Category: My stories

The Chicken

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Some people ask Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Me, I don’t ask such things.
Instead, I ask Which came first, the San Diego Chicken or the San Diego Egg?
It turns out that the San Diego Chicken was first, the “Grand Hatching” as “The Famous Chicken” happening later in 1979, although initially he was known as the KGB Chicken.
Wait… he was a Russian spy?
Well, KGB was the radio station that came up with the idea, but their call letters being similar to that of the Russian spy service is just a coincidence.
Sure it is.

Arthur’s Trick

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Arthur’s trick was he’d take a fruit, turn around, and when he’d turn back a second later he’d have the empty peel in one hand and the fruit in the other hand.
We checked his pockets and his jacket, but he wasn’t concealing an already-peeled fruit anywhere. And if you’d draw something on the rind with a magic marker, that exact mark would be on the peel.
Tommy wanted to watch it happen. He stood behind Arthur, and Arthur turned…
I have never heard a scream like that, animal or human.
We don’t ask Arthur to do the trick anymore.

Robbing the Dead

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Haven’t you robbed enough from the man?
His home.
His son.
His strength.
His life.
Body’s not cold yet, laying on the couch, they’re talking about taking one last thing.
“He’s got one of those dick implant pumps,” Catfish says. “Good model, too.”
“Cut it out, and we’ll sell it in Mexico,” says The Bitch.
They go into the kitchen, looking for knives and a bag.
Don’t need to be delicate when the man’s dead.
“Wait,” says The Bitch.
“Yeah,” says Catfish. “This ain’t right.”
“No,” says The Bitch. “Put him on the floor. We can sell that couch, too.”

Exploration

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Tina sat on her towel and watched the galleons at anchor.
One lowered a rowboat to the water, and it approached the beach rapidly.
An explorer stepped from the boat, knelt in prayer, and then stuck his flag in the beach to claim it in the name of some queen or another.
“I’m, sorry, but this beach is already claimed,” said Tina.
“How about over there?” asked the explorer, pointing to the South.
“That one’s claimed, too,” said Tina. “Would you like some sandwiches?”
The explorer shook his head, got back into the boat, and rowed out to his galleon.

Return To Ascender

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“Ever since he came back, he’s been a real dick,” said Luke.
“We were out walking when we saw a boy with a crippled leg,” Matthew said. “He begged to be healed, but Jesus broke his crutch and struck him lame in the other leg.”
“Don’t forget the wine!” said Timothy. “We were going to celebrate his return, but he waves his hands and poof! It’s turned into water.”
“There’s no way we can make this church work with him screwing around,” said Mark. “Finish him off?”
Everybody nodded, and they drew straws.
“We’ll just say he… ascended,” said Luke.

Unlicensed to kill

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Bond’s license to kill was revoked last year because he shot too many bartenders who stirred his martini.
“I said shaken, dammit!” he’d shout. “Shaken!”
Three warnings later, he was disarmed for the good of mixologists around the world.
“What do I do now?” growled Bond as his trademark Walther PPK was returned to the gun vault.
“Run really fast,” said the controller. “Or call the cops.”
Assigned to spy on Taleban slavelords, Bond lasted seventeen hours in the field. He was last seen dialing 999 on his bowtie cellphone as three midget ninjas carved him into itty bitty pieces.

Observer Twelve

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Observer Twelve kept his seven eyestalks glued to the monitors flicking through signals from Earth, taking notes as interesting things came up.
Four buildings full of Observers were dedicated to keeping tabs on this information-rich corner of the galaxy, a constant source of amusement and concern.
One day, the endless chaos of entertainment, news, sports and sex polarized into panic and desperation.
Then, nothing.
All signals ceased.
Some Observers were reassigned to other units, but most were laid off. Earth had been a rare gold mine of signals.
Ex-Observer Twelve spat and cursed the “Iranians” for ruining a well-paying gig.

Not Quite Columbus’ Day

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You know the story: Columbus sailed the ocean blue and arrived in America with three ships: the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria, right?
What the story leaves out is that he left Spain with hundreds of ships, arriving with only those three.
Where did the rest go?
Well, Ferdinand and Isabella gave him so much money, Columbus could afford a massive armada. He bought so many boats, he would walk from Spain to America on the decks of his ships lined up in a row.
He was also a gambler. Lost all but three of them in cards.

Robots kill robots

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“Robots kill robots,” chanted the robots as they marched, rolled, tumbled, and hopped into the arena.
The crowd roared, thirsty for blood.
In the last three seasons, they got it. Robots had to consist of 50% organic components by weight.
And not just “dead” weight, either. No useless blood like earlier models used. Critical functions had to be wired through the meat and gristle, forcing the engineers to take risks and make difficult choices.
One engineer went so far as to sacrifice his own brain for his creation.
He’s over there, on fire.
Should have used a monkey, poor soul.

Murder Offer

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Usually, door hangers offer pizza or Chinese. Two bucks off, free delivery, fifteen dollars minimum order. That kind of thing.
This wasn’t one of those. It was an offer for discount murders.
They quoted rates for various circumstances. Like security considerations. Chronic health problems. Or they’re pregnant – that kind of thing.
I dialed the number and got another dial tone.
Two minutes later, my phone rings.
“Who needs killing?” asks a voice.
“My neighbor’s dog keeps barking late at night,” I joked.
A week later, I got a bloody collar and the bill.
Funny. I don’t sleep any better.