The first thing that Dr. Foster was told when he first joined the Royal Observatory Museum’s staff was to describe his job as researching and maintain historical timepieces.
“People crack jokes when we say horology, and they never take us seriously,” said the museum’s director.
“When I say I’m the director of a horology institute, they ask me if that makes me a pimpologist.”
The director winked, pressed a button, and twenty beautiful women in various states of undress walked into the room.
“I wind everybody else’s watch all day long,” he said. “So why not have them wind mine?”
Tag: society
The Wrong Saint
We needed to dump this house. Quickly.
But the market’s a mess, and everybody’s low-balling us.
Someone told me that burying a statue of St. Joseph in the yard will speed the sale of a home.
So, I went to a Christian bookstore and bought a statue.
It wasn’t Joseph, though. It was Saint Winefride, the patron of payroll clerks.
At first, I barely noticed them, but after a week it became difficult to mow the lawn while navigating the colony of accountants camping out on the grass.
But, in the end, one of them offered to buy the house.
Measurement
I worked for a television station when the Internet took off.
I demonstrated streaming video to a salesperson, and then showed them the statistics file.
The salesperson recoiled in horror, like a vampire faced with a cross made out of garlic.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The exact figures?” they asked. “No corrections?”
“Exact,” I said. “Just like Nielsen numbers.”
“But Nielsen corrects those numbers,” she said.
“Corrects?” I asked.
“Fudges,” she admitted. “If the advertisers knew the real numbers, they’d freak out.”
“So did you. Why do we use them if they’re wrong?”
“Because they’re the wrong we agree on.”
A million kroner
Some girls strip to pay for college, but Candy did it the other way around.
Growing up, she wasn’t much to look at, so she put everything into learning, studying and getting good grades.
She graduated early at the top of her class, and she burned through college, grad school, and her PhD like an academic wildfire.
There wasn’t an academic journal published without a research paper by her, and it didn’t take long before she earned her Nobel Prize.
“Thank you,” she said, and she called a plastic surgeon.
She looks like a million kroner now.
Brains and body.
Turning The Knife
The priestess didn’t struggle or fight when I dragged her to the river and shoved her head under.
The water was so clear, her face so calm and her eyes staring back into mine.
So calm.
I let go of her, but she didn’t get up. She stayed under the water.
I pulled her up and back to the shore, our clothes soaking wet.
“How did you stay so calm?” I said.
That was when she drew a dagger from under her cloak and stabbed me in the chest.
“I was never in any danger,” she said, turning the knife.
Grandchildren
Over and over, politicians keep saying that if we continue deficit spending and piling up debt, we’ll be leaving this financial burden to our grandchildren.
I always laugh, because I don’t have children, so I’ll never have grandchildren.
What do I care if we pile up mountains of debt, right?
That’s when I heard a knock on the door.
Through the peephole, I saw a crowd of children with torches and pitchforks.
I turned out the lights, barred the door, and got out the shotgun.
So what if they’re shouting “Trick Or Treat!” It’s all a trick!
Call the police!
Bacon To Space
I read somewhere that if took all the bacon that Americans eat and laid it end-to-end, it would stretch to the moon and back seven times.
Which kinda pissed me off, because with the space program in such shambles, we could just climb that stack of bacon to the moon.
Instead, we eat it.
Oh, sure, it’s delicious, but if given the choice, I think people would give up their bacon so we could get to the moon.
Or, at least, give up some of it.
A seventh. Or two sevenths, so we’ve got a stack to climb down with.
Fair Trade
This morning, I asked the girl at the coffeeshop what “Fair Trade” coffee means.
She had no idea.
So, I asked her what “Unfair Trade” coffee would be.
“Oh, that’s easy,” she said. “The coffee distributor makes the grower’s negotiator stay at the airport in a room next to the ice machine so they can’t get any sleep. Then, they give them the sucky chair in the conference room, the one with broken springs and not enough padding. Oh, and they offer them sodas and coffee, but the bathroom door’s locked when they need it.”
I smiled… and ordered tea.
Bowling
Martin was from one of those frozen European countries.
Finland?
Denmark?
Sweden?
Fuck if I can remember. I was nine. It was a long time ago.
What I do remember was that the teachers encouraged us to expose him to culture and that kind of crap.
So, we took him bowling.
“Knock down the pins with the ball,” I said to Martin.
He grinned, ran down the lane, and swung the ball like a wrecking ball.
“I go on strike!” he shouted, and went to the next lane… and the next one…
We got thrown out.
Martin kept the shoes.
The Only Truly Innocent
Once a year, I get called up for jury duty, and I always get tossed because the defense and state agree I’m a whack-job who thinks for himself.
The judge calls it “Talk And Walk.”
And, boy, can I talk.
I used to celebrate my freedom by heading to Cabo’s bar and grill for a margarita and a fish taco, but Cabo’s closed down last year.
And sitting six hours on a hard bench really hurt my back.
I limp to the park, put down a pile of treats, and watch the feral cats eat.
The only truly innocent Downtown.