Category: My stories

Edison’s Orphans

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The most dangerous place on the planet is not Iraq or Gaza or some war-torn hellhole, but the sidewalk around the Patent Office.
It used to be easy to get from the street to the front door, but these days every scatterbrained crackpot in the country has been drawn like a magnet to this place.
Edison once said that genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, but these folks ain’t geniuses, so that other one percent is probably booze.
Try to resist the temptation to use up your Bumblaster (patent pending) batteries, hold your nose, and follow me.

Running On Empty

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I wake up, smelling… burnt meat?
Everything’s swimmy and wild.
Am I drugged?
There’s a swirling, kaleidoscope medic standing over me. He moves his lips, but I can’t understand what he’s saying.
He writes on a card, holds it up: “Do you hear that beeping sound?”
I try to shake my head, but it’s strapped down.
“No,” I say.
I can feel myself saying No, but I can’t hear it.
The medic writes more: “What do you remember?”
“I was checking the gas can. Then, I saw a bright flash, and then… this.”
The medic writes again: “With a lighter?”

Under The Big Guy’s Big Top

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The sharpshooter’s act ended without bloodshed, so the ringmaster waved out the gymnasts.
Seventeen agile Frenchmen pranced their way to the center ring, somersaulting and leaping with great skill.
Just as they finished their Parisian Pyramid, the trapeze artists screamed… the rigging was giving way.
The tent’s canvas ripped open quickly, revealing a horrific sight: the stars were careening wildly around the sky like drunken moths.
The astonished tumblers fell to the ground in a groaning pile, but the bearded old man in the audience began to laugh and applaud.
“Splendid!” God said. “Best night I’ve had in eons! Bravo.”

Double A Meets Four F

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Planetary Defense Command doesn’t want you to save the last bullet for yourself.
We’re supposed to fire it at the enemy and charge with fixed bayonets, but nobody’s had bayonets for centuries.
As for bullets, I look at my rifle. One last bar on the battery indicator.
Then it flashes… flashes… flashes…
I should have brought a spare.
Not enough for a last shot, but enough for a spark.
The rifle battery hooks on the oxygen tank perfectly.
They designed it to do this. When we’re out of batteries, we’re nothing but bombs to PDC.
I hunker down and wait.

Tiny Dancer

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As I’m sorting through my Inbox, tossing out spam and endless discussion threads, my littlest cat jumps up on top of my desk, sticks her tail in her mouth, and does a little mewing pirouette.
“Mew!” she squeaks. “Mew! Mew! Mew!”
It’s cute and silly, but after a minute of this I get a little concerned.
Is something wrong?
“What is it, Piper?” I ask.
She stops and looks me straight in the eye, tail still in her mouth.
“Mew!” she insists.
And she goes back to turning circles on the desk with her tail.
What a weird little cat.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 64

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For some reason, Abraham Lincoln was standing next to a flagpole wearing a gorilla costume.
When asked about it, the concealed president replied – “I stand by the flag of the Union, and all I ask of you is to stand by me as long as I stand by it.”
When asked about the gorilla suit, Abe just scratched his armpits and ate bananas.
The next day, Abe was back at the flagpole, but wearing his usual linen suit instead of the costume.
Nobody asked him why, but if pressed, he’d have said “I only rented the costume for one day.”

Go West, Young Horny Man

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Look, most folks from the trail come to Miss Molly’s for a cot for the night.
Locals, they come for the poker. Or the booze.
Very few come for the girls.
The pretty ones, they get married off or head off to Frisco to make the big bucks.
But the rest, well, they stay.
And wait…
And wait…
A while back, a wagon carrying a shiny new bathtub and a water-boiler broke down at Molly’s, so she bought them.
You know, covered with suds, those girls don’t look so bad.
And it sure beats swimming and shaving in the creek.

Eleven… um, I mean Twelve Step Program

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I was sitting on the toilet when I suddenly realized that I forgot to lift up the lid before taking a dump.
My mind’s been fuzzy since the accident. I may look okay, but I forget steps.
Like yesterday: I put my shoes on before my socks. That kind of thing.
It used to be worse. One time, I handed my fiance the hairdryer while she was still in the shower.
That’s why I’m here. Well, that and a verdict of “Not Guilty By Reason Of Mental Defect.”
Although, from the awful things she’d yell at me, I’m not sorry.

The Church Bells Of Jenin

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The soft-haired folksinger sat on his stool, strummed his guitar, and sang his sad tale of the church bells in Jenin.
Seven thousand miles away, the last of the churchbells was hauled down from its burnt-out tower.
The Christians had left months ago, driven out by their unneighborly neighbors.
Three masked men picked up the bell and smiled, hauling it to the foundry.
It was melted down into shell casings and bullets.
Weeks later, a paramedic pulled a bullet from a dead child’s chest.
He pulled another three from the child’s dead mother.
Murdered, by the church bells of Jenin.

Horseman 3000

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The company spent half a billion dollars developing the cure. Heck, we spent millions coming up with the brand name:
Revivalyfe.
Pretty, isn’t it? And a lovely shade of sky blue.
All we need is a disease for it.
Relax – manufacturing diseases is child’s play, thanks to the old Horseman 3000. Just tap in the symptoms, decide on a vector, sync up Revivalyfe’s cure profile, and turn the key.
Five hours later, you’ve got your disease.
What? The DEATH button is still sticking?
I’ll call Maintenance… just hold on…
Strange. No answer.
Okay, just hit CANCEL for now…
Cancel! CAN-