The Trinity Church was torn down ten years ago. After years of serving Downtown, the commuters went to their suburban home churches while the pews collected up the homeless and drug addicts, who stripped the place bare to sell for more drugs and booze.
The church’s parking lot is still there, though, as a private contract lot, and it’s always full. There’s even a car washing valet and a mechanic for doing oil changes and other simple little maintenance tasks.
And the old priest, who walks from row to row during the day, blessing the cars, wishing them safe travels.
Tag: society
Jacked Up
Whenever a famous artist dies, the price of their work goes up.
The obvious example is a painting at auction.
It also applies to famous musicians who die suddenly.
I’m not talking about some Best Of album or unreleased studio material that gets rushed out and released out after they die.
I’m talking about the existing albums out there on the iTunes and Amazon marketplaces.
As people rush to download their favorite tracks to remember them, the companies quietly bump the price up from 99 cents to a buck twenty-nine.
Thirty pieces of copper for the modern-age Judases of Music.
That’s Absurd
What if maple trees used our blood to make a syrup for their pancakes?
That’s absurd. Maple trees don’t eat pancakes.
What if pigs used our skin to make a ball to play games with?
That’s absurd. Pigs don’t play football.
What if elephants used our teeth to make billiard balls.
That’s absurd. Elephants don’t play pool.
Or so I thought.
I watched the elephant chalk his cue and run the table on a young punk.
The kid put down another hundred. And lost it just as quickly.
The elephant pointed his cue at me.
“No thanks, shark,” I said.
The Spies
The final test for spy training is passing a test conducted in one of our own cities.
However, due to printing mistake, the trainees were given mission parameters meant to go to a counter-insurgency team in Syria.
A rash of political assassinations struck Memphis, and the agency tried to pull their trainees out before they did more damage.
The orders state “NO EXTRACTIONS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.”
And the students killed the teachers sent to collect them.
If there’s a bright side to this, Memphis’ local government runs much better now. No corruption at all.
But Syria? Yeah, they’re still fucked.
Day
Jimmy’s a really annoying guy.
How annoying?
Well, he calls Thanksgiving “Turkey Day.”
And calls birthdays “Cake Days.”
And Easter ends up “Bunny Day.”
“Shouldn’t that be Candy Day or Basket Day?” I ask him.
“No, because people confuse that with Halloween.”
Which he doesn’t call “Candy Day” or “Basket Day.”
He calls Halloween “Pumpkin Day.”
When his mother died, I asked him if he called it “Casket Day.”
He looked me in absolute horror. “Oh my God no! How could you say such a thing?”
“I’m sorry for being so insensitive,” I said. “I guess you had her cremated.”
Register
After my wife’s death, I was cleaning the kitchen cabinets in my Chicago apartment, I came across a small container of bouillon cubes.
The label said they were 18 years old.
This means they’re old enough to get a driver’s license, even though they probably wouldn’t pass the driving or vision tests.
And, being eighteen, they could also serve in the military, but I don’t think the military is openly recruiting potentially toxic substances.
But they could register to vote, as long as they register as a Democrat.
Right after they register my dead wife to vote, too.
Ah, Chicago.
Diction
September 19 is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.
All across the world, people say things like “Yarrrrr!” and “Avast, ye scurvy dogs!” and “Me hearties!” and silly pirate-speak phrases like that.
Especially to pirates they meet on that day.
Pirates don’t find this amusing.
It’s like walking up to someone from Australia and saying “Throw another shrimp on the Barbie!”
So when a pirate draws his cutlass and shouts “I’ll have ye guts fer garters!” the proper response is not to applaud at their impressive diction, but to run like hell.
Although, to be honest, pirates rarely wear garters.
Meet the Neighbors
My wife and I tend to keep to ourselves when we’re not working, so we don’t really know the neighbors in our apartment complex all that well.
Sometimes, we hear them late at night, playing the guitar. Or shouting.
So, it was a relief when we saw some guys emptying out the apartment next door into a truck.
“Moving out?” I asked.
“Yup,” said a guy.
The next day, the doorbell rang.
It was the police.
“Moving out? Those were guys robbing the place. Don’t you know your neighbors?”
An angry couple stood behind them.
I waved. “Now I do.”
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.)
Fuss
It was another quiet day at the library, right?
Wrong.
An old couple burst in through the front door, fussing and arguing with each other loudly.
Then, the old woman grabbed the gigantic dictionary off of the reference desk, opened it to the last page, and RIPPPPPPPPPPPP! tore it out.
Sticking it in her purse, she repeated this with all the other dictionaries, and then stormed out of the building.
The old man stuck some cash into my hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Here’s some money for the damage.”
“Why?” I asked.
“She always insists on having the last word.”