Tag: sick

The Mechanical Arm

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The mugger tried to take the girl’s purse.
She fought back.
And lost, with a bullet in her heart.
Despite the fact that the girl in the street was dead, her mechanical arm was still running.
The AI routine was cycling through idle behaviors, drumming the fingers on the ground, opening and closing on its own.
She liked to wear gloves, so the lifelike sleeve with the tattoos ended up convincing the mugger that she was still alive