When Marilyn sang that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, she wasn’t talking about the precious stone.
She was actually talking about Diamonds. Capital D.
The Diamond Brothers, Sven and Olaf.
Oh, sure, you saw Marilyn in the paper with Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller, and then there were the rumors about those damned Kennedys, but that was nothing compared to things Marilyn did the Diamonds.
What? Were they a threesome?
No.
They did housework for her. Some heavy lifting, killing nasty spiders.
Very dependable, but lousy at reading prescription labels.
They quietly went home to Sweden after the funeral.
Tag: tragedy
Forget Things
Hi. I’m sorry. I forget things. More things every day.
I know this because I write things down.
“Write things down,” said Rose.
I have that on my writing pad on the top.
Who’s Rose?
She’s the one who told me to write things down. It says so right here.
She also told me to write down “Never be afraid” and “Do what people tell you.”
And “Write things down.”
What is my name?
I don’t know.
Look at my wrist?
There’s a tattoo.
A rose.
Me?
I should write that down.
Before I…
Hi. I’m sorry. I forget things.
Drug Snugglers
Over the holidays, veteran television news anchors get the night off, and backup anchors cover their shifts
Sometimes, those backup anchors call in sick so they don’t have to read bullshit holiday stories or horrid tragedies like deadly house fires.
Oh, just stick a reporter up there. They can read a prompter, right?
I remember one that said the cops busted a ring of drug snugglers.
We gave him a huge teddybear and wrote DRUGS on its shirt.
The next day, the reporter was found dead.
Not suicide. Poisoned from tearing open the bear and trying to smoke the stuffing.
Unhappy New Year
Due to a logistical error, the Baby New Year ended up in the womb of a crack-smoking teen runaway in Boise, Idaho, and he was born two months premature.
It caught the world completely off guard.
Not only did everything really suck for a while as the unhealthy year struggled to survive inside its incubator, but companies shed hundreds of thousands of jobs because the whole Christmas shopping season was lost.
“We’ll make Valentine’s Day the big shopping day!” they said, but there’s only so many chocolates and edible panties the market can bear.
Here’s hoping next year’s better, friends.
Last Night On The Roof
Tonight, a cold December’s night on a New Jersey rooftop, looking out over the Hudson… boats waiting for the fireworks, to ring out the old year and bring in the new.
We’re not in the Square this year. Vinnie and Bobby said it was a pain in the ass getting into the city and pushing my wheelchair around the crowds.
So, blind stinking drunk, they hauled me up six flights of stairs.
I check my watch.
3… 2… 1… happy new year!
Wake up, guys. Wake up.
Happy new year.
They’re passed out. Snoring.
Shivering, cursing, I yell for help.
Resolutions List
I look back at last year’s resolutions and wince.
Not a single one accomplished.
Not a single one done.
So, I scratch out the year and write the next one above it.
Just like I did last year.
And the year before.
I guess I’d better update the actual list.
Weight loss. Let’s see.
I scratch out “20” and put in “40.”
Under “Visit Grandma” I change “At the hospital” to “At the cemetery.”
I scratch out “Monthly” and write “On her birthday.”
Wait. When’s her birthday?
I scratch it out again.
Heck, she was senile. She couldn’t remember either.
Ventilator
It was Christmas Eve. Grandma was in the hospital, so we brought the tree, presents and whole family to her room.
She’d had a stroke. A bad one.
But her living will told us to spare no effort, so there was the ventilator, pumping away, hiss hiss hiss.
It was sad.
That didn’t stop us, though. We sang Christmas carols, told stories.
“Let’s light the tree,” I said.
And I looked for an outlet.
Hrm. All full.
I pulled out what I thought was the lamp, plugged in the tree.
Everyone sang O Christmas Tree, and the ventilator went silent.
We Wish You
I don’t know who was more shocked… me or the genie that came out of the rusty hurricane lamp I rubbed.
He started talking about wishes when the doorbell rang.
“It’s Christmas,” I said. “Fucking carolers, I bet.”
We went upstairs, down the hall, and opened the door.
Yup. Fucking carolers!
“We wish you a Merry Christmas!
We wish you a Merry Christmas!
We wish you a Merry Christmas!”
I started to mumble something.
Genie clapped his hands together.
And then the carolers burst into flames and died.
“So, what’s wish number two?”
I wasted a wish on…
Fucking carolers!
A man of many hats
Billy and Willy are alike, identical to their bellybuttons.
But they are not rich. In fact, they’re quite poor.
(And somewhat mad.)
Come Christmas time, each puts his hat in a gift box and sticks it under the tree.
They exchange gifts this way every year at Christmas.
Year after year, using the same box, same bow and ribbon.
Billy and Willy open their gift box together, smile widely, and say “It’s exactly what I need!” in chorus.
They died on the same day, were buried in the same coffin.
With the one hat on William’s head, for all eternity.
Trap
The adventuring party needed a thief to clear traps, but all that was available was a beginner named Lucky Lightfingers.
He wasn’t very lucky, though, and the priest grumbled displeasure at Lucky’s incompetence as he healed up the others.
The dwarf and the barbarian were tired of hauling each other out of pits full of spikes, too.
So, they clubbed the thief dead, and the priest raised him as a zombie.
For the rest of the dungeon, they ordered Lucky to set off tripwires, pressure-plates, and traps on every treasure chest.
They gave his share to his next of kin.