I sipped my coffee and read the gossip pages:
Mindy broke up with Max.
Marty broke up with Mary.
Melissa broke up with Mark.
Madison broke up with Milton.
Sure enough, everyone’s name began with an M. And they all broke up.
I looked at yesterday’s gossip pages.
Sure enough, everybody’s name began with L.
I couldn’t look up the gossip pages from the day before. Those were already recycled.
Will everyone in the gossip pages tomorrow have a name that begins with N?
What happens when we get to Z?
“Nate,” said Nancy. “We need to talk.”
Tomorrow, dear.
Tag: tragedy
Flight Insurance
I need to fly somewhere.
What? Do I want insurance?
Well, let me take a look.
One insurance plan offers insurance that pays benefits if you die on an airplane.
Another insurance plan offers insurance that pays benefits if you die in a terrorist attack on an airplane.
The second plan costs more, despite the fact that the first plan overlaps the terms of second plan.
Why do people buy the second?
Because they’re afraid? And stupid?
But I’m going to buy it anyway.
Because I could do this through GoToMeeting.
Instead of flying there.
But I’m afraid. And stupid.
Expiration
“I love you.”
Three words.
Three simple words appeared on the moon.
They slowly revealed themselves to the world as the phases changed, but astronomers and people with telescope.
Who wrote it?
Who did they write it for?
Nobody knows.
Some say that God wrote it.
If He did, why in English?
Why there?
We don’t know.
That’s when we used the satellites.
The really high ones.
To look back at the Earth.
Who wrote it?
Who did they write it for?
I have no idea. None of us do.
But it’s a date.
An expiration date.
And it’s tomorrow.
Dishwasher Safe
Tina was one of those “special” kids.
Looked totally normal from the outside. No limp or big forehead, or tubes sticking out of her. Okay, maybe going everywhere with her Betsy Wetsy was a bit off.
She was just kinda slow.
Her parents tried hard to “mainstream” her with routines and chores: clean her room, vacuum the floors, do the dishes. That kind of thing.
When her dolly got messy from being dragged in the mud, she could run her through the dishwasher herself.
As for the kids she was supposed to be babysitting, that’s for a jury to decide.
Fire Bill
Moments before Lily Mason burst into flames, she set her husband on fire.
Then her kitchen. And after that, her house. And her neighbor’s house.
There wasn’t much room between houses, so the fire jumped from house to house quickly.
The whole neighborhood was a raging inferno by the time the fire department arrived.
There was nothing they could do but watch and keep people back.
The fire burned for hours, until the whole neighborhood was nothing but embers and ashes.
“Should have paid her fire bill,” said the crew chief. “Too bad.”
They rolled up their hoses and left.
She Lived Seven Days
Our baby lived seven days.
She never breathed on her own.
Seven days of tubes. And wires. And beeps.
So many beeps. And then.
She never breathed on her own.
When they asked us if we wanted to hold her, we just sat there. We said nothing.
They opened the glass door, pulled out the tubes, pulled off the tape, unhooked the wires, and took her away.
We watched without watching.
The Sisters Of Mercy came, and they asked us if we needed anything. Do we need anything, they asked.
We just sat there. We said nothing.
Just seven days
Catcher In The Lie
A madman killed John Lennon.
Another tried to kill Ronald Reagan.
And then another attacked an actress and killed her.
They all had my book.
They all said to understand what they did, read the book.
What I put in there.
It was the truth about the phonies.
Not the evil these people did.
Their evil. They murdered. Murdered.
Not me. They.
That is the truth.
No, I have not stopped writing.
I cannot stop writing.
Writing the truth.
But I can stop publishing.
Because phonies will read my writing if I don’t.
And they will murder. They will kill.
Ceremony of the broken
Funerary ceremonies. There are so many.
I’ve seen my share of them.
When a magician dies, a broken wand ceremony is performed to represent that the magic is gone.
When an engineer dies, a broken slide rule ceremony is performed to represent that the math is gone.
When a chef dies, a broken spatula ceremony is performed to represent that the cooking is gone.
When a painter dies, a broken palette ceremony is performed to represent that the art is gone.
But when a politician dies, what is left to break? Promises? Commitments? The System? Those are already hopelessly broken.
Big Guys
Joe Washington played football. He was one of those really big guys on the offensive line.
Too big.
As the clock ticked down to zero on the final play of the game, Joe fell to his knees and dropped to the turf.
Massive heart attack.
The players… the coaches… the fans… everybody watched as the trainers shocked him a defibrillator and did CPR, but he was gone.
Some players wish to be cremated and have their ashes scattered over their home field.
But Joe wanted to be buried there.
“Hell no,” said the ground crew. “You’ll hit an sprinkler pipe.”
Ex Machina
Greek Theater introduced the concept of Deus ex Machina to the world, where a seemingly impossible task would be resolved by the contrived intervention of something newly-introduced to the plot.
On the other hand, Diabolus ex Machina is when something that is absolutely certain is thwarted by the contrived intervention of something newly-introduced.
Theater-goers hate both of these concepts because they demonstrate sloppy writing and planning by the playwright.
But the Japanese love to put both of these machines in an arena full of flamethrowers and buzzsaws and make them fight.
They also like tentacle porn, those weird Japanese freaks.