Category: My stories

The Butter River

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In the morning, we walk to the river of melted butter that runs through our village.
Others are already there, waiting for the Buttermaster to proclaim the river clean.
He inspects the flow, confirms that our upstream neighbors are still neighborly, and measures some samples in his testing apparatus.
A light shines green.
“Safe!” he shouts.
We cheer.
Lined up on the shore, we dip our toast and biscuits into the river and savor each bite.
“The river is good,” I say.
My family grunts their agreement.
Nobody double-dips here – that is impolite, unsanitary, and a crime punishable by flogging.

Way With Words

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Felix’s novels were a War Crime against Literature. So, for these crimes, he was banished to the circle of despised Literary Critics.
He didn’t just have a way with words – he had his way with words. In the worst possible way, in the back of his unmarked white van.
When he was done with them, he’d send his article to the publisher and leave the bloody, sweaty, shivering words on a playground for the children to discover.
His headstone will be blank. No words would associate with this monster, and no numbers are brave enough to cross the picket lines.

Bowling Alley

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A neighborhood only gets a movie theater when people there go to the movies so often, some chain finds profit bringing the movies to them instead of making those folks drive an hour or two.
It’s not the same with bowling alleys. Those chains use satellite photography to watch empty fields for kids playing sandlot bowling, rolling balls over the uneven, rocky ground at makeshift pins.
Or maybe they put their agents in shoe stores, listening for when someone asks to rent the ugliest pair in the store for a few hours.
Whatever you do, do it fast.
We”re desperate!

Jersey Girl

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Shirley the Mermaid had been around. She’d seen everything.
She and the girls were getting their nails done when they talked about their first times.
The first time Shirley saw a human, she swam after it for a closer examination.
It looked like a mermaid, but instead of fins, it had two limbs coming out of its hips leading into a solid stone-like block.
“Mob informant,” she thought. “Should have kept his goddamed trap shut.”
She took his wallet, emptied out the cash, and swam away.
Whether you’re over or under the Boardwalk, a Jersey Girl is a Jersey Girl.

My Bloody Valentine

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Five hours ago, this bum was using his pen knife to cut aluminum cans into hearts to give away on Valentine’s Day.
Now, he’s a bloody pulp under a bench. Some other bums beat him up for the aluminum cans, cashed them in for beer money.
He could have defended himself with the knife, but to him, it was a tool and not a weapon. Just as Cupid”s bow and arrow are for love, not war.
A mother tells her son not to worry. He’s up in Heaven now.
I hope they clean him up before they let him in.

Assembly

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I like to walk through the drive through lane at the bank and ask for a loan for a car.
Usually, I get a laugh, but one day – that pneumatic tube machine wheezes and PLOMP! It lands on the hopper.
I open it up, and there”s a set of car keys.
I pull the keys out and hit the Call button – “Very funny,” I said. “What should I do with these?”
PLOMP! Another tube shows up. There”s an instruction booklet in there for assembling a car.
PLOMP! Some spark plugs.
PLOMP! A fanbelt.
PLOMP! PLOMP! PLOMP!
This could get messy.

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.