You play checkers your way.
I play it my way.
I like to stack all the checkers on the board into a tower and tell them “I am the twenty-fifth checker. I rule over you all.”
The checkers stand there, wobbling slightly, then… they are still.
I command them to bow.
I command them to worship me.
I command them to do as I say.
They do nothing.
They defy me.
So, I sweep my hand through the tower and cast the checkers into all directions.
Sitting there, I wait… waiting…
And then, laughing madly, gather up the checkers again.
Tag: silly
Pasta Beauty
It is said that tortellini was created by an innkeeper who peeked into the goddess Venus’ room and, awestruck by a glimpse of her navel, he was inspired to bolt to the kitchen where he messed around with meat and pasta.
The same could be said of elbow pasta and the ropy joints of Olive Oyl from cartoons. Although in her case, it’s the least-unattractive part of her by far.
Whatever did Popeye and Bluto ever see in that anorexic freakjob, anyway?
They must have been out to sea a very long time to think she was worth fighting over.
Surly
As I prepared my morning oatmeal, I slipped the surly bonds of earth and touched the face of God.
It was greasy and sticky.
“Don’t you ever wash your face?” I asked God.
“You shouldn’t be one to talk about hygiene,” said God. “Did you wash your hands before making that oatmeal? I see everything, you know.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
We floated in uncomfortable silence for a while.
“I’d best be getting back,” I said, and I reached for the surly bonds of earth, even surlier, having been slipped so easily.
I finished my oatmeal, and washed my hands.
Natural
Hanging over my typewriter is a famous quote:
“Be natural, my children. For the writer that is natural has fulfilled all the rules of art.”
So, I opened the window and tossed my typewriter, pens, and paper out into the street.
Leaving everything behind, I moved out of my apartment and set out for the hills.
There, in my cave, I worked on my novel, writing on tree bark using bird droppings and mud.
The publisher was shocked by my appearance, but took the submission.
And rejected it.
On the bright side, I did get cast in some GEICO commercials.
Form
The neighborhood no-kill animal shelter has a form to fill out that they give out to people looking to adopt a cat.
The clerk hands me a clipboard and a pen, and I sit down in the lobby.
Two hours later, I hand the clipboard back.
The clerk’s eyes go wide as she looks over the form.
Sure, I’ve filled out my name and the details, but every checkbox has meticulously-drawn kittens peeking out from them, and the lines have been turned into unraveling balls of yarn being played with by more kittens.
“You’ll do fine,” says the clerk, smiling.
The Evolution Bazooka
Pastor Bailey doesn’t like evolution being taught in the local public schools, and he’s demanding that creationism be taught alongside it.
The faculty has refused to teach creationism, and the Science Department has put their heads together to prepare a formal response.
“BEHOLD!” shouts the wild-eyed Professor Jankins, brandishing a shiny silver tube. “THE EVOLUTION BAZOOKA!”
I tap my fingers on my desk. “Really, Stan?”
He laughs, points the bazooka at a potted plant, and pulls the trigger.
Nothing happens.
Later that afternoon, he realized the batteries had been put in backwards, and he turned a student into a chimpanzee.
Swami
I will never forget the day I went to my favorite Italian restaurant, sat down at my usual table, and a group of Indian swamis came in.
George the Waiter sat them at a table and brought out a large bowl of spaghetti.
Each in turn took out his recorder, played, and a spaghetti strand would rise from the bowl to the ceiling in a slender rope.
Over and over, the swamis made the spaghetti rise up.
I called over George, and said “Wow, isn’t that amazing?”
George grumbled. “Sure, it is, but those cheap bastards don’t tip for shit.”
Welterweight
Ever wonder what Welterweight means?
Lucius Welter was a boxing ring owner, and before every match, he liked to play teeter-totter with the boxers.
Any boxer who was too heavy to teeter-totter with Lucius was considered a Heavyweight.
And any boxer too light to teeter-totter with him was called A Lightweight.
The boxers who could teeter-totter with him without difficulty was dubbed “Welter’s Weight.”
Sadly, Lucius died from influenza when he was fifty, but they tied his corpse up into a sack and continued to use him as a counterweight until accurate scales became cheaper and the gym closed down.
Monday
“Thank God it’s Friday,” said Joe, sipping his coffee and walking into the office.
God was on the golf course, lining up an easy 3 foot putt on the 8th green in Heaven.
“You’re welcome,” he grumbled.
Millions of others thanked God that it was Friday, and by the time He got to the 18th tee, he had snapped most of his clubs in half and shanked a basket full of balls into the rough clouds.
“You okay, Dad?” asked Jesus.
God pulled off his gloves, threw them into the cart, and pondered a Horrid Monday To Beat All Mondays.
Pockets
No matter how many times I check, I’m always leaving something in my pockets that ends up in the laundry.
I’ve destroyed four pairs of expensive noise-cancelling headphones in the past year that way.
The signatures on my credit cards are all worn off, while any paper money ends up laid out on paper towels and pressed by an unabridged dictionary.
Every load ends up with a frosting of wet shredded kleenex.
Cigarettes… bubblegum… chocolate bars…
My pockets were a goopy, sloppy mess.
But not anymore.
I moved to a nudist colony, and I never have that problem ever again.