Tag: dirty

The Prayer Flags

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Atisha Cho was a Tibetan stripper who’s routine involved the judicious use and slow removal of strings of prayer flags.
As she peeled away the blue flags, the skies darkened.
As she peeled away the white flags, the wind ran through her hair.
As she peeled away the red flags, the fires burned brighter.
As she peeled away the green flags, it started to rain.
And as she peeled away the yellow flags, the ground shook and cracked open, swallowing her up, screaming and naked.
Since then, Tibetan strippers only use veils.
And leave the prayer flags to the wind.

Vagrant

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Of all of Zeus’ guises, he enjoyed taking the form of a vagrant the most.
There was something strange about having a body, but still being invisible to everyone around him.
Nobody sees what they don’t want to see.
People would pass him by, only noticing him if he were in their way, blocking their progress through their pointless mortal lives.
“Get out of my way, you bum!” growled a merchant. “Can’t you see I’m busy shopping for my wife?”
Leda, isn’t it? thought Zeus.
He smiled a rakish smile and took the form of a swan.
A well-endowed swan.

The Guest

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“You have a guest,” said the investigating priest.
Sally rocked back and forth on the vomit-covered bed, staring back at the priest with weary red-rimmed eyes.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said.
“We refer to occupying spirits as ‘guests’ now,” said the priest. “No need for rudeness while negotiating a mutually-agreeable solution to this dispute.”
“SHUT UP AND GET THIS FUCKING DEMON OUT OF ME!” shouted Sally.
“I need to consult my manager,” said the priest, and he pulled out a cell phone.
“WHAT??????”
The demon was shocked, too.
And easily dislodged.
“Works every time,” said the priest.

The Cough

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“Forget this ever happened,” said Judy, grabbing her clothes off the floor and getting dressed quickly. “Forget I was here.”
So, Robert took two green pills, showered, and forgot.
The next day, he had a doctor’s appointment, and what he thought was only a cough turned out to be something serious.
“We’re lucky to catch this early,” said the doctor, giving Robert a second shot of antibiotics. “It’s a new strain going around. Deadly stuff.”
He took the rest of the day off, missing the call from the office to let him know that Judy had died at her desk.

Unmentionables

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It is rude to make mention of one’s unmentionables.
This creates a rather interesting dilemma: what is an unmentionable?
If you cannot mention then, then how does one know what not to mention?
I heard about a Downtown club where they’d mention the unmentionables.
Knock twice, then once, and then three times.
The password is “They forgot to mention it to me.”
The cops used to raid the place all the time, but these days they just collect a bribe and move on.
It’s hardly worth mentioning, really.
Perhaps that’s why the unmentionables are unmentionable.
Forget I ever mentioned them.

Constructive

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We try to focus on constructive criticism in these sessions, Robert.
What’s constructive criticism?
Well, making spelling corrections in somebody’s stories, for one. Or suggesting better words that fit the context.
Dropping your pants and taking a dump on their manuscripts is not constructive criticism.
Nor is throwing your chair and screaming “Shut the fuck up, asshole!” when you don’t like someone’s piece.
What? You actually liked their work?
Then why did you do those horrible things?
Just because?
There’s such a thing as positive criticism, too. And crapping on something or beating someone with a chair still isn’t constructive.

The Werewolf

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Those damn cops had shot at us.
I lucked out, but the Werewolf didn’t.
The angry beast growls and licks his wounds, picking out bullets with his claws and tossing them into the gutter.
“They can’t kill me,” it says. “But it still fuckin’ hurts.”
I nod and watch the wounds.
The bleeding stops, and within a minute they’ve scarred over.
“Drowning is bad, but fire’s the worst.”
“Try taking a stake to your lung,” I say. “They don’t teach anatomy worth a damn anymore.”
He washes the blood off with the rain, and we head back down the alley.

The End Of Miss April

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Today is the last day I will see Miss April.
Tomorrow, I will flip the calendar page and bury her against the wall.
Miss May will try to comfort me, but when I stare at her, I will be thinking of Miss April.
However, just as Miss April got me to eventually forget about Miss March, I suppose Miss May will eventually get me to forget about Miss April.
What about Miss February and Miss January?
Haven’t thought about them in months. Really.
Okay, I’m lying. I miss them too.
I knew I should have gotten a calendar with kittens.

The Ark

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Noah brought the animals on to the ark in pairs.
And after days of rain, the ark reached land and Noah let the animals back out.
Then, when the checklist was complete, he watched a brood of platypus chicks crawl down the plank.
Noah called the beavers and ducks over for a meeting.
“We were bored!” cried the beavers. “It was dark in that boat. Things got confused.”
“We were drunk!” growled the duck. “They took advantage of us!”
Noah sighed, dismissed the animals, and looked at a horse.
“I don’t want no centaur-babies,” said Noah. “You’re having an abortion.”

Make the monkey whine

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Once upon a time, I had a habit of molesting chimpanzee babies.
There’s just something wrong about me. Broken.
And the poor, innocent chimpanzees suffered my sickness.
I’d have gotten away with it, but one of those chimpanzees wound up in a language experiment and they taught it sign language.
The moment that chimpanzee saw me, it signed BAD MAN! and RAPIST! and EVIL BANANA HURT!
My lawyer said that the monkeys were trained to sign these things. The monkeys meant to sign NICE MAN! and FRIEND!
We sued the researchers for defamation. And won.
But in my dreamsā€¦ CHIMPANZEES!