A woman filed a complaint against the restaurant because we asked her not to breast-feed her baby outside of the bathroom.
After doing a little research, we found out that she was a woman’s rights activist who had a history of filing complaints like these.
A while back, she’d had breast cancer and a double radical mastectomy, and after the reconstructive surgery her nipples were well-made but completely nonfunctional tattoos.
But even odder was that she didn’t actually have a baby. She used a lifelike doll that she carried around.
We set up a quiet table in the back anyway.
Tag: dirty
The Auctioneer
The man
With the sexiest voice
In the world
Was as an auctioneer
And he’d auction horses
And houses
And cars
And other things people didn’t want
Or need anymore
But his commissions weren’t
All that good
Because his voice was so sexy
Instead of raising their hands
To place their bids
People had their hands
Elsewhere
(He didn’t want to think what they’d do
With auction paddles)
So instead of watching
For people to
Raise their hands
He’d listen for them to raise their voices
In climax
He’d count that as a bid
Coming once
Coming twice
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh… sold!
Sting
Unlike you,
Bees have the courtesy to
Disembowel themselves
and die
when they sting someone.
The stinger rips out their guts
To pump in venom.
And unlike you,
Bees
Are peaceful,
And only sting when threatened.
You’re more like…
A wasp?
A hornet?
No.
They are hunters.
Predators.
Feeding their young.
Not their sad, pathetic ego.
You’re soulless
Mindless,
Like a…
Jellyfish.
A thousand jellyfish.
A gelatinous,
Rubbery
Cloud
Of slime and pain.
Swimming away
As fast as I can
Stung!
On my ankle!
On my arm!
On my neck!
Swimming harder
Crawling up the sand.
Screaming curses.
Crawling…
Free!
Sighting
For centuries, people have claimed to have seen the Virgin Mary in various caves and grottos, and pilgrims seek guidance and healing in those places.
To this day, you’ll hear about a cheese sandwich or a piece of driftwood. A water stain in the ceiling of some shithole apartment.
So, imagine my surprise that during my colonoscopy, I’m watching the monitor and the doctor goes “HOLY CRAP!” the same time I do.
Yep. The Virgin Mary. Up my ass.
“Oh that’s where that statue went,” I said.
I promise I’ll wash it before I put it back on the dashboard.
Evil Cloud
A hum, an evil cloud of acrid temptation spreads across the office floor, from desk to desk it is sucked in by its unwitting victims, smothering them with the irresistible hungry urge… hunger… want…
“Who the fuck made microwave popcorn, dammit?” growls my scruffy hipster cube-mate Sherman. “That shit’s worse than Tina’s perfume.”
Or Sherman’s aftershave, I don’t say. Smells like a sweaty gun range.
DING! The microwave is done. The sound of the door opening, a rip.
The air handlers will kick in and dissipate this horrid clou-
The microwave door closes. The hum returns.
Damn it! Another bag!
Rover
In a fight between a gigantic robot monster and my dog, I’d be rooting for my dog, but don’t tell him that I bet on the gigantic robot monster.
I mean, yeah, that’s cold, not to bet on your dog, but he doesn’t need to know that I bet against him.
Besides, he’s just a fucking dog. He doesn’t know shit about money and gambling and stuff like that.
Does he have a job?
Does he have health insurance?
No.
And we can always get another dog.
Now shut up and root for… what’s his name again?
Right. GO ROVER!
Outhouse
The biggest problem with all-powerful beings is that they tend to be immortal, too.
And immortal beings lack the same sense of urgency that mortal beings have.
So, yes, your Uncle Stan may be trapped under a collapsed outhouse, but the odds of Hrathnor The Mighty answering your prayers promptly are almost exactly zero.
To Hrathnor, time is meaningless. He’s infinitely patient. Why rush?
However, if he needs to take a dump, and the only outhouse is collapsed on your Uncle Stan, yeah, he’ll do something.
Just hope he rescues your uncle before magically repairing the outhouse and using it.
Swami
I will never forget the day I went to my favorite Italian restaurant, sat down at my usual table, and a group of Indian swamis came in.
George the Waiter sat them at a table and brought out a large bowl of spaghetti.
Each in turn took out his recorder, played, and a spaghetti strand would rise from the bowl to the ceiling in a slender rope.
Over and over, the swamis made the spaghetti rise up.
I called over George, and said “Wow, isn’t that amazing?”
George grumbled. “Sure, it is, but those cheap bastards don’t tip for shit.”
Pockets
No matter how many times I check, I’m always leaving something in my pockets that ends up in the laundry.
I’ve destroyed four pairs of expensive noise-cancelling headphones in the past year that way.
The signatures on my credit cards are all worn off, while any paper money ends up laid out on paper towels and pressed by an unabridged dictionary.
Every load ends up with a frosting of wet shredded kleenex.
Cigarettes… bubblegum… chocolate bars…
My pockets were a goopy, sloppy mess.
But not anymore.
I moved to a nudist colony, and I never have that problem ever again.
Hasten
Hasten your step, child, for we are in Dragon Country.
You’ve heard the tales of fire-breathing dragons, yes?
Well, they’re extinct. Knights hunted them down to the last.
Now that there are no more dragons to hunt, they sell dragon insurance.
No, not insurance to dragons. They’re extinct, remember?
They’re selling insurance to travelers like us. If we’re attacked by dragons.
Yes, I know there’s no dragons to attack us. But knights put on dragon costumes and attack travelers.
You’d think knights wouldn’t pull that kind of crap, but deep down, they’re assholes.
Shhhhhhhh! I hear it too!
Hurry up!