Category: My stories

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln #83

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Trapped in the kitchen with Mary Todd, Abe decided to make a souffle.
After many failed attempts, he focused his chi and went back to the mixing bowl.
Pour.
Spread.
Lift.
Close.
Wait.
Then, just at the right moment, he reached into the oven to pull it out.
Gently as the dews of heaven, not rending or wrecking anything, he carried the crockery to the table to display his achievement to Mary Todd.
“It looks great,” she said. “What did you do different this time?”
Abe scowled. “It helps not to trip over the loose floorboards and Tad”s scattered toys.”

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln #82

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Abraham imagined himself a swashbuckler, hurling insults at Jefferson Davis as they slashed their cutlasses at each other.
All around them, pirates cheering and shouting, fighting amongst themselves.
Lincoln found himself caught up in the moment and yelled something he”d later regret.
“Take back that comment about my mother,” shouted Davis.
“Never!” laughed Lincoln. “I would rather die than take back a word.”
Davis parried Lincoln”s sword aside and ran him through the chest.
“Okay, what if I said it about your aunt and not your mother?” wheezed Lincoln.
(This is about when Lincoln felt that “regret” I referenced earlier.)

Wilton

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Where El Dorado was paved with gold, the town of Wilton is paved with cake.
Gingerbread houses and frosting flowers line Angel Food Lane, their gumdrop mailboxes overflowing with letters written on coconut.
In between classes, Wilton Elementary serves sugary snacks to the peanut-brittle children.
The Department of Works rolls around in a cake-pan truck, patching holes in the streets, mending the breaks in the peppermint sewers, and planting spun-sugar trees when the old ones dry up and flake away.
The explorers look at each other, mumble “El Dorado?”
One shakes the compass, and they walk back into the woods.

Oscar

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When I hear the phrase “Busier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs” I remember Oscar.
Used to stand up on his back feet and lean against the rocking chair until he tipped it over.
Then, he’d climb up on the chair, sitting there with the pride of a hunter posing with his trophy.
I ain’t seen Oscar for years. One night, he musta decided he had something better, never come back.
Sometimes, I go out on the porch, my rocking chair’s on it’s side, I wonder.
And as I put my chair back up, I smile.

The Cello Player

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Few things are certain in life.
Most of all, of the things you can count on, I’m most certain that you’ll never hear a chick say “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m fucking the cello player.”
Guitarists, singers, bass players.
Even drummers, if you can imagine that.
But when it comes to cello players, they’re the ones that haul their cellos up five flights of stairs into a lonely, cramped apartment.
Nobody knocks. Nobody calls.
More time for practice, right?
I guess so.
But no matter how good he gets, no chick will say “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m fucking the cello player.”

Dominos

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Jackie set up dominos to run from one end of the state to the other, and she’s ready to tip that first domino over.
How he got all these dominos set up without any falling over or getting stolen, well, let’s just say this state’s proud of Jackie and ain’t nobody’s gonna mess with her stuff.
And to tell the truth, it’s not too big a state the way she’s set these dominos up.
Nothing fancy. No ramps or pool balls or bells or little rockets.
Just dominos. A whole mess of them.
She flicks a finger, and they fall.

The Walls

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When she’s all alone, she talks to the walls.
The North wall is her favorite. She could talk to it for hours about anything. And she does.
The South wall has the window. When she and the North wall are on the outs, she talks to it, but loud enough for the North wall to hear her.
It gets jealous.
The East wall, she barely knows. There’s bookshelves covering it, but what little she sees of it, she doesn’t mind.
The West wall is another beast entirely.
She despises it. Painted it so many times, but it never really changes.

Exchange

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I’m a part of a teachers exchange program.
These poor kids, living under brutal military occupation, right?
Boy, was I wrong.
One day, a gunman ran into the classroom and yelled something.
The kids happily ran to the door and windows, making a human wall.
Soldiers just saw the kids and passed by.
Later, the gunman was telling stories of making bombs and blowing up schools.
The kids were cheering, saying when they grew up, they wanted to be a like him.
What horrifies me the most is: what is the teacher back at my old school teaching my class?

Banana In My Pocket

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There is always a banana in my right jacket pocket.
Every time I reach in there, I feel a banana is in there.
I know this, because when I pull it out, I have a banana in my hand.
And, sure enough, another banana appears in my pocket to replace it.
You’d think this endless supply of bananas would be a godsend, but I don’t like bananas.
You like bananas?
I think this jacket’s about your size.
What have you got in your pocket? A plum? An orange? Strawberries?
Oh, you always have a weasel in your pants?
Never mind.

Keyboard Shake

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Ever turn your keyboard over and shake it?
Usually, just hair and dust fall out.
However, it’s somewhat unusual for an living octopus to fall out.
I carried the odd creature to the sink and filled the sink up with water.
The octopus crawled around, exploring its new environment with its suckered tentacles.
How long had it been in my keyboard?
How did it get in my keyboard?
I don’t remember dropping an octopus in my keyboard.
I called the manufacturer… they had strict octopus-prevention procedures in place.
What will I do with it?
Hey, anybody need a pet octopus?