Tag: silly

Thirtysomething

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I remember turning thirty. It was a special time.
When people asked me how old I was, I said “Thirtysomething.”
People asked me what something meant. I’d reply “zero.”
Then I’d be asked “Shouldn’t you say ‘Thirtynothing’ instead of ‘Thirtysomething’ ?”
And I’d say “If silence can speak louder than words, nothing can be something.”
If I played tennis, I’d probably have said “Thirty – love.”
But I don’t. So I didn’t say it.
Now that I think of it, I never did watch that “Thirtysomething” show.
When I turn forty, I’ll also be thirtysomething. Something being ten, of course.

Loyalty

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When Oscar needed to travel, he stuffed himself into a crate and had himself shipped.
He didn’t mind the cramped quarters. He was a master of Yoga and liked the challenge.
His secretary pled for him to travel business class, but he insisted on the crate.
One day, the crate vanished. The cargo company said it was lost. The databases drew a total blank.
Despite top-down searches of every warehouse, Oscar never reappeared.
His secretary refused to give up, searching for years.
She stuffed herself into a crate, shipped herself, and vanished, too.
Maybe they’re together somewhere?
I hope so.

Piperkitty

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Piper has a long, pretty tail.
When she gets mad, she growls and swats at it. I suppose this is better than her swatting and attacking the other cats. Or me.
If she’s about to pounce on something, she wiggles it before she leaps.
She sticks it in her mouth and walks in circles when she wants attention.
She’ll do this on top of the fence every so often, even if it is raining.
As I type this story, Piper is sitting on the back of my chair, gently tickling my ear with her tail.
Tails are very useful things.

Dammit

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Old wives tales say The Moon is made from green cheese. Apollo missions proved otherwise: rocks and dust.
But it turns out that there’s really one moon out there made from green cheese. We were out by Saturn,farming ions in the ring bands, when we lost control and crash landed on it.
Got my picture taken with my thermal underwear on a post, claiming it in the name of Queen Elizabeth.
Astronomer’s Guild gave it a serial number. I wanted to name it Dammit. Because that what we said when we crashed.
Among other things. But Dammit’s fine by me.

Remedy or Cause?

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“Where’s my icepack?” shouted Alice.
Elmo pulled the tray from the freezer, bent it over the ice bucket, and waited for the cubes to fall out.
Nothing.
He scratched his head and smirked.
“Maybe they’re not clean?” he said.
Elmo ran the trays under the faucet, then poured them out and wiped them down with a kitchen towel.
He smiled as he stuck them back in the freezer.
“Where’s my icepack?” shouted Alice. “This migraine is killing me!”
“I’m still working on it!” shouted Elmo back, happily. “And don’t you worry – that ice is going to be really clean!”

hero

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I never understood that superhero, the one who walked out of an atomic explosion and had flames on his head. Flamehead Guy or Atomic Firehead or something like that.
“Help, Atomic Flamehead Guy!” someone would shout. And he’d fly to rescue them.
Do you think he lit cigarettes with his head? Or made s’mores with it?
If I had a flaming head, I would.
I thought he was cool. I wanted to be him for Halloween, but my mother stopped me before I could light this Sterno can I glued to my head.
What? She’s gone?
Light me up, dude!

Fishtank

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Every so often, Susan filled the fish tank with Jell-O.
Bob, not one for confrontation, pretended not to notice.
“Notice anything different?” asked Susan.
“You… cut your hair?” said Bob. “I like it that way.”
“No…”
“Ah, okay,” said Bob. “Well, I still like it that way.”
Then Susan would scowl and stomp off.
Bob couldn’t remember when they got the fish tank, nor could he recall ever owning fish.
He looked through their wedding book: silverware… plates…guns… a dining table…
No fish tank.
The next morning, the Jell-O was gone.
Bob never asked where it went.
Better that way.

The Flowers

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No matter how hard Frederick tried to keep them from covering his hill, the flowers always managed to grow.
The first message they spelled was “FREDERICK SUCKS.”
Frederick thought it was a prank, so he tore up the flowers and watched the hill.
When he woke the next morning, the flowers returned: “FREDERICK KILLED JENNY.”
Frederick panicked. “Demons!” he shouted.
Frederick tore up the flowers again, and hired some locals to guard the hill in shifts in case he fell asleep.
Which, of course, he did.
“Now he’s paying us,” said a guard. “Sweet. So, what shall we spell now?”

You’re Not Kong

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The gigantic squid crawled through the streets of Manhattan, dragging a bored blonde beauty in one of its slimy tentacles.
“It just isn’t the same,” she said. “It’s nothing personal, it’s just me.”
The gigantic squid stopped and clacked its beak.
“I don’t have anything against squid in particular,” said the woman. “I admire your radial symmetry and your color-shifting skills. But it’s just that ever since I had that little fling with Kong, I just can’t see myself with anything different than a gigantic simian.”
She and the gigantic squid parted ways. They wrote for a while, then nothing.

Housebroken

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Frosty the snowman told his wife Krystal that he didn’t want a dog.
Krystal insisted. “We need him for security,” she said.
“Dogs are messy things,” said Frosty. “And they make snow yellow.”
Frosty lost. They got the dog.
“Stupid dog,” mumbled Frosty.
Frosty tried to housebreak the thing, but it kept falling asleep in front of the fireplace and melting all over the carpet.
“Your dog wet the carpet again,” said Krystal.
“My dog?”
Frosty sighed, held up one of the dog’s coal eyes, and pointed it at the wet spot.
“Look what you did!” shouted Frosty. “Bad doggy!”