Category: My stories

El Tocino-Envuelto

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Where Pizarro failed, Sir Walter swore he’d succeed.
He’d find El Dorado, the legendary City of Gold!
Through all of his expeditions, he never did find El Dorado.
But he was quite fond of a town called El Tocino-Envuelto, which roughly translates to The Bacon-Wrapped One.
Where El Dorado was supposedly paved with gold, the streets of Tocino-Envuelto were paved with pork.
The Spanish outpost of San Thome was rumored to have the best applesauce in the New World. Raleigh craved it for his pork chops.
It would ultimately be his son’s death and, by the headsman’s axe, his undoing.

The Finisher

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They call us Finishers.
When the subject has nothing more of use to give, we finish them off.
Now and then, something of use comes out, like a final drop of lemon juice from a squeezed and pulverized lemon.
We don’t care. We’re there to punish, not interrogate.
Some administrator got it in their head that Finishers should be licensed medical practitioners. Never mind that we have one purpose: to cause harm. We cannot take the Hippocratic Oath.
That administrator vanished the other day.
Want to hear a tape of them screaming, or would you like to see their tongue?

And baby makes… um… three?

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Alberto was the first guy to admit he wasn’t good at math.
Jenny, on the other hand, refused to admit it.
At first, they tried to bribe her with candy to get her to admit she wasn’t good at math. But Jenny would have none of that. She insisted she was good at math.
Before they could finish with Jenny, she got knocked up. Seems that she and Alberto used the rhythm method and… well, you know where this is going. Carry the three and… whoops!
They’ve got three or four kids now. Maybe five. Depends on who you ask.

The Dollar Coin Dolly

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I hate to burst your bubble, but Sacagawea was no guide or translator.
She was just a common filthy street whore.
Lewis and Clark bought her off of that Charbonneau guy, dressed her up like an Indian, and “explored” her rotten every mile of the Missouri and back.
The whole “Indian Guide” story? Just a ruse for getting the government to pick up the expense.
Jean Baptiste was a wooden doll, meant to fool the natives into thinking Lewis and Clark were civilized folk.
It’s in the Smithsonian, unless they incinerated it to keep the real story from getting out.

The Wife

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The old man’s lawyers called his wife.
“We’re on vacation,” growled the wife.
“We’re concerned,” said the lawyers. “Now that he’s been found guilty, the fine your husband faces is disastrously large.”
“Are my assets safe?” asked the wife.
“No,” said the lawyers. “What’s yours is his. Everything goes.”
The wife pondered. “Is there a way out of this?”
“He’s guilty, but not sentenced,” said the lawyers. “If he dies before sentencing, the judgment vanishes.”
“And you get paid,” said the wife.
They gave her sugar pills. She gave them his heart medication.
She woke up a very rich widow.

The Hometown Hero

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Eleven wins, State, and Honor Roll four years running.
Bobby’s the hero of Centerville High.
Until the cheerleaders accused him of rape. I said cheerleaders. All of them.
Bobby wore his letter jacket to court, claimed innocence.
Uh huh. Yeah, right.
Didn’t help one bit. Judge threw the book at him.
After five years, the DNA got re-tested.
No match.
Suddenly, the cheerleaders did a 180. Bobby’s innocent.
The governor ordered Bobby released, and he was wheeled out to freedom.
He’d taken a knife to the spine on the inside.
The same knife they found in the head cheerleader’s throat.

Argentina

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I told Argentina not to cry for me, but Argentina cries so easily.
Argentina cries during sad movies.
Argentina cries when it stubs its toe.
Argentina cries when it might rain.
Before, it was cute. But now, I’m sick and tired of Argentina crying.
People are staring to stare. They think it’s because of something I’ve done, but it’s really all in Argentina’s head.
“You’re leaving me!” cries Argentina.
“No, I’m just going to the store for some wine,” I say. “Would you like to come along?”
Argentina then cries some more.
I knew I should have stuck with Bolivia.

My Cheese

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Who moved my cheese?
You don’t know?
I’ll tell you who moved my cheese… it was you. You moved my cheese.
Don’t lie to me. Stop lying to me!
Oh, sure, you moved my cheese. But… I don’t know why.
Why did you move my cheese? Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone.
The cheese wasn’t hurting anyone there. It wasn’t bothering anyone. It was fine.
But you moved it. You moved my cheese… somewhere.
Tell me. Where did you move my cheese?
Tell me where you moved my cheese, and I’ll tell you where I threw your elephant.

One Pill

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Alice held the pills in her hand and remembered what the strange lady sang: “One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small.”
Alice looked at herself in the mirror. “What if I want to make my ass smaller and my boobs bigger?”
The strange lady thought for a moment and looked through a leather-bound notebook. “If you mash up one pill in bananas and smear it on your chest while using the other as a suppository…”
They experimented on the Mad Hatter, the two Tweedles, and most of the residents of Wonderland before getting it just right.

Zippy

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We all got in our spaceships, let them freeze us solid, and were shot all around the universe.
Some of us took decades to get to our assignments. Others took centuries, assuming they made it at all.
Sometime before I arrived, scientists invented the zippy drive. Zip – you’re there. Zip – you’re back.
Made exploration and colonization much easier.
It also made me obsolete on arrival.
Surprisingly, people haven’t changed much. But the airborne germs have.
I spend my time in a plastic bubble, waiting for back pay and the cure to the toxic viruses people have adapted to.