Tag: society

Keep Warm

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Winter is coming, and we watch the nearby islands raise their sails to catch the tradewinds for warmer seas.
But ours will not join them in the Great Migration.
“We stay,” says the tribal chief. “We have plenty of food, warm houses to live in.”
“But it will be cold!” the people say. “We can be warm all year round like the others.”
“Then go join them,” said the chief. “Get in your canoes and go to them.”
Many leave, but even more arrive from other islands.
“We will help you stay warm,” they say.
The chief winks and grins.

Acronym

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You’ve heard of Zeus and Apollo, but have you heard of Acronym?
No?
He’s not the best-known of the Olympian gods, but where the others just putter about in the Old Gods Rest Home, Acronym is still active and involved in the affairs of man.
He whispers in the ears of the clever and the cunning, helping them find simple words into which to pack the cumbersome phrases that describe their political and social movements.
For good or evil, truth or lies – he is at their side, serving man’s desire for simplicity and catchiness.
Acronym laughs and winks, whispering more.

The Pesto Pest

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When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.
But life handed me basil, so I made pesto.
I even built a hothouse to grow basil year-round.
Just harvest, wash, crush, mix, and serve.
The problem is that I am growing far too much basil for myself, so I give away a lot of basil leaves and pesto to others.
Maybe too much?
Now people turn off their lights and shut their windows when they see me coming.
“There’s that crazy Pesto Pest,” they whisper to each other. “Just be quiet and he’ll go away.”
So I hang it from their gutters.

You’ve Got To Know When To Fold ‘Em

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Because of a shortage of buglers, military funerals often use a recording of a bugler performing Taps.
However, there’s no shortage of flags, so there’s always flags available to drape over coffins for folding and presentation to the next-of-kin.
The flag is folded by the honor guard in a specific order so that it results in a small blue triangle with white stars.
Some potheads have been known to employ their knowledge of the Japanese art of Origami to come up with more interesting shapes.
The rifle party handles those jokers by beating them with the butts of their weapons.

Forget about the dragons

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It is illegal to slay a dragon. Even in self-defense.
Sure, there are no dragons in England anymore, but the law is the law, and it’s still illegal to slay dragons.
So when HM Revenue saw “Dragonslayer” on my return, I was picked up for questioning.
“Don’t you know that it’s illegal to slay dragons?” said the agent.
“There aren’t any dragons anymore,” I said. “There’s none left to slay.”
At that point, they handcuffed me and read me my rights.
“Why are you arresting me?” I said.
“You just couldn’t stop, could you?” they said. “You killed them all!”

Brick Fight

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Why are we throwing bricks at each other?
Because we were having a snowball fight, silly.
One guy decided to play dirty and packed a snowball around mud and threw it.
Mudballs suck.
Then, another guy packed snow around a brick.
Pretty soon, we were tossing bricks at each other.
Now that it’s May, you’d think the fight would be over because all the snow is gone.
But because we’re using bricks, the fight doesn’t have to end.
Maybe we’ll take a break and build some brickmen. Or build up our brickforts.
But that’s boring. Let’s bring on the bricks!

Bug Diner

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I remember when restaurants wouldn’t put up with bugs in diners.
Those days are over, and one was taking up three seats at the counter, sitting on one and two left open because of all his arms.
He held a cup of coffee, stirring in blue packet after packet.
They used to say the red and yellow packets caused cancer, but I’m not a laboratory rat.
I just like the blue stuff.
“Leave any for me?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “Alice, another coffee.”
The waitress scowled at me, poured a fresh cup, and I twitched my antenna in gratitude.

The Lawyers

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Despite the number of lawyers in America, fewer are available to defendants needing representation, but without money.
So, with a low-power spirit-trap and some old State Bar registers, we’ve started summoning up the ghosts of lawyers to represent them.
They work pro bono, with few earthly needs since having left their bones behind many years ago.
And although some of them are woefully behind on their case law, few modern district attorneys can stand the withering assault of a Daniel Webster or Clarence Darrow.
I still laugh when I see a lawyer’s ghost, chasing the ambulance with his corpse inside.

The Leak

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Oil gushes from the platform, spilling into the bay.
Crews are hard at work, rescuing oil-soaked birds and animals.
Other crews are using sonic nets to drive sea life out of the area to safety.
Merfolk aren’t happy that drilling platform is leaking into their kingdom, and their ambassador angrily points to the contract where the humans would guarantee safety and a portion of the revenues, acting quickly to resolve any spills or accidents.
We are not acting quickly enough, he says. Poseidon will call up more hurricanes if we don’t work faster.
The president scowls and gives the order.

Warning Signs

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My boss handed me an assignment: design a warning sign for nuclear waste that will make sense to anyone digging it up a million years from now.
My first few efforts focused on skulls, crossbones, frowny faces, festering zombies, and other symbols of slow, painful death.
Then, I realized. If these people of the future don’t understand simple English, that means our country’s been conquered by China. Or overwhelmed by those Mexican immigrants.
Well, screw that. This is my country, dammit.
That’s when I started drawing smiley faces and people with shovels, happily digging, and pouring barrels over their heads.