George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Instead of swabbing the deck, he resurfaced it and painted it to create a regulation shuffleboard court.
“That’s very impressive,” said the captain. “Care to play a game?”
Unfortunately, George hadn’t thought to buy a set of pucks or cues.
“Perhaps we can make do with plates and cutlasses and other objects?” he said.
After several matches, their cutlasses they used as cues and the metal plates they used as pucks had scratched up the deck considerably.
“That’s too bad,” said the captain. “How about you swab it now?”

George the Pirate Radio King

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
His crew looted a town with a low-power radio station, and George rigged up the equipment to start his own pirate radio station.
He broadcasted music that other stations wouldn’t play.
Sea shanties, hornpipes, and other pirate tunes.
George became the most beloved radio personality among pirates across the world.
When the authorities tried to shut him down, the captain would raise anchor and sail the ship back to international waters.
One night, lightning struck the antenna and fried the broadcasting equipment.
George shrugged, and started a Spotify station.

Live a little

I picked up a shit-ton of deli at Kenny & Ziggy’s.
Going to drop it all on the table at lunch, chow down, and anybody who walks by who says that looks good, sit, eat, join us, nosh a little.
Because, fuck, what’s life about?
What’s a hundred bucks worth when you’re dead in the ground?
Stack that pastrami and tongue and corned beef and chopped liver high on the challah, slap on some mustard, cut up a pickle, and live a little.
Because that’s all you get to do… live just a little.
And don’t you fucking forget it.

Not an artist

I don’t call myself an artist.
Others do, but I don’t.
I write. I photograph. I arrange things.
I look at the world, take a step to the side, and look again.
I cover one eye, and then the other.
I dream. I set my imagination free.
And when it comes back, I listen.
I listen a lot, picking out things that inspire me.
I frustrate myself and throw tantrums.
I challenge myself to do better.
But I don’t call myself an artist.
I just do what I do.
And when I am done, I do it all over again.

Weekly Challenge #749: Pick a card… any card!

Kitchen Cat


The postcards came from everywhere in the world.
The director thought of finding pen pals for the residents of the home.
“Pick a card. Any card!”
Everyone was thrilled.
Everyone, except Mr. Morris whose card was the only one left. An unknown town in the middle of nowhere… “I didn’t get to pick. Now I’m stuck with this…” He waved the card in the air dismissively.
“Be grateful, Mr. Morris.”
Grateful, huh… When the police found the card Mr. Morris hadn’t picked shoved in the director’s throat, Mr. Morris was long gone… That unknown town would now become quite famous.



My wife took me out for a meal for my birthday – it didn’t turn out quite as she expected.

They had one of those wandering table magicians, harassing diners as they waited for their food.

“Pick a card he said… any card”

So I pulled a business card from my wallet, and slid it across the table.

“No!” he protested, “pick a card from the deck!”

I looked around, “we’re not on a ship”, I replied.

“Take a card from the ones I’m holding”, he snarled through clenched teeth.

“Or you’ll do what?” I countered.

That’s when he punched me.


Pick a card… any card!
General Wei went disguised among the people. In a small town, a travelling circus had set up. A conjurer spread a pack of cards to the crowd, saying, “Pick a card, any card!” General Wei took a card, and with it suddenly slashed open the face of the pickpocket behind him.

He explained to the bystanders, “As a boy, my father told me, ‘To see how the trick is done, watch his other hand.'” Pointing to the pickpocket, he said, “Behold this conjurer’s other hand!”

Thereafter, travelling entertainers avoided the town, calling it Zhùlìngshǒu, or “They Watch The Other Hand”.


Pick A Card Any Card

Funny in lockdown I created a Trick called Seven Sevens. It starts with
three people picking, a card any card, show it around, then place it face
down on the table. I the magician deal down seven cards in row. On top of
each card deal six more. Have these three turn their back. I the magician
move the selected cards under piles #3, #4, #5. The three turn towards the
table. One collects the seven pile into one. I do an elimination deal till
only 6 cards are left. I discard #1, #2, #6. Remain car are the selected.


Don’t look so frightened, we’re going to play a game.

You may have heard of ‘Cards Against Humanity’, well this is very similar, it’s something of my own design, given my own unique twist.

In this stack of cards, we have a whole range of scenarios that we will be acting out; and the other – a delicious assortment of weapons, tools and medical instruments.

