I took you out to the ballgame and bought peanuts and Cracker Jack.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “You know what peanuts do to you.”
You didn’t even look up from your program. “I left the Epipen at home. I don’t care if I ever get back.”
So, I handed you the peanuts.
The announcer asked everyone to please rise for the national anthem, but I could tell from your blue skin and the foam at the corner of your mouth that the convulsions weren’t far off.
After the third, I felt your wrist. No pulse.
“PLAY BALL!”
Tag: sick
The Lame Of Thrones
I hear a lot of hype regarding this Game Of Thrones television show, but I don’t have much interest in it.
I mean, how many games can you play with thrones, anyway?
The first one that comes to mind is Musical Thrones.
(It’s like Musical Chairs, but with thrones.)
I can’t see how much fun that would be.
I mean, the king sits in his throne, the queen sits in hers. They win.
And if anybody else tries to sit in their thrones, they get their head cut off.
If I want to watch people getting beheaded, I’ll watch Al-Jazeerah.
Irony Rocks
The arts and crafts store sells stones engraved with words:
Welcome
Hope
Love
They’re meant to be placed in gardens.
But I like to put them in a sack, wait until midnight, and hurl them through noisy and rude neighbors’ windows.
The house full of fratboys, cranking their speakers every goddamned night.
The paperboy who comes around every week trying to sell me a subscription that I don’t want.
The jerks who never mow their lawn.
The ones with the dog that shits in my yard.
And, of course, my own window.
(So they don’t think it’s me doing it.)
False Witness
The Famous Reverend Blake is never seen in public without his twin bodyguards.
And his bodyguards are never seen without their white plastic masks.
Well, sometimes, they are. When they take their turn as Reverend Blake.
They’re actually identical triplets, changing roles when convenient.
This is useful for Blake’s “24 Hours Of Jesus” marathon sermons.
Or, during his weekly sermons at his sprawling megachurch, an alibi for his perverted obsessions in the day care center.
Twenty thousand loyal followers saw Blake up there preaching.
There’s no way he could have been down there.
Bearing false witness is a sin, child.
Born into the theater
I was born into the theater.
Literally. My mother, the famous actress, scored a year-long run in Oklahoma! via that infamous casting couch.
Nine months in, she still refused to give up the spotlight to her understudy.
The costume girl eventually went insane.
During the matinee, her water broke in Act 2, but she didn’t miss a line.
She concealed contractions with howls of laughter and screams of joy.
The curtain fell, I was born, and she was holding me to her breast through four curtain calls.
If you think that’s bad, that bastard director added it to the script!
Payout
Recently, a fucked-up soldier murdered 16 Afghans in the field.
Some were women. Some were children.
The government paid the survivors fifty thousand dollars for each dead relative.
There are twenty-nine million Afghans.
Do the math, and you come up with a trillion and a half dollars payout if we killed them all.
Then, I realized, that you wouldn’t have to pay a dime if we killed them all. Because there’d be nobody left to pay.
Instead, I’m taking off my shoes and my belt to get on a fucking plane.
While this minimum-wage moron wants to fondle my balls.
Deli
When I was little, I was impressed with the variety of meats and cheeses behind the glass at the deli counter in the grocery store.
My mother would make her selections and the attendant would heave up huge chubs to the slicer, where they’d slide across the whirling blade, leaving a stack of whatever to be weighed and wrapped.
Now, pretty much everything is pre-sliced and packaged for sale, but now and then I insist on going to the counter in the hopes they’ll accidentally hack their hand off.
Because nobody ever posts videos of that happening at the factory.
Tattoo
Long ago, I got so drunk, I woke up with a new tattoo.
It was a devil wrapped around an anchor, surrounded by flames.
I got it on my right arm, and when I flexed my muscles, the devil wiggled his tongue and the flames flared up around him.
However, last night, I got so drunk, I lost my tattoo.
And the arm it was on.
The surgeons said there was no hope of reattaching it. Just too mangled up, so I’m going to be fitted with a prosthetic arm.
Maybe I’ll think about getting the tattoo printed on it.
Elegantly
Lying in his hospital bed, Albert Einstein, the smartest man in the world, was dying.
He coughed, smiled and told the doctors “I want to go when I want. It is tasteless to prolong life artificially. I have done my share, it is time to go. I will do it elegantly.”
They nodded respectfully and left the room.
The next morning, he was dead.
Nobody knows Albert Einstein’s last words because he spoke them in German, but the nurse at his bedside only spoke English.
However, I suspect he was saying “Get that pillow off of my face, you bitch!”
Pageant
When I was in school, a teacher thought it would look cool to have crepe paper ribbons tied to our wrists for the Thanksgiving Pageant.
As we moved our arms for the song, the ribbons crinkled and waved.
Some kids tripped over them. Others got behind other kids and tried to strangle them.
Because they were crepe paper, they’d snap, so no kids got hurt when they tripped, and no kids ended up strangled.
The teacher, on the other hand, was found hanging from their belt in the bathroom.
For Christmas Pageant, the substitute just had us sing Jingle Bells.