Igor found her body in a chair, poison in one hand and a note in the other.
“Victor
I remember now.
I know what kind of monster you are.
Please, no more experiments. Burn my corpse.”
Instead, Victor found her diary, and burned the note with it.
Flushing the poison was difficult, but the rejuvenation formula not only replaced the contaminated blood, but neutralized all toxins.
They laid her out on the table and hooked up the wires.
Once again, the electricity would cause temporary amnesia.
Two months? Three?
“Isn’t love grand?” said Igor.
Victor nodded, and threw the switch.
Tag: tragedy
Dirty Laundry
Marie Antoinette was known for her extravagance, insisting on the finest things and only using them once before tossing them aside.
She also insisted that nobody else be permitted to use them, so the cellars filled quickly with silverware, porcelain plates, crystal glasses, silk handkerchiefs, and even her linen undergarments.
Standing before the angry crowd, she saw that they’d raised the palace’s storerooms, and were waving forks and knives and plates and handkerchiefs and…
Her underwear.
All of her dirty laundry, out there for everyone to see.
She looked at the blade and winced.
“Mind cleaning it first?” she asked.
Put To Sleep
Once, he was the youngest of our cats.
He ran circles around the others, who hissed and swatted at him with arthritic paws.
Now, he is the oldest, and it’s his turn to go to the vet.
He will be put to sleep.
No, this is not a euphemism for euthanasia.
He will be literally put to sleep.
And then flash-frozen.
Just like the others.
Deep in the salt dome under the city, the Pyramid Of Bast is being constructed, one brick at a time.
One soul at a time.
When completed, perhaps she will arise.
And all will rise.
The Third Thumb
I once heard of a psychic claiming they had a “third eye.”
Well, then I’ve got a “third thumb.”
You see, I’m a movie critic. The Celluloid Spy.
And I’m afraid of the dark.
Yeah, I hire mailroom interns to stand in for me at movie screenings.
My trademark trenchcoat, fedora, and fake beard make sense now, right?
So, when you wonder if the critic saw the same movie you did, you’re right: I didn’t.
But here’s the thing. I’ve been perfectly accurate in my plot synopses and ratings.
Stupid kid, getting hit by that truck.
Never saw that coming.
Temple
When he retired, Max built a workout shed and wrote THE BODY IS A TEMPLE over the door.
He exercised every day. Rain or shine, heat or blizzard.
One day, while walking to the workout shed, he felt a strange feeling behind his right ear.
Everything went black, and Max dropped to the ground, dead from a stroke.
Max had kept to himself, so it was the overflowing mailbox that was the first sign something was wrong.
The mailman went into the back yard and saw the body covered with flies and other things.
Temple? No.
More like a buffet.
Ghost Writer
When I was young, my guidance counselor asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up.
I said “I want to be a writer.”
The guidance counselor laughed. “Writer? Not a doctor? A lawyer?”
“No, I want to be a writer.”
“Nobody is a writer,” said the counselor.
I pointed at his bookshelf. “Then who wrote those?”
He picked one out. “Shakespeare. He’s dead.” He picked out another. “Freud. Dead.”
Every book chosen, it was by someone dead.
So, I got a typewriter, paper, and killed myself.
People assume I’m a ghostwriter.
But these days, I prefer editing.
The Road
The soldiers gather up the women and children from the village, tie them together, and drive them out into the road.
Every so often, you hear an explosion and screaming.
Then crying… and shouting from the soldiers, gunfire in the air to get them walking the road again.
The commander’s translator shouts: “If there are any mines left in the road when we move the convoy through here, we will burn the village down and kill everyone.”
Thirty minutes goes by without an explosion, and the commander gives the all-clear signal.
More gunfire, the villagers are slaughtered.
Dirt. Stones. Blood.
Leave It All To Fluffy
The old lady wanted to be buried with her beloved poodle.
Beloved to the old lady. To everybody else, a biting and snapping menace.
Especially to her caretaker.
So, when she died, the caretaker gave the dog poison and paid the funeral home to stick the evil beast in the coffin.
When the will was read and the old lady had left everything to the caretaker, provided he took care of the poodle, he said “Yeah, I took care of the dog.”
The lawyer nodded. “Damn thing bit me when she had me update her will. Good riddance to it.”
Disintegration
Audio tape is just iron oxide particles glued to tape.
After a few years, the glue wears out, or the particles get worn off.
I find the tape you left me when you left me.
All the reasons, all the things I did wrong.
I mark the spot where you say you love me, but.
Stop.
I cut the tape into a loop, stick it in the player, and open the bottle of wine.
Then, I hit Play.
Over and over, you say you love me.
The tape degrades, disintegrates. Particles go. With each loop, you fade, love fades… slowly…
Voodotodo List
I have a lot of chores to do every day.
There was an app for To Do lists on my phone, but I’d have to stop playing Angry Birds long enough to check it.
So, I picked up a corkboard and pinned my to do list up there.
When I finish a task, I stick in a pin.
I call it my Voodoo To Do List.
I just have to be careful about putting names on it.
Like when I wrote “Get birthday present for Stan” and stuck a pin in it.
Poor Stan.
Hold on. Gotta add “Stan’s Funeral.”