Category: Elisson

He had brought King Kong back alive from Skull Island at the cost of fifteen men and untold thousands of dollars. His attempt to exhibit the beast on Broadway was a complete flop, thanks to the kind ministrations of the SPCA, PETA, and the unions. And Ann Darrow was in therapy.
But big as he was, Kong was still a monkey.
Denham dodged as Kong lobbed a Volkswagen-sized turd. Moments later, ten gallons of hot Ape-Spooge spattered the bars of the gargantuan enclosure.
Eighth Wonder of the World, my ass, thought Denham. Still a fucking monkey.

A mysterious creature glided in the depths.
Legends had circulated for years, but never any hard evidence. The creature belonged to the shadowy realm of the Possibly Real occupied by Sasquatch, the Ten Lost Tribes, and the /menehune/ of Hawai’i.
But when bowling ball-sized chunks of meat began boiling to the surface of the lake, each enveloped in a mysterious doughy casing, the locals called me in. Abe Schwartz, Dybbuk Hunter. Ghosts and Legendary Creatures a specialty.
After searching all my life, I had finally found her. The miraculous evidence left no doubt that it was the Kreploch-Ness Monster.

The Missus and I sat at the breakfast table, the scattered remnants of our waffles cooling on our plates.
She tossed her head, indicating the stairs.
“Well, we might as well go and get this over with.”
She continued, “It’s always so much harder to do it again if you put it off.”
We looked at each other. A sly grin stole across my face.
“Are we thinking about the same thing?” asked The Missus.
“Aren’t we?” I said.
“You’re thinking about sex, aren’t you?” asked The Missus.
“Well, yeah. Aren’t you?”
“I was thinking about going to the gym.”

After the Great Protein Shortage of 2029, the genetic engineers started getting creative.
People needed protein, and the existing sources weren’t getting the job done. Beef cattle were practically extinct after the BSE epidemics in the late teens. Fish were laden with heavy metals, poultry with pesticides. Legumes were fine – except for their unfortunate vaporous side effects.
But then a brilliant Belgian geneticist had a breakthrough. An excellent protein source: animals that lived in a farmable colony. Roughly three apples high, they made a perfect portion. And in time, people got used to the color.
Smurf and Turf, anyone?

Last Sunday was Aseret b’Tevet – the tenth day of the Jewish month Tevet.
It’s a day of religious significance mainly to observant Jews, who fast during daylight hours to commemorate the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem by the Babylonians, the first step in the destruction of King Solomon’s Temple.
Even non-Jews know about Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. That’s a full fast: no food or drink from before sundown until after sundown the following day. Twenty-five hours of hunger and penance.
But Aseret b’Tevet is not as big a deal. You might even call it a half-fast.

Atlanta is in mourning upon hearing the tragic news that Gasper, one of the Georgia
Aquarium’s celebrated beluga whales and a favorite among visitors, has been euthanized.
Gasper had been suffering from osteomyelitis, a bone infection, and his condition had
deteriorated in the past several weeks.
“We rescued Gasper knowing that he was seriously ill, but were hopeful that we might have
been able to save him,” said Bernie Marcus, Georgia Aquarium benefactor and chairman of
the board.
In related news, the Georgia Aquarium today announced plans to build a 50,000-gallon
capacity toilet bowl to facilitate disposal of the remains.

When I was ten, I wanted a Red Ryder for Christmas.
Miss Shields made us write a Christmas theme. I wrote five pages on the glories of the Red Ryder. She gave me a C, said I’d put my eye out.
Santa Claus at Higbee’s Department Store? Same thing.
For weeks, I dropped “subtle” hints around the house. Must’ve driven Schwartz, Flick, and Kissel nuts at school. I was obsessed.
But when Christmas came, I got it!
Of course, within ten minutes, I had put my eye out. But I loved my Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Icepick.

Walter walked the studio grounds, lost in concentration.
He needed a new character. Mickey had been packing theatres for years – not bad for a lousy cartoon short! – but rentals had begun to sag.
Face it. The Mouse was a victim of his own success. Originally a mischievous trickster, he was now good-natured and bland. Booooring.
What he needed was a foil. A character with a rotten disposition, to create dramatic tension. But who?
He almost tripped on the duck’s carcass. It lay by the side of the pond, half-eaten.
Two months later, /Morty Maggot/ opened to rave reviews.

Eddie walked into Clancy’s, looking for an empty seat. There – next to that platinum blonde with the Cosmo! Maybe she wasn’t a Working Girl. Riiight.
“Ah wouldn’t sit down theah effen Ah wuz yew.”
The warning came from the end of the bar. Strange little guy, clad in buckskins, sporting a coonskin cap, reeking of pine.
“I’ll sit wherever the fuck I want, Mark Trail.”
With that, Eddie slid onto the barstool. It shattered into flinders, dumping him unceremoniously to the floor.
“H-h-how’d you know?”
“Name’s Dan’l Boone, and Ah know more about B’ar Stools than jest about anybody.”

Abdul Abulbul Amir is revered for bringing East and West together.
Back in 2052, Amir was an impoverished cleric living in Dearborn. Many of his brethren denounced America. They could only envision a future of struggle, Islam versus the powers of the West. Theirs was a bipolar world of Muslim and Infidel, of which only one could be right.
But Amir had a vision.
“Surely, a country that can make a dessert this wonderful is no Great Satan!”
And so, he began preaching a new message of love for America from a true Religion of Peace:
“Imam and Apple Pie!”