Category: My stories

Go Yankees?

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They had the title of “Teacher” but there really wasn’t any point in teaching these kids.
These were the helplessly retarded: physically functional, but beyond any hope of learning anything.
It didn’t mean they weren’t cute. It just meant they were going to be utterly useless to society, kept like pets instead of living on their own.
The teachers had to dress the kids, putting the Yankees jerseys on them one by one.
The few kids that could think to wave them got pennants.
“Go Yankees!” they slurred.
The teachers smiled. Another generation of Yankees fans, ready for the stands.

Radiating Love

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I love Jeannie to death, but sometimes she drives me nuts.
The sensors say that it’s still not safe to go outside of the shelter, but she’s accusing me of having an affair?
“We might just be the last two people on earth!” I shout. “Who am I cheating with?”
“I know you put on that radiation suit and go carousing at night,” she sneers.
I shake my head and wonder if it’s really worth trying to save the species when it’ll be stuck with her crazy and retarded genes.
Whatever. If supplies run low, I can always eat her.

Sticky Situation

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I can’t decide which is worse – having to scrape all this gum from under these desks all day or mopping up the shit and piss from a dead kid.
Yeah, it’s a real headscratcher.
You see, bubblegum is easy to poison. Just use a powder that looks like the sugar they dust this crap with.
The wrappers untwist without tearing. A little heat seals them back up.
Then you leave it out in a candy dish, the kid takes it… and WHAM problem solved.
Usually, they swallow it.
I hate it when it falls out and sticks to the floor.

The Tenth Commandment

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Moses waited for the tablets to cool before picking them up.
“Are you going to keep these,” asked God. “or are you going to be a prick and smash them again?”
“My blood sugar was low,” said Moses. “And besides, you had some pretty bad spelling errors on that last pair.”
“It’s not my fault you dumb Jews don’t write down vowels,” said God.
“‘Thou shalt spell Michelle with one L?'” said Moses. “What the hell is that about? Who the fuck is Michele?”
“Hurry up, messenger boy,” said God. “Your people are going nuts again.”
Moses bowed and left.

Let there be milk!

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Without the miracle, the wedding feast would have been a flop.
But now that the celebrants were drunk on the transformed wine and the party was coming to a close, it was time to clean up.
“Can you turn the wine back into water?” said Thomas. “The mugs need rinsing. Oh, and there’s some vomit to mop up, too.”
Jesus waved his mighty hand over the pitcher…
Nothing.
“It’s still wine,” he growled.
An hour later, the best he could come up with was milk.
“Well, that sucks,” said Thomas. “I guess we’ll just set this out with the coffee.”

The Wacky Adventures Of Abraham Lincoln 65

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Throughout the city, the Founding Fathers were rising from their graves, walking around the town in their tattered rags.
Abraham Lincoln was overjoyed.
“What do they think of my handling of the current conflict?” asked Lincoln. “And what do they think of their beloved Constitution now?”
“We don’t know,” said Stanton. “They keep moaning ‘brains’ and eating people.”
Lincoln frowned and picked up a shotgun. “I guess we’d better take care of this quickly.”
Bill Seward grabbed Lincoln’s sleeve. “You can’t possibly be suggesting we attack the Founding Fathers?”
Lincoln pointed the shotgun at Seward. “Maybe you’re one of them…”

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.