Category: My stories

Heart Stopper

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Would you let Dr. Odd stop your heart for a thousand dollars?
No, it’s not permanent. Just for a minute.
Then, when the minute is over, he starts it right back up.
And you get your thousand dollars.
It would be the easiest money you ever made, right?
As I lay on the table and listen to the machines, I wonder if this is the right thing to do.
Sure, I need the money, but stop my heart for a minute?
Then, it hits me.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask Dr. Odd.
He smiles and flips a switch.

Molly’s Bunnies

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Molly heard somewhere that if you play music for your plants, they’ll grow faster and larger.
So, Molly left the radio in the garden and played classical music on it.
After a few weeks, the blooms on the flowers were bigger and prettier.
However, so were the rabbits.
Molly tried to barricade the door, but she was no match for the massive bunnies as they heaved the battering ram through it.
This is where I’d like to tell you this odd tale had a happy ending.
So, I will.
(But truth be told, all we found was Molly’s bloody shoe.)

Sulfur Neutral

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Grampa drove a really big Cadillac that got lousy gas mileage.
He’d owned it for as long as I could remember, and the cloud of smoke following us grew larger year after year.
“Why don’t you drive something friendlier to the environment?” I asked him.
“What?” he replied. “What is this environmental friendly crap?”
“Don’t you want to conserve energy and save the planet?” I said. “Or do you buy Carbon Neutral Offsets?”
Grampa thought for a moment. “No, I buy… um… Sulfur Neutrals.”
“Sulfur Neutrals?” I asked. “What are those?”
“Pull my finger,” said Grampa. “And you’ll find out.”

If I Only Had a Lawyer

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Jane and I grabbed the wet Brooks Brothers suit and excused ourselves from the conference room.
“What do we do now?” Jane said. “We need a lawyer!”
I look around, and I noticed a hay bale in the lobby.
“Why is that there?” asks Jane.
“Who cares?” I said. “Let’s try it!”
We fill the suit with straw, chant the spells, and the Scarelawyer leaps to his feet.
“I shall represent you to the best of my ability!” he says, and we head back in.
Two hours later, we strike a deal.
That’s the last time we build a Snowlaywer.

E Is For

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“E is for Elephant” mutters Robot over and over, holding his glass-and-silicon head in his metal-and-rubber hands.
Lisa was trying to teach Robot the alphabet again, but for some reason, Robot obsesses on Elephants.
“Why do you like elephants so much?” we asked Robot.
“Because E is for Elephant,” announces Robot, and he’s back in the loop, muttering.
Frank gave Robot a stuffed elephant yesterday, and Robot tore it to bits.
Lisa thinks Robot is broken, but I think Frank’s behind this loop.
He looks at the shredded elephant and worries.
Because, as we all know, F is for Frank.

Career Move

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I put my thumb on the scanner and hold it there for two minutes.
*BING*
“You are a Pirate,” said the Career-o-matic kiosk. “Congratulations.”
Earlier today, this thing told me I was a Surgeon.
“Please return items from previous Career,” said the machine.
I stuffed the bloody surgical scrubs and malpractice lawsuit documents into the disposal slot.
Whirring. A slight warm breeze.
“Please remove new Career items,” said the machine.
Reaching into the slot, I pulled out an eyepatch, cutlass, and a parrot.
“What’s the eyepatch for?” I asked.
The parrot flapped his wings and hit me in the eye.

Waiter, Waiter

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Like many menus, this menu has a key for spiciness.
More peppers, spicier dish.
It ranges from one to five peppers, but there’s no five-pepper dishes listed.
I ask the waiter, and he turns the menu to the last page.
It’s been torn out.
“Too dangerous,” he mutters. “Chef removed.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Bring me something from that list.”
The kitchen fills with shouting, pots and pans thrown around.
Ten minutes later, the waiter comes out in Hazmat gear, holding a steaming plate of bubbling orange goop.
I ask him what wine goes with it.
He faints.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 80

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Abraham Lincoln dragged himself to the bathroom and contemplated the shabby, reed-thin figure that stared back at him.
His knees buckled, and he leaned on a chair to remain standing.
“I must say I do not think myself fit for the Presidency,” he muttered.
“Of course you aren’t,” said Mary Todd. “But think of it this way, dear – you’re much healthier than Douglas.”
“Douglas died last year,” said Lincoln.
“Exactly,” said Mary Todd. “And when I last checked, zombies couldn’t be presidents.”
Lincoln sighed with relief. And then, he wondered aloud: “So why do I still hunger for brains?”

Thou Shalt Not Kill The Messenger

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It’s an amazing thing, watching God bend beams of light into unusual shapes in the heavens.
Every night, I sit at the observatory and watch that corner of the cosmos fold and twist.
Of course, I can’t be certain that it’s God doing this, but if it is God, it looks like He’s writing some sort of message.
The problem is, He’s writing it in a manner that makes it impossible for us to read.
From Earth, it’s edge-on sideways.
Is He challenging humanity to explore outer space so we can read it, or…
Does He not know we’re here?

Bum Rush The Charts

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I don’t make the music. I make musicians.
I can take any washed-up pampered drug addict, wrap them in spandex, and you can sponsor their next worldwide tour along with every other crappy light beer brewer.
People eat this shit up, so they need something to wash it down with, right?
And its not like we’ve got competition. Where you brew beer by the tanker truck, radio only has our crap to play.
It’s not payola. It’s… business.
Do we have a deal?
Good.
I propose a toast… what? Use your beer?
No thank you. I don’t drink your swill.