Category: My stories

He lives on Elephant Street

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Mother told me to look both ways before crossing the street.
To the left, I saw an elephant. It looked sad and lonely.
To the right, I saw a jolly minstrel being attacked by kids with rocks. He looked frustrated at the abuse.
So I tell the minstrel to go cheer up the elephant.
He does, and the elephant begins to dance happily to the merry tune.
All these wonderful opportunities to make others happy, why should I ever cross the street?
Then I hear a sickening splat.
The elephant has crushed the minstrel.
Is the light green yet?
RUN!

Sweet Potato Fries

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There’s some thing special about sweet potato fries.
I’m sure you’ve eaten mountains and mountains of ordinary fries. Even dipped them in all sorts of stuff – ketchup, mustard, and even mayonnaise like in that movie.
But no matter how you get them – curly, crinkle-cut or whatever – they’re still the same potatoes in there.
So, for a change, that’s why you should try some sweet potato fries.
Just lay them out on a tray in the oven, bake ’em, and then get some ranch dressing to dip them in.
A little something different… well, until you get bored.
And go back.

Filthy

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The kitchen was positively, absolutely filthy.
Dishes piled up to the ceiling. Rats chewing on open boxes of instant pasta in the corner.
And the stove, well, I won’t tell you about the stove.
It was so repulsive, not even the rats would go near there. Cockroaches didn’t dare explore the greasy mountains caked in the corners of what used to be burners.
“So, what do you think?” asked the landlord.
“Well, the kitchen needs some serious work,” said the agent. “But about those rats…”
“Yes?” asked the landlord.
“Can I keep them as pets?” he said. “They’re so cuuuuuute!”

Screaming

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We landed on the planet’s other moon and felt a strange vibration on our helmets.
“Do you hear screaming?” asks the captain.
We sit and listen.
It sounds like every child on the moon is screaming at the top of his lungs.
Except – the moon’s uninhabited.
“Ghosts?” I ask.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” said the captain.
And he’s right.
Sure enough, the entire moon is a series of windy canyons. The wind rushing through the valleys sounds like screams.
Still, we had to soundproof our helmets before conducting the survey.
And nobody wants to come back here, either.

Sleepy Time

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It’s sleepy time, but I don’t want to go to sleep.
I want to think about strange things all night long and write them down.
Really strange things.
Like, did you know that you can’t hide behind Swiss cheese?
People looking for you can see right through it because Swiss cheese has holes.
And people can see through holes. Right through them.
You can hide behind Cheddar cheese just fine, but not Swiss cheese.
Cheddar cheese doesn’t have holes. But Swiss cheese does.
If you put holes in Cheddar cheese, does it become Swiss cheese?
Maybe.
I’ll sleep on it.

The Miracle

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The Temple was theirs again.
After much celebrating and giving thanks, it was discovered that there was only enough sacred oil to light the lamps for 1 day.
Somehow, that oil ended up lasting eight days.
Yeah, that’s the Hanukkah Miracle.
Ever tried using an oil lamp instead of candles or electric lights?
If you haven’t, well, it’s a steep learning curve.
Getting those wicks soaked just right, and then finding the right level of oil… sheesh!
Wanna know what the real Hanukkah Miracle is?
Lighting the damn things and keeping them lit all night long.
Now that’s a miracle!

The Trucks

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Around the clock, the trucks keep coming across the border.
The ones heading North are full of dirt and rocks.
The ones heading South are also full of dirt and rocks, but it’s different dirt and rocks.
We’re not sure why Canada and Mexico are sending all this stuff back and forth, but as long as their trucks keep paying the toll and buying our gas, we really don’t care.
They could haul more back and forth if they used freight trains, but some treaty requires that they use trucks.
So they are.
But why do it at all?
Strange.

Haunts Me

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My little girl was shrieking. Confused.
Her back legs were limp. She fell off the bed, dragging herself.
Scared beyond description.
I called my wife, called a cab, got dressed. Got her into a carrier and out the door.
The emergency clinic said it was a blood clot. They’d try to thin it with drugs.
When they took her in back, I heard her meowing her “WHERE’S DADDY?” cry.
Go home, they said. Sleep. Come back to check her into the day clinic.
Two hours later, they called.
I should have been there for her.
And that’s what haunts me.

Broken Notes

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Walter’s saxophone was tired of screaming out the same, broken notes every night.
Practice makes perfect, but in Walter’s case, it just made more noise.
And it made Walter’s saxophone utterly miserable.
One day, Walter tried to take the saxophone out of its case, but it had been locked.
He looked all over the place for the key, but he couldn’t find it.
He accused his neighbors of stealing the key, but none of them had taken it.
Walter didn’t want to break the lock, because it might damage the saxophone.
Never mind that the damage had already been done.

The Parts Are Greater Than The Sum

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The Trillionaire’s Wife rinsed off the regeneration jelly.
She knew perfection was waiting in the mirror. Again.
The automatic surgical tank began to speak, but she ignored the report. She didn’t care anymore.
But her servants did. And they told the Chief Rabbi, who paid her a visit.
“The body is a gift from The Lord,” he said. “It must be buried whole.”
The Trillionaire’s Wife disagreed. Those discarded organs and acres of skin were morally no different than fingernail clippings.
But her cautious husband quietly kept them all.
She waits for death, soaked in formaldehyde, a thousand times over.