Category: My stories

Peanuts

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If there’s anything I do that has me pegged as a Southerner, it’s the fact that I put peanuts in my cokes.
You’re supposed to put them in the bottle, but nobody drinks out of bottles anymore.
People drink out of cans, or they use a glass.
Either way, I still put peanuts in my coke.
The peanuts soak up the coke, and when you’re done drinking the coke, you rattle them around and chew them up.
My grampa taught me to do this, but he told me to do it with the shells still on.
Grampa was an asshole.

The Feeding

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With horror bubbling in her throat, Lisa ran a finger along the last wrinkle in her face.
“One more child should do it,” she told her servants. “Not too young. I do not want to overfeed.”
That night, in a burlap sack, they dragged a peasant boy up from the village into Blackmoor Manor.
“Still alive. Good,” said Lisa. “Lock the door. No visitors.”
As Lisa cleansed the ritual knife, the angry mob made its way up the stone path to the manor.
Looking at the pitchforks and torches, her servants decided they were no visitors, and made their escape.

Lousy Servant

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I expect my tea to be placed by my bedside at precisely 8 in the morning.
Any earlier, and it will be cold when I drink it.
Any later, and it will not be there when I reach for it.
Instead, I will reach for my sonic whip and you will suffer dearly.
It used to be that the Blahva made good servants, but we’ve bred them to be stupid while breeding out rebellion and independence.
“Shave your matted fur,” I growl to my houseboy. “And show some initiative.”
He licks an eye, shivers with fear, and gleeps assent.
Liar.

Racks

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How did I wind up in the hospital?
It’s simple. I got my wine rack and gun rack mixed up again.
Going deer hunting with Merlot isn’t so bad. Merlot goes nicely with venison.
However, trying to open a loaded rifle with a corkscrew is not a good thing.
The doctors say they can save most of the fingers on my left hand.
This will seriously curtail my hunting for a while, but at least they sell automatic corkscrews.
I just need to make sure I’m opening bottles of wine with it instead of trying to open the rifle again.

Was A Rabbit

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A cop fireman-carried the lifeless body into the morgue.
The cause of his death is listed as “Basketball.”
Every so often, the coroner gets bored with Heart Disease and Cancer, so she cuts loose a little with the weirder cases.
“Old man died while playing ball with some kids,” said the cop.
“We all gotta go sometime,” said the coroner.
“I guess so,” said the cop. “Do you have the money?”
“I need another week,” said the coroner.
The cop shot the coroner twice in the head, put the gun in the old man’s hand, and walked out the door.

Spaceship

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Last night, a spaceship fell from the sky and landed on my driveway.
A small green man climbed out a hatch, waved hello, and asked me if he could borrow my tools.
At least I thought that was what he was asking.
“Sure,” I said. “Do you need English or Metric?”
The alien shrugged. “Grobnick blasdo,” he said, and he grabbed a few things from the garage before working on his engine.
It took him an hour before the ship was pulsing a greenish glow.
“Grobnick bladso,” he said, waved, and flew off into space.
Little fucker stole my tools.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln #99

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Abe lay back in his coffin and thought.
Johnson should be kicking out Mary Todd and Tad just about now.
I’m not even cold yet.
Bastard.
He’ll probably command the Army to freeze over the lawn for a skating rink. Andy loved skating, and it didn’t matter if it was a hundred below or a hundred above.
I loved skating.
Or perhaps he’d pull a Gotcha on the slaves and enslave them again.
Abe felt angry. He tried to get up.
Oh, wait. Hold on. Um…
I’m dead, he thought.
Ouch.
This is sure going to mess up my ice-skating.

Remix

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It’s fun to mess with memory tapes.
I reversed Johnny’s timestamps and he spent weeks sucking his thumb and shitting his pants while the reindex ran.
Dell hasn’t stopped speaking in French, despite restoring his mind from an old directory.
Tracy and Thomas woke up Thomas and Tracy. They didn’t know each other before I swapped their nodes. Now, well, a little better.
Oliver was supposed to be a remix. I had a great set of financials and old movies spliced into his mind. Instead, he became Corrupted.
This is a picture of Oliver. Find him.
Before he kills again.

Caricature

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The revolting, hook-nosed caricature loaded his grocery cart with every discount Kosher food he could.
When finished gathering food for tonight’s blood rituals, he haggled with the young lady at the checkout counter, protesting every penny.
She kept sweeping every item over the scanner. Beep. Beep.
“Want paper or plastic?” the bagboy asked.
“So hard a decision,” said the caricature. “Does the plastic come from petroleum stolen from Arab holy lands? Does the paper come recycled from shredded and defiled Korans?”
The girl stopped scanning the items and the bagboy stared into empty space.
There was nobody there.
Never was.

The Peace Hunt

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It was an awesome peace concert in the park, and at the end, we opened the cages that released the doves.
Majestically flying into the air, a cloud of white wings upon the air.
That’s when the hawks came.
Doves became puffs of white feathers as the raptors hit them with their talons and flew off with their prey.
Bloody chunks falling on the crowd, the remnants of collisions raining down.
Everybody staring at the hunt, unable to move.
“This is a disaster,” whispered the concert promoter.
“No, it’s not. It’s totally natural,” said the lead singer. “It’s fuckin’ beautiful.”