Category: My stories

Ah, Sweeps Month!
Three times a year, the Nielsen Company would do detailed measuring of audiences.
This would help them thumb the scales when setting rates with advertisers.
To boost their ratings, the networks would shelf their usual crap and roll huge attention-grabbing stunts.
Big stars on talk shows.
Major plot twists on the dramas and comedies.
Sweepstakes and viewer contests.
And the usual excuses to pixelate tits and ass on local newscasts.
Nowadays, most viewers use streaming or cable.
Everything is measured to the microsecond.
No more stunts. No more plot twists.
Just the endless river of mindless crap.

There are jesters everywhere.
Every office, every school.
And on every train and bus.
“Entertain us!” people shout at the jesters.
And they do.
Telling jokes, performing pratfalls.
Juggling things, and simple slight-of-hand close magic tricks.
They make everyone happy.
Much happier than when there were clowns everywhere.
People like the jesters more than the clowns.
Clowns sometimes get sad, and they cry.
Jesters do not get sad. They are always happy.
Constantly in motion, going from person to person, cheering them up.
Cheering all up who watch them.
When a jester grows tired, another appears, and we are all happy.

It’s final exam season.
We bring our children to The Tower.
The doors open, they walk inside, and the doors close.
An hour later, the doors open again.
One by one, the children who passed the exam come out.
Some walk. Some run. Some crawl.
Some are carried out.
Maybe they’ll wake up. Maybe they won’t.
As for the kids who don’t pass, they’re taken to the top of the tower.
And they’re pushed off the edge.
Some parents stand back and watch. And pray.
Others try to catch their children.
And others just stand underneath, and accept their fate.

Jacob carried his guitar from village to village, and the villagers gave him money.
At first, he’d play for free, and they would dance and sing.
And if they wanted him to play more, they’d have to pay him to stay.
Jacob was good, but over time, his guitar wore down, and so did Jacob.
Villages warned him not to come.
Posting signs by the road.
GO AWAY JACOB.
He came anyway, and he would play, and the villagers paid him to go away.
Now he just telegraphs his tour plans, and they wire him money to stay at home.

It’s really hard keeping animals alive, said the zookeeper.
Especially when there’s so many different kinds of animals.
Some eat plants. Some eat meat. Some eat bugs.
It’s a real bitch keeping it all straight.
And shoveling up all the poop? It’s disgusting!
So, I replaced all the animals with stuffed animals.
With a few Raspberry Pis and articulators, their tongues can flick out, or they can blink, but seriously, most animals you see at the zoo are asleep in the corner of their cage.
But it’s really hard keeping articulators working, so we’ll just prop up some cardboard cutouts.

The raven god flies over our village every spring to bless the planting season.
And he comes back every fall to bless the harvest.
All the tribes come for the festivals.
We all lay down our weapons and are one.
We sacrifice seed and corn to the raven god.
The dancing. The bonfires.
It’s a powerful time for all.
We drink the sacred drink, and we dance.
The fires become ash.
The night becomes dawn.
We all say our goodbyes.
Our brothers pick up their weapons, mount their horses, and return to their villages.
Until the next festival time comes.

The naming conventions of college conferences are insane.
Some were some based on regions of the country.
But others were based on the number of members they had.
The Big Ten had ten teams, and the Big Twelve had twelve teams.
It made sense… until those big conferences got bigger.
The Big Ten expanded to twelve teams, but stayed Big Ten.
And the Big Twelve got bigger, but kept Big Twelve.
Despite the Big Ten having more claim to their name.
In the end. they will get bigger.
Until Big Ten eventually spans ten states, and Big Twelve spans twelve.

I’ve never been to India.
I hear that they have hundreds of varieties of mangoes there.
Here, in American stores, there’s only two or three varieties of mangoes.
And each has its own subtle sweetness and tartness and texture.
On the other hand, there are hundreds of varieties of apples.
The store has dozens of them, and they change what they stock based on the season.
Over there in India, do they have so many kinds of apples?
People sip “flights” of tequilas and whiskeys, shot glasses on a board to sample.
Why not a flight of mangoes? Or apples?

Tendy works in The Word Factory.
She’s in the development division that makes new raw words.
They also work with rejects that come in for refurbishment and recycling.
The functional prototypes go to the testing division.
Tendy’s friend Bartch works in Testing.
He runs words through durability testing to ensure they can stand up to frequent use.
Some words come back to Tendy for necessary improvements.
While others go out for field testing.
Once a week, the whole factory listens to the CEO as he reads off the list of new words.
For the exceptional words, the creators get bonuses.

Casey’s brought his car into the shop again.
It’s a disaster on wheels, but he can’t get rid of it.
“It’s the car I’d drive my kid to the hospital in,” he said.
She died of something slow and horrible, it was in the papers.
And so was he.
“You’re too good to me,” he said. “Fix her up good as new again?”
I think they’d what he was telling the doctors.
The other guys at the shop say he’s wrecking it for attention.
“Munchausen” is what they call it.
I looked it up. And wondered what killed his kid.