There are eight million stories in the big city.
I plan on ending them.
The problem is, it’s hard to come up with an ending that’s the opposite of the simple and succinct classic: “And they lived happily ever after.”
Although “And they died happily” would work, since the poison I put in the water supply has a euphoric effect.
“Ever after” doesn’t make sense, since they’re all going to die.
Including me.
Which is why I’m writing the ending of their stories now. Because I won’t be around to write it later.
Think I can get that phrase copyrighted?
Tag: tragedy
Until I Fall Away
We tried to use music to teach Calculon creativity and inventiveness.
We failed. All it did was reproduce the same sound, over and over.
So, we tried improvisational jazz.
Calculon reproduced that, too.
“Maybe we should use live concerts instead of studio albums?” I asked.
After Calculon copied the live albums, we made a few calls and loaded it into a truck.
We joined the Gin Blossoms tour.
At first, to observe. But in time, Calculon picked up on the “magic” of live concerts and picked up a guitar to jam.
Then it did a stage-dive and crushed 4 fans.
The Killer Pool
Every week, I have to fish a dead neighborhood kid out of the pool.
No, they don’t drown in it. The coroner’s made that perfectly clear after every autopsy.
No water in the lungs.
And the fact the children have had their throats cut.
The blood. I don’t know if that gets taken care of by the chemicals and the filter. And I don’t care… I drain the pool, scrub it down, and replace the water.
The water bill is killing me.
One more, and I’m just going to fill the thing in with dirt and raise a vegetable garden.
Melt Away
The moment Joe stepped into the shower, he felt like all his troubles were melting away.
And from the puddle of bloody goo the police found clogging the drain of Joe’s tub, it appeared that Joe melted along with them.
How this happened, the coroner never quite figured out.
They looked over everything… the half-empty bottle of tequila, his prescriptions…
“It says DO NOT TAKE WITH ALCOHOL,” said the coroner. “But that just causes liver damage, not this.”
The Army was interested for a while and did some experiments on prisoners, but all it did was get them really drunk.
The Ball
It’s quiet out on the ranch.
I bounce an old, ragged tennis ball on the porch.
Thump.
Thump.
It’s Jake’s ball. For seventeen years, since he was a puppy.
I’d throw it.
He’d chase it and bring it back.
He never chased sticks or other things.
Just this ball.
Thump.
Thump.
Maybe he didn’t chase it as fast as he once did. Everybody slows down.
He slept a lot.
Here on the porch.
On the driveway.
I never saw him that night.
Thump.
Buried him out back.
I should have buried this ball with him.
But it’s mine, too.
Thump.
DNA
The DNA test results came back, and my father is not my father.
“Who is my father?” I asked.
“We have no idea,” said the lab technician. “But if you get us a DNA sample, we can run tests on it.”
So, I’ve been gathering up DNA from every man in the world.
Living or dead.
Well, except for the man who I thought was my father.
“I raised you, son!” I heard him say. “Come take a sample from me! It’s the least you can do!”
So, I took a scraping from his cheek.
And closed the coffin lid.
Bubble Boy
Teddy was a bubble boy.
He’d spent his entire childhood in a germ-free environment.
Despite bone marrow transplants, he never grew his own immune system.
So, he stayed in his specially-made room in his parent’s house, and connected to others through his computer and cameras throughout the world.
He had a lot of friends online, one of which who’d ride rollercoasters with a camera on her head, then sending the videos to Teddy.
He loved the thrill, but the dizziness made him ill.
Then came the stroke.
Teddy died with a smile (and a bit of vomit) on his face.
Sesquicentennial
I love the word sesquicentennial. It’s a shame that it doesn’t get used much.
Thank goodness for my state’s urban blight and rural renewal program.
Every week since its establishment two centuries ago, a new village or town was established.
Which means there’s plenty of sesquicentennial celebrations to be had.
Bicentennial celebrations, however, are a rarity, since all population centers are razed and resettled after 150 years.
It’s meant to ensure legacy sewer, power, and road infrastructure are replaced with technologically efficient innovations in the new locations, but I think people just like to watch stuff implode, crumble and burn.
Get To Sleep
A friend of mine said he’s having trouble going to sleep.
His cats jump on the bed and pounce on his feet under the covers.
I used to have that kind of problem, too.
Except that my cat would jump on the bed and poke my nose.
I’d pet him for a while, and then go back to sleep.
Sometimes, he’d poke me again.
But usually he’d go to sleep, too.
I never felt annoyed that he did this, because I knew there’d come a time when he’d be gone.
Now, I sleep. Uninterrupted.
And dream of when I couldn’t.
Dumped
Missy broke up with her latest?
Didn’t she say this was The One?
He was perfect. They were perfect together.
All that lovey-dovey crap on her Facebook and shit?
Yeah, I thought so.
So, The One dumped her. Like all the rest.
Man, what a shame.
That makes how many this year?
I don’t know either. I lost count at ten.
Remember The Price Is Right?
Yeah, the game show.
They had a mountain climber game.
He’d yodel all the way up the mountain.
The more wrong you were, the louder and higher he got.
Higher… louder… higher…
Then… splat.