Category: My stories

Guards

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The brothers stand at either side of the door, wearing their finest red military parade jackets.
Even though they each had a musket on their shoulder, the guns hadn’t been fired in years.
When had they been fired? Let’s see…
I know. I remember.
That day, the brothers had challenged each other to a duel.
After walking ten paces, they turned, and fired.
Both brothers fell over, dead.
I had them both stuffed, dressed, and propped up at either side of the door.
They are pretty useless as guards now, but then they were pretty useless as guards back then.

Half the moon

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Which half of the moon do you want?
The left? The right?
Waning? Waxing?
Or perhaps you want the top of it?
Don’t forget the bottom.
Maybe you want the side that faces us. Certainly you do not want the side that faces away.
What do they call it? The dark side of the moon?
Take your time. It is an important decision.
What of the other half? Who gets that?
Is half the moon not enough for you? Need you have more?
I can understand. What good is half a moon?
Better to have none at all, I suppose.

Art Museum

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Every day after work, I go to the art museum.
It is on my way home, next to a family grocery that always has the best apples.
You aren’t supposed to eat in a museum. But they let me bring an apple in.
Or an orange, if I am not in the mood for an apple.
Museums often display just a part of their collection to the public. The rest is in storage or being restored with touchups and cleaning.
They let me look at the many works sitting in storage, admiring the Junior Varsity squad of the art world.

Goalposts

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There’s no greater thrill than when your team wins the championship and the crowd tears the goalposts down.
I wish we had stopped at that.
After the goalposts came down, we started tearing up the field, ripping huge sheets of sod and tossing them around like bathroom mats.
Then we busted up the concession stands and the bathrooms.
The seats and bleachers took some effort, but soon enough, we were throwing seats around smashing them to bits.
The rest of the stadium required heavy construction equipment, but we were persistent and fired up.
A final cheer, then we went home.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln #94

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“What was that loud noise?” was Abraham’s second-to-last thought.
Abe slumped forward and moaned. Booth shouted “Sic Semper Tyrannis!’ and leapt to the stage.
Abe heard the ugly crack of Booth’s ankle breaking. As a testament to Abe’s overflowing compassion, he felt badly for the man who would have to walk on such a leg.
His left eye saw nothing but blood. His one remaining eye opened and spotted the gun in Booth’s hand.
He’d been… shot?
“I guess the bullet is stronger than the ballot after all” was his final thought, and then…
Applause?
The audience demanded an encore.

Leftover Turkey

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Thanksgiving is over.
Leftover turkey for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
That’s right. Breakfast.
Ever had turkey bacon?
Well, I made a machine that turns leftover turkey into turkey bacon.
I’m not claiming that it tastes like real bacon, but it’s really close.
And considering that you’re sick and tired of the taste of turkey, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind having your turkey as turkey bacon.
Yams are another story. There’s absolutely nothing you can do to yams to make them less like yams.
We’ll take those out to the landfill and bury them for 10,000 years like all hazardous waste.

Three Miles

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Ever walk a mile with a sword stuck through your chest?
I have. Three times.
The first time was when I got into a fight with The Ninja Master.
He was the best swordsman in all of Japan.
So how did I beat him?
I’m not from Japan.
I’m the best in the world.
Not by much – his head flew off as his sword struck home.
Missed every vital organ.
I walked the mile to my master’s house.
“I told you: bring me his head,” he growled.
I had to walk back to get it.
And then, back again.

River Rock

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Eloise noticed a strange bit of data in the mortality report.
Nobody had ever died in Rock River County on the weekend in the past forty years.
She thought it odd, even if it was a backwoods town of barely 1,000 people.
No email address for the local clinic.
She tried calling them. Busy.
When the clinic did pick up, it was the doctor’s wife. She acted as nurse and secretary.
“Earl goes hunting on weekends,” she said. “If someone dies, well, they can wait till he gets back Monday to pronounce them dead. Ain’t like they’re in a rush.”

Comes earlier

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Christmas comes earlier every year.

Stores put the displays and trees before Halloween.

That’s why the elves went on strike.

You see, they’ve been working without a contract for over a century now.

While the reindeer still only work one night, the elves still have to ramp up production faster and faster for these earlier holiday sales.

Faster turnaround means less time for maintenance, too.
More work accidents, drinking on the job – that kind of thing.

Santa didn’t pay attention to the growing discontent in the workshop.

The elves are building a bonfire.

Santa’s tied to a stake, screaming.

Wands

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The White Mage volunteered at the local school as the band instructor. A welcome break from experiments with potions and wands.
He put away his projects, picked up his baton, and headed out the door to make the trip to the school.
Servants follow the children of the nobility into the recital hall, bearing instruments of all sizes.
They find their seats while the Mage tapped his baton on the lectern for attention.
Fireballs flew out the end, incinerating the strings section.
“No wonder why that wand wouldn’t hold a charge,” he said, servants attacking the flames with water buckets.