Category: My stories

Zippidee Doodah was dressed in diamond encrusted golden robes. He waved his glittering staff at the crowd. Dancing and singing along, the wave of bodies flowed down the avenue. A sea of debauched blissful revelry. Mugs of various drinks were passed around, emptied, and thrown to the ground to make room for more that the barkeepers gladly provided. The parade left a trail of coins and wallets that more than made up for the cost of drinks and damage. when the parade reached the end of town, the king waved his staff and disappeared. The crowd no longer spellbound, dispersed.

After the Jewish expulsion from Anatevka, Tevye was approached by Hollywood agents. We would love to turn your story into a musical. Tevye being illiterate had to perform all the songs for the composers to transcribe. He was all put off by zero Mostel and Maximilian Shell being cast as him, considering he was a skinny bald guy, and those two were giant hairy dudes. The play was a smash hit, Tevye produced a sequel where the featured song was. I am a rich man. That play bombed. He lost everything. Even the house with the longer stairway coming down.

The brochure called it a retirement community, but it was really a rundown hotel, where people waited to die. Sure there was a cafeteria in the lobby, but the food there rivaled the swill dished out in prison. They used to leave the rooms unfurnished, so the residents could bring in the trappings of home in a long lifetime of memories, but far too many former customers left their possessions for the staff to dump at Goodwill. Eventually, they just left everything there and said it was furnished. Including framed photos and clothes in the dressers and their nasty toothbrushes.

They say that those who can’t do teach. So when I got a copy of Mavis Beacon teaches typing, I wrote her a letter saying that I was her number one biggest fan. And sure enough I got back the most jumbled mess of a type written letter I’d ever seen. This was serial killer level of creepy. Letter to the editor from a dementia written, crank, quality of spelling and grammar with over typed mistakes and typing errors and infinite number of monkeys couldn’t accomplish. But, man, she was one hell of a teacher as I type this now.

The first time Joey saw a salad bar, he was overwhelmed by all of the things laid out and arranged at the table. He loaded up his plate with croutons and a small pudding dish of ranch dressing. From that day on, all he would ever get from salad bars were the croutons and ranch dressing. His mother would scold him, set the plate aside, and make another plate for him. Keep with a variety of vegetables. But Joey would just sit there and stare at it until it was time to leave. And he would dream of his croutons.

The Guinness Book of World Records does not recognize the tallest column of Kraft Parmesan cheese canisters stacked, but if it did, it still wouldn’t recognize Maurice Flambo of Antwerp. At a public exhibition, he stacked 174 of the green canisters. He used a fire truck ladder to achieve the great height. The column stood for five minutes before a gust of wind brought it down. And then the uproarious applause died down and was replaced with shots of anger when it was discovered that the ends of the cylinders were coated with adhesive. Maurice never attempted the stunt ever again.

Sigrid was a pretty good troll hunter. He wasn’t the best, but when John the Bold wasn’t available, or the patron was on a limited budget, Sigrid was a reasonable choice. Sometimes his work took a little longer, and there would be collateral damage, but Sigrid got the job done. His online reviews weren’t as positive as John’s but when Sigrid hunted a troll that troll stayed hunted. John kept a dungeon full of trolls, and if he got a bad review, he would threaten to let those trolls loose again. Sigrid had more honor than to violate a contract.

Unlike other demons who required fancy rituals, sacrifices, and strange geometric patterns drawn on the floor, Agarro Darkshade had an ad in the yellow pages. Forgoing the traditional fireball, he preferred to knock on the front door. He also didn’t require souls or other rare artifacts for payment, he just traded in cash. No checks or credit cards, he wasn’t set up for that. He also didn’t practice dark magic. There was enough of that going about. Most of the time he’d snap his fingers to clean a house, fix a clanky air-conditioning system, or get a car running again.

Hampton Maddox drew the short straw and earned the role of getaway driver for the heist. The thing is, he didn’t know whether he should wear a mask or not. I mean, sitting there in a car in a mask is kind of suspicious, but if there are cameras on the street, they’ll clearly identify him. So he split the difference and put on nose glasses with a Groucho mustache. A cigar completed the ensemble. However, when the gang ran out of the bank, he forgot how to unlock the doors. He rolled down the windows though. That’s sorta worked.

Sixgun McGinty had an itchy trigger finger. Thankfully itchy trigger fingers are covered by the gunslinger union medical plan. Doc Walker gave him some pills and a cream and advised him to wear thin gloves for a few weeks. His condition significantly improved and instead of prematurely blowing away deputies and sheriffs and Marshalls, he shot them at a more reasonable and decent pace. Not that the law men ever felt like that. They felt like they were shot and bleeding out, which they did. McGinty then complained of a sore throat, but they still put a rope around it.