Tag: silly

Schwein in einem Beutel

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Gerhard looked around the auction house to see if anyone would outbid him.
Once… twice… sold!
He remembered scaling The Wall and running through No Man’s Land to freedom forty years ago to seek his fortune.
He wondered if this section was the exact one he leapt over all those years ago.
Did it matter?
It was when the truck unloaded his prize and he saw the aluminum coathooks and permanent marker scribblings that he realized his mistake: he’d been bidding on the Wall from Berlin’s, a recently-demolished nightclub in SoHo, as opposed to a piece of the Berlin Wall.

Pee Wee’s Hellhouse

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Pee Wee Herman always said “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Decades past his prime, Paul Reubens looked in the mirror and agreed.
Behind him, talons clacked on the coffee table. “So, Reubens,” said the Devil. “Do you agree to my terms?”
The contract was signed, and his youth was restored.
“Now I can finally stage my comeback! HAH!” shouted Paul, prancing happily in a circle. “Wait – what do you get out of this, Satan?”
“I can think of no worse torment for humanity than you on the airwaves,” said Satan.
And then he headed for Pauly Shore’s home.

Laundry Thieves

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I had a box of detergent, a hike from my dorm room to the laundry center, and not enough sense to get a smaller, lighter container for carrying the stuff.
But whenever I left the box in there, half of it would mysteriously vanish.
Damn thieves.
So I added instant mashed potato flakes to the detergent and left it in the laundry room.
Hours later, everybody in there’s yelling obscenities.
The room smells like potatoes. Gloppy clothes everywhere.
“Be grateful,” I said, taking my clothes out of the dryer. “In Saudi Arabia, they cut thieves’ hands off.”
I never did have to resort to the gravy mix.

Coaster Fu

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Trevor McTavish can hit anybody in the pub with a coaster.
With one flick of his wrist, you’re tagged.
The drunker he is, the sharper the coaster’s edge.
Are you in hiding in the toilet? Think he can’t hook it through the door and around the wall?
Go ahead. Say something nasty about his mother. I dare you.
Some say he learned this skill from a monastery of coaster-tossing acolytes. Others say military scientists gave him telekenetic powers.
Only Trevor McTavish and I know the truth, and I’m not telling.
No. Really. I don’t want to lose my other eye.

Battery

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The bald black dude tells me that humanity is enslaved by machines and that we are nothing but batteries to them.
He holds up a battery, frowning.
“What?” I ask. “I’m just a double-A battery? Why can’t they just buy one from the store?”
The bald dude shakes his head. “You’re not getting the point.”
“What about a midget?” I ask. “Are they hearing aid battery sized?”
“Wait,” said the dude. “Just wait a second, okay?”
“Is this why there aren’t A or B batteries?” I ask.
He leaps into the air samurai style and kicks me in the head.

The Locker

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The custodian at the gym heard the too-familiar banging and yelling from the locker room.
“Not again,” he groaned.
He went to his tool chest, pulled out the bolt cutters, and headed to Davey Jones’ Locker.
Davey Jones was pounding on the door, calling the combination lock a backstabbin’ scurvy dog.
“Please stop that, Mr. Jones,” said the custodian. “I’m just going to have to bend all that metal back.”
The custodian snipped off the padlock and opened the locker. “Have you ever thought about just using a lock with a key?” he said.
At least he tipped in gold.

Dancing Pinhead

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Gabriel landed at Heaven’s gates and screamed with agony, tucking into a ball and clutching his shredded, bloody sandals.
“So, did you find out how many of you can dance on the head of a pin?” asked Jesus.
“The head of a pin?” groaned Gabriel. “Wait… that’s the round flat part of it, right? And not the sharp pointy end?”
“You’re going to need new sandals, aren’t you?” Jesus sighed.
Gabriel crawled to the Quartermaster.
Jesus pulled out God’s Big Ledger Of Mysteries, wrote “It takes two to tango” in it by Angels Dancing On Pinhead, and snapped it shut.

The Bullet in the Bible

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bang*
Bucktooth Billy lay on his back in the dusty street.
He sat up and felt his chest.
No blood. His Bible had stopped the bullet.
Billy held it up, laughing.
“Holy shit!” he shouted. “Lucky Bible! Jesus has saved me!”
The gunslinger walked up to Billy and looked at the bullet-pierced Bible.
“So He has,” said the scowling figure. “Right up to Deuteronomy.”
“It’s a miracle!” shouted Billy. “I am reborn! I will fight no more and stand at the right side of The Lord!”
“Here,” said the gunslinger. “Let me help.”
The gunslinger shot Billy in the head.

Prom Coup

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For once, everything went according to plan.
We waited for the Prom King and Queen to finish their dance before rising up and overthrowing them.
Aside from Greenbaum’s nosebleed, it was a bloodless coup.
Under our regime, there’d be spiked punch. There’d be better tunes. There’d be limos for everyone.
The First Citizen’s Party Party promised lots and delivered little. The disappointed partygoers wanted to hold elections, but we tried to keep power.
From exile, the King and Queen maneuvered their loyalists against us.
The battle was fought well, but lost. They took their thrones once more, and we danced.

Eden

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Ever since those humans were kicked out, it’s been pretty quiet back here in the Garden of Eden.
I’m the Gardener. I take care of the Garden.
Every day, I do an inventory of all the animals, just to make sure none are missing. They never do, but it doesn’t hurt to check.
Someone could get eaten by accident. Somehow.
Well, not really. There’s no need to eat here. Not even plants. Just soak up sunshine and dream all day long in perfect eternity.
Don’t tell God, but every now and then I punch a giraffe. Just for fuck’s sake.