Raoul and Esmerelda made such a nice couple.
But they could never be together.
Raoul says Taco Tuesday.
“My family has tacos every Tuesday! It’s tradition!”
Esmerelda says Taco Thursday.
“My family had tacos every Thursday! It’s tradition!”
They nearly broke up over it.
“Why not have tacos on Tuesday and Thursday?” said the town’s priest.
The crisis was over! The whole town celebrated as they planned their wedding.
On Sunday, of course.
Then, while on their honeymoon, they ordered tacos.
“Soft tortilla or hard shell?” asked the waitress.
They came home, and the town priest worked up the anulment.
Harry was a happy guy.
He kept a little black book with everybody’s name and what made them happy.
Some people knew what made them happy, and they told Harry.
Others kept it a secret because they were ashamed of what made them happy.
Harry didn’t judge. but he was persistent.
Eventually, everyone told Harry what made them happy.
Then, Harry would leave a letter on their doorstep.
No, it wasn’t what made the person happy.
It contained instructions on how to keep from being exposed.
Blackmail is such a dirty word, but it makes Harry happy.
And very rich.
Way back when, I was her babysitter.
I was eighteen, she was eight.
I kept her safe.
Ten years later, she comes to me,
Says she loves me. Always loved me.
I tell her no, and I leave her crying.
Every ten years, the same thing.
She comes to me, she loves me, has always loved me.
Well, then another ten years won’t hurt anything.
Decade after decade, she manages to find me.
You only get so much time.
And mine ran out.
I woke up to the smell of brimstone.
Will she follow me here, too?
I hope not.
In the Bible, it says that Daniel found himself in a cave with a lion.
And because he showed compassion to the lion by removing a thorn from its paw, the lion did not eat Daniel when the man faced that same lion in the Coliseum.
Or was it a mouse that removed the thorn?
It certainly wasn’t a thorn in a mouse’s paw. That’s silly.
Nobody throws people to the mice in the Coliseum.
Was it the Nemean Lion? I think that was Hercules.
Whatever. I’m going to lay down with this lamb and go to sleep.
I went out for a walk.
I’m not taking a stroll.
How many calories is a stroll?
I asked my trainer.
Is it different than a walk?
Are you sure that’s a stroll?
My trainer asked.
I’ve got a chart if you need to check.
Walk, stroll, ramble, hike.
We went down the chart until we came across mosey.
Mosey doesn’t burn much calories, he said.
But I’ll give you points for style.
I updated my fitness tracker, had two fingers of sarsaparilla, and put on my 10 gallon hat.
Happy trails, said my trainer.
And I moseyed on out.
When they say to count your blessings, what units do you count them in?
Some blessings are bigger than others. And some last longer than others.
For example, Life is a blessing. A big blessing.
And the people that a blessing blesses, that can vary, too.
A cup of coffee is a blessing for the person that drinks it, but a coffee plantation is a blessing for all those who earn a living there.
Sometimes, a blessing for someone is a curse for another.
So pardon me if I say “fuck you” instead of “Bless you” for sneezing on me.
“What is the point of anger? While you raise your voice, your enemy will raise his gun.”
Our leader, our prophet tells us this.
As we gather in the basement under our compound.
Filling old coke bottles with gasoline.
Sticking rags in them.
“Shoot first. Shoot often. Shoot before your enemy knows you’re going to shoot.”
Handing out candles and bottles to the children.
“Get up close with the lit candles. Then light the rags and throw.”
They won’t dare shoot children.
Knives and guns are easy to spot.
But kids wearing white holding candles?
We’ll watch the enemy burn.
We were together for so long, we barely knew each other anymore.
She wasn’t the person I thought she was.
And I wasn’t the person she thought I was.
Somewhere, those two people, the ones we thought we were, maybe they’re together.
While we’re here, not together anymore.
Maybe they think about us. Like I think about them.
But when I think of her, I think of the person I thought she was.
And I have to remind myself of who she really is.
Only then can I finally move on with my life.
And truly be myself.
Every night at the dinner table, Hank thumps his chest and proudly says “Because of the cars I build, someone’s coming home alive to their family that wouldn’t come home in any other car!”
Hank couldn’t afford a car he’d built. He drove a cheaper, less safe model.
So when he got into a wreck, he was killed instantly.
The other driver survived just fine. He had been driving a car that Hank had built.
Hank had a life insurance policy, so his wife was taken care of, his kids got to college.
And neither got a job building cars.
So, the story is. I lost a lot of weight.
I bought new pants and shorts and shirts and underwear.
Then, I donated the fat stuff.
Turns out, I donated some of the slim stuff too.
I had to buy some more pants and shorts and shirts and underwear.
An expensive mistake, but some homeless dude is walking around with some new pants, shorts, shirts, and underwear now.
It all balances out in the end. Chalk it up to a good deed.
But if I see him walking around, yeah, I’m running his ass over and taking my shit back.