I choose a card that dictates your eventual fate.

And you, choose one to determine how we get there.

Mine says: ‘You are to be skinned alive, using a…’

Your turn: Pick a card, any card.


The super villains remained hidden behind their car.
“What are our options, Mom?” Billbert asked.
A gray haired old man piped up. “We don’t know what Nuclear Fission is capable of. Any action on our part is a wild card. So, take a card…”
Just then Linoliamanda stood up and turned dizzily. She wandered directly to the super villains and collapsed onto Benedict Arnold.
“Linny!” Billbert shouted, wanting to run to her aid. “She’s under their power, now.”
The old man put his hand on Billbert’s arm. “Don’t worry about it son. She’s a normal. We haven’t lost anyone important.”


Your Fate Is In The Cards

Funny thing … business cards. Always offered as something that might help you, but, really just a greedy businessman trying to line his pockets with your dough.

Filthy, germ ridden, bacteria laden, disgusting cards!

I say no thanks, walk away. Every once in awhile though they don’t take no for an answer. They insist, press the dirty thing into your hand … UGH!

Now it’s personal!
I keep those!

Sealed in plastic I hold them until the time is right, I select one, and act.

Sometimes a slashed tire, broken window, or maybe a fire …

… Sometimes a bullet to the skull.


I’ll pay by credit.
Pick a card, any card.
Sure, there’s different names on them, but they’re all me, I swear.
Okay, so they’re not all me now, I’m me right now, but they’re all my past and future lives.
They just happen to all exist concurrently.
I’m me right now, but I was Alice DeSantis before, and I’ll be Johnathan Grimsby next.
So, I have every right to their money… well, my money, as they do.
As do they have to mine, if I had any.
I wonder if I keep getting karmically regenerated to learn not to steal.


I don’t do it for the money.
I don’t do it for awards or rewards, or likes or faves, whatevers.
I don’t do it to belong or be accepted.
I don’t do it to be needed or wanted.
I do it because it’s what I do.
Whatever it happens to be at the moment.
I try to capture the moment, that one moment which I can never capture.
But I keep trying. I never stop trying.
Some moments last longer than others.
And when the moment ends, another begins.
Sparks and crackles from a fire.
Until the fire goes out.

Plus sized

These days, it’s rude to say that someone is fat or large, so the fashion industry calls them “plus sized.”
Which begs the question: Is there a “minus sized”? And what exactly is a size smaller than zero?
I’ve known some size zero models, and any thinner than that, they need to buy something to eat, not more clothes. Or heroin.
Do identical twins or triplets wear “multiplication sized” clothes?
What about a “divided sized”? Does that cover amputees?
Does your imaginary girlfriend wear “square root of minus one sized”?
It’s all a moot point. Most models suck at math.

Chemistry Lab

Back in Freshman Chemistry Lab, every student was handed a vial of liquid and a packet of solids.
The final exam was to determine what these were.
Water is notoriously hard to determine through tests, so it was tradition that the student who got water would celebrate their efforts by drinking it.
The problem is, some students weren’t that good at Chemistry or lab work, and they’d jump the gun and drink a toluene or an acid, and end up in the hospital.
Or dead.
As for the students snorting their solids, well, that’s a whole different level of stupid.

Freeze That Way

My mother said that if I keep making this face, it will freeze this way.
But as many times as I’ve made this face, I’ve yet to have my face freeze this way.
Even when I poured liquid Nitrogen into a bowl and immersed my face in it while making this face, my face didn’t freeze this way.
Instead, my face was frozen solid, and then it shattered after I struck it with a hammer.
Although I’ll have to take your word for it. I lost my eyes, nose, and mouth from that stunt.
For God’s sake, please kill me.


Back when Saddam Hussein ruled Iraq, his sons Uday and Qusay would beat and torture under performing players on the national soccer team.
Also, when musicians in the Iraqi Symphony missed a note, they’d torture them.
When a ballerina stumbled during a performance of the Baghdad Ballet, the brothers were right there with a can of halal whup-ass.
Once, Saddam played Super Mario Brothers. When he was told that his princess was in another castle, Uday and Qusay stomped the cartridge and dragged the princess off to Abu Graib Prison.
All three Husseins are dead now. Have the beatings stopped?