Doris opens a beer, puts it in front of me.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” she says, and she opens one for herself.
I drink, and wonder if it’s Winter somewhere.
“Well, it’s Summer here, so maybe in Australia?”
I nod, pick up the phone, and try to remember if I know someone in Australia.
I check my contacts, look through my email, searched my Facebook friends…
It used to be you used phones to call people.
I put down the phone and drink my beer.
Somewhere, it’s Winter. And somewhere, it’s five o’clock.
But right here, my beer’s getting warm.
Tag: society
Warren
A frail and elderly imam was slowly helped through the White House, a guide at each elbow.
But every so often, he’d stop at a painting or work of art, inspect it for a while, and then continue his journey.
Then, he stopped at a painting of a former president, pointed, and said what the guides thought was “War and Jihad?”
The art curator was confused. “That’s not Bush, that’s Warren G. Hardi,” he said, then realized the mistake. “OOOOOOOH, I see. Right. Warren G. Harding.”
The imam smiled, and the guides helped him down the hall to the bathroom.
Sense Of Home
The difference between house and home.
Home is where you feel safe. Home is where you belong.
The moment you no longer feel safe or feel you belong, it no longer feels like home.
Afraid. Hurt. Breathing quickly.
Violated.
Add locks, add alarms.
There’s nothing you can add to bring back that sense of home.
So, you go somewhere else. You search for some place safe.
Where you feel like you belong.
It takes time.
Cuts scar over. Bruises vanish.
You stop jumping at every noise.
Eventually, you forget to be afraid, and the worry slowly goes away.
Welcome home.
The Only Way
Whenever someone tells me that something is the only way to do something, I challenge myself to try to think up another way to do it.
Sometimes, I come up with a much better way, and I propose it to them as a viable alternative.
“It’s easier, less expensive, and is much safer to do,” I say, going through the plans. “Plus, it doesn’t cause any pollution.”
The other person scowls angrily. “You cannot do this because God says not to.”
I do it anyway, because if God doesn’t want me to do things cheaper, safer, and easier, fuck Him.
Eight Weddings And A Funeral
Elizabeth Taylor’s publicist announced that the Academy Award-winning actress died at the age of 79.
What does she do now?
No, not Elizabeth. Her job’s done.
Sure, there will be endorsements, licensing, and re-releases of her movies until the end of time, but that’s for her estate to do. The woman has a funeral or two to attend, and that’s it.
I’m thinking about the publicist. Unless she’s got other clients, her gig’s done.
Some folks are praying for the soul of Elizabeth Taylor.
Me, I’m praying for the publicist. I hope they get work soon in this awful economy.
Limits
Mom said that life is all about limits.
Some of are hard limits, like the speed of light.
Others are soft limits, like the speed limit on the highway. You can go faster than that, although you might get pulled over.
With experience, you learn which limits are hard and which are soft.
The cop isn’t impressed by my story, and he hands me a ticket for speeding.
I thank him and check the cargo.
The hyperdrive in the trailer is fine.
The boys at the lab are going to love this one, I think, and start the truck up.
Coin Toss
I had a tough decision to make, but I couldn’t decide.
So, I asked the town’s wise man.
He said: “Arbitrary decisions are best left to arbitrary means.”
I asked him what the hell he was talking about.
“If you can’t decide between two things,” he said. “Toss a coin.”
I thanked him and went outside to toss a coin.
As the coin turned in the air, an eagle swooped down and snatched it from the air.
I went back to the wiseman, eagle perched on a leather glove, feeding it some meat.
“Leave a tip next time,” he said.
The Tyrant
The Old Tyrant yells “Load the carriage faster! I need to escape before-”
Shouting! Beyond the gate!
A mob from the city, surrounding his castle.
“Guards! Protect me!” he yells.
The guards run out through the gate to meet the crowd.
And then, they rush back, closing the gate and blocking it.
From the outside.
“They won’t let you leave,” said his assistant. “They want you to stay on as ruler.”
“But I’m tired of running this country!” the Tyrant whined. “Don’t they want democracy? Freedom?”
“No. They want prosperity. Stability. You provide that.”
The exhausted tyrant wept and screamed.
Third Thumb
I once heard of a psychic claiming they had a “third eye.”
Well, then I must have 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 did, you’re right: I didn’t.
But here’s the creepy thing. I’ve been accurate in my plot synopses and ratings.
Stupid kid, getting hit by that truck.
Never saw that coming.
Coming Down The Pike
The word “turnpike” got its name from guardsmen standing at either side of a road and lowering their poleaxes to block the road until a toll was paid or a pass was shown.
These days, the pike has been replaced by a mechanical barrier or by cameras which scan for an electronic toll-paying device and capture the license plate numbers of violators.
Still, somewhere in that tollbooth, there’s a fierce-looking halberd leaning against the wall.
When the machines fail. Society breaks down, and the zombies win.
The tolls must be paid, and they certainly don’t collect themselves.
One brain please.