Babysitters are so expensive. And you have no idea who the agency will send.
So, we started a neighborhood babysitter exchange. It’s the neighborhood, so you know who your children are with.
How does it work? Well, everybody gets a number of credits, and people exchange them for babysitting services.
When you run out of credits, you babysit to earn more.
We started with popsicle sticks to represent the credits, but people started to buy those at arts and crafts stores, and hyperinflation kicked in.
It broke down with people faking babysitting jobs, using dolls or watermelons dressed in diapers.
Tag: society
The Black Sheep
I don’t talk to my family much.
I figure there’s seven billion people in the world, right?
So after spending years with them, day in and day out, isn’t that enough?
Compared to the billions of people I will never meet, it’s practically obsessive.
If we are all equal, why are they any different?
I mean, when you walk into a library or a bookstore, do you get the same book over and over?
Or do you wander the isles and reach for new adventures… new worlds to explore?
You can only say Goodnight to the moon so many times.
Thirst
Children have such a thirst for knowledge.
Thanks to Liquid School, we can satisfy that thirst, giving kids all the essential facts, figures, formulas, and skills a growing child needs.
Nanobots with memory engram patterns read the brains of volunteers, undergo a strict review process, and then get transplanted into students through minimally-invasive surgery.
Results have been phenomenal, although there is always the risk of unintentional engram overwrites or misalignment of memory maps.
This is why you should back up your data and child every night to avoid data loss or corruption.
(Unless you like them better as a chicken.)
Herpetology
One glance, and the gaze of Medusa the Gorgon will turn you to stone.
However, being Greek, she has access to free state-provided healthcare.
We all have rights, even criminals and legendary monsters, no?
Monster… such a cruel term… when you get to know her, she’s not all that bad.
Zeus may have robbed her of outer beauty, but not her inner charm.
And you don’t have to look in her eyes to give her a pelvic examination. And you can cover them for dental work.
But of all the ophthalmologists in Athens, why did she have to pick me?
Rover
In a fight between a gigantic robot monster and my dog, I’d be rooting for my dog, but don’t tell him that I bet on the gigantic robot monster.
I mean, yeah, that’s cold, not to bet on your dog, but he doesn’t need to know that I bet against him.
Besides, he’s just a fucking dog. He doesn’t know shit about money and gambling and stuff like that.
Does he have a job?
Does he have health insurance?
No.
And we can always get another dog.
Now shut up and root for… what’s his name again?
Right. GO ROVER!
Form
The neighborhood no-kill animal shelter has a form to fill out that they give out to people looking to adopt a cat.
The clerk hands me a clipboard and a pen, and I sit down in the lobby.
Two hours later, I hand the clipboard back.
The clerk’s eyes go wide as she looks over the form.
Sure, I’ve filled out my name and the details, but every checkbox has meticulously-drawn kittens peeking out from them, and the lines have been turned into unraveling balls of yarn being played with by more kittens.
“You’ll do fine,” says the clerk, smiling.
Monday
“Thank God it’s Friday,” said Joe, sipping his coffee and walking into the office.
God was on the golf course, lining up an easy 3 foot putt on the 8th green in Heaven.
“You’re welcome,” he grumbled.
Millions of others thanked God that it was Friday, and by the time He got to the 18th tee, he had snapped most of his clubs in half and shanked a basket full of balls into the rough clouds.
“You okay, Dad?” asked Jesus.
God pulled off his gloves, threw them into the cart, and pondered a Horrid Monday To Beat All Mondays.
The Daily Special
I can never decide what I want to get at a restaurant.
So, I don’t bother with a menu.
I just let the waiter tell me the specials and I say “Surprise me.”
The most surprised I’ve ever been was when a Turkish chef prepared shish kebab skewers, set them on fire, and launched them with a crossbow at the wall above my head.
It was the best dinner I’d never had, and I thanked the chef, the owner, and the entire staff for that night.
What’s the name of the place?
Doesn’t matter. It burned down years ago.
The Shrine of the Bloody Flower
The Shrine Of The Bloody Flower features a blood-soaked flower, taken from a girl who was shot during the uprising.
What the shrine doesn’t say is that the girl wasn’t shot by the soldiers.
She was shot by the rebels.
“Carry these flowers to that checkpoint,” they said. “Or we kill your parents.”
So, she did, but when she reached the checkpoint, she dropped the flowers and began screaming.
That’s when the shooting began.
How did they preserve the flower?
It was plastic. Because they needed it for the shrine they were planning.
Just needed the blood.
Sick, bloody bastards.
O’Meter
Paddy O’Brien slammed down his mug and let loose a loud belch.
“That be an eight on the burp-o-meter!” he shouted to the rest of the bar.
The bartender tapped Paddy on the shoulder. “That be a four.”
He held up a small device which showed a large red 4 in LEDs.
“Balderdash!” sneered Paddy, pulling out his iPhone and proudly showed the 8 on it.
The bartender took the iPhone, closed the app, and read the icon.
“Fart-o-meter,” he said. “That’s a whole different scale, Paddy.”
Paddy frowned, but brightened up when the bartender filled up his mug again.