly easy to do. The locks were just ornamental.
I open the chest, and sure enough, it’s empty.
Once again, the locks were ornamental. This chest has been opened many times before.
So, I toss in a few leftover items from the shelves. It’s a museum, we have plenty of stuff in storage.
I lock it back up.
Back on the shelf.

Black Cat

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Superstition states that black cats are supposed to be unlucky.
Friday the thirteenth is supposed to be unlucky, too.
So finding a black kitten on Friday The Thirteenth is supposed to be double-unlucky.
I’m watching the little guy run around and scamper everywhere.
Then, he curls up in a ball in my lap and falls asleep.
“How old is he?” a friend asks me, looking around for the kitten.
“Barely fits in a blender,” I reply.
His eyes get wide, and he vomits the energy drink I made for us.
“He’s at the vet getting snipped,” I say, and laugh.

Shadows and Snacks

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Before I go out into the streets of Old Rustville, I fill the pocket of my robe with shadow, gathered from an alley.
Shadow is a most powerful reagent, useful for spells of concealment and death.
Another pocket, filled with pistachios. It is always good to have a snack handy.
Always the right hand with the pistachios and the left with the shadows.
One does not want to bite into raw shadow, nor does one want to cast the forbidden spells using nuts within the city limits.
Yes, this was once called Silver City. Before my careless, snack-powered Armageddon Spell.

Fireflies

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Me and Teddy, we go firefly catching in the summer.
We always go firefly catching, we do.
Teddy, he ain’t got no arms.
That don’t stop him.
He catches them lighting bugs in his mouth, and I hold up a jar for him to spit them in.
Bam. I put the lid on.
“Ain’t they pretty, Bobby?” He say. “They so pretty, they is.”
Teddy, he go off to college, leave me here with my jar. he smart and stuff.
I wonder if he go firefly catching.
Probably not. He ain’t got no arms. Or me to hold his jar.

Flat Feet

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Someone’s out there in the field.
I’d better check it out.
So, I follow the trail of footprints through the mud.
Big feet. Flat arches, too.
Who walks around in this field without shoes on? What kind of crazy person does that? They could step on a rock or a nail.
My feet ached at the thought of it.
I didn’t see anyone.
For an hour, I walked around the field, until I come back to where the trail started.
I looked down and realized that I am barefoot.
Oh. Right. I’m out here.
No wonder why my feet hurt.

Shampoo

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These days, people will put just about anything in shampoo.
They shove all kinda of flowers and stuff in there and call it “herbal.”
Once, I was given a sample to try.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“It’s a surprise,” said the marketer. “Go ahead and try it.”
So, I took it home, got in the shower, soaked my hair, and poured it on.
It started to tingle the moment the water hit it.
Then it heated up. Exciting.
Oops! I’ve gotten some in my eyes.
As I washed it out, that’s when I felt it burn.
HOLY SHIT! JALAPENOS!

The Brick

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I know a man who can shit bricks.
He eats three pounds of clay daily.
Then, he squats down on the ground and shits a brick.
He’s been doing this shit for years. Behind his house is a brick wall.
He’s shit every one of those bricks himself.
I asked him why he does this when he can just go down to the Home Depot and get bricks.
“There’s something about making something with your own two hands,” he said. “Or, in this case, your ass-cheeks.”
The other night, his wall fell over.
The dumbass didn’t think to use mortar.