Category: My stories

Secretaries

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When I have a choice, I’ll always pick the ugly secretary.
It’s been my lifelong experience that pretty secretaries can get by on their wonderful looks, but ugly secretaries have to be good at what they do.
It has also been my experience that pretty receptionists are utterly useless. Nobody wants them as a secretary, so they stick them up front to greet people.
There are no ugly receptionists. Well, in a way, there are.
In those cases, they’re meant to be security guards. Not exactly a friendly reception, but very useful, as my experience and two broken legs suggest.

Katy Can

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If something’s broken, Katy can fix it.
Katy can fix anything.
Bicycles. Lawnmowers. Machine guns.
Just give it to her and leave her alone.
At the last possible moment, when you’re about ready to give up, she’ll tap you on the shoulder and say it’s done.
She never fails.
Now, you can’t ask her to build something from scratch. That, she can’t do.
Or, more precisely, she won’t do.
But fixing things that are broken, that’s what she does.
And does well.
So would you still like us to bring you a doctor, or shall we ask Katy?
Thought so.

Fiddle

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If hillbillies call a violin a fiddle, what do they call themselves a cello?
Truth is, hillbilly ain’t seen no cellos never. But they always a first time.
First time a hillbilly seen himself a cello, he thought it warn’t nothin’ but a big ol fiddle for a big ol giant.
So the hillbilly think himself a big man, all hillbilly do, put the cello up at his fool neck and he try to play the thing fiddle-like.
Yeah, he break his neck, fall down dead right there, cello fallin on him.
They says a giant kilt him dead, sir.

The Burning

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The townspeople burnt the old witch at the stake.
She went up like a pile of kindling.
They tossed her spellbooks on the flames. Spellbooks are just paper, so they burned quickly.
Then they tossed her broom on the pyre.
Big mistake. Brooms have a hell of a lot of magic in them, so what they did was just like throwing a box of dynamite on a bonfire.
That was the last witch that town burnt. There was nobody left to burn the witches.

Carried Away

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I was doing a math problem the other night when I had to carry the seven.
So, I did. Up the stairs and into the bedroom.
I performed horrible, unspeakable acts upon that seven, things that would be illegal if I had done them in fourteen states.
Then, I carried the seven to the hospital, because it wasn’t breathing.
The doctors said that I was an idiot – sevens don’t breathe.
So, I carried the seven home and finished the math problem.
I’m working on another math problem. This time, I have to carry a one.
A thick, strong, sexy one.

Middle Stall

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There are three stalls in the bathroom.
After careful observation, I’ve noticed that whenever Stanley uses the left one, he comes out the right one. And whenever he uses the right one, he comes out the left one.
Stanley can’t explain it. It”s just something that happens.
So, I asked him what happens when he uses the middle one.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never used it.”
He stepped into the center stall and closed the door.
A minute went by before I knocked.
“Are you in there, Stanley?” I asked.
He wasn’t.
If you see him, call me?

George

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George hated dogs. He hated the shit out of them.
People were always telling their dogs to bark at him, or worse – set their dogs loose on him.
George spent an awful lot of his childhood running from dogs.
Years later, in his research facility, George looked at the creamy substance in the mixing bowl and smiled.
“At long last, I shall have my revenge!” he cackled with glee, scooping up a dollop of the peanut butter and offering it to a dog.
He laughed a hearty laugh as the poor, dumb beast desperately licked its chops for fifteen minutes.

Your Other Left

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The road turned left.
Macy turned right.
They found her truck the next morning, smashed into a big oak tree.
Macy was sitting in the bed of the pickup, smoking a cigarette through shattered teeth.
The Sheriff asked her if she was alright.
Macy looked back through two black eyes and shrugged.
“I guess so,” she said. “I”ve felt better, though.”
The Sheriff got up in the truck bed and bummed a smoke off of Macy. “Shame about the truck,” he said.
“Shame about the tree, too,” she said.
He nodded, and they waited for the tow truck in silence.

Moonshine

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Nothing ever good comes out of a mason jar, my grandmother always says.
And if you’re drinking her special blend of moonshine out of one, well, she’s absolutely right.
What’s stronger than a mule kicking you? An elephant? An ostrich?
This shit kicks harder that a whole zoo stampede.
Takes the wallpaper off of the walls, too. Every damn clich” you can come up with for moonshine, well, this shit does it to you worse.
That’s why I poured mine out on the daisies and filled my mason jar with water.
I may be kinfolk, but I ain’t fuckin crazy.

Space Program

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You know all those monkeys and dogs they shot up into space in the Sixties?
They never told the public the truth about those animals in the space program.
But I will.
Every time they fired up one of those monkeys up into the sky, a dog would come down.
And when they fired a dog into space, back down they’d get a monkey.
Scientists couldn’t explain it. Dogs turned into monkeys and monkeys turned into dogs.
Years later, the Russians revealed that their dogs also turned into monkeys and their monkeys turned into dogs.
They couldn’t explain it either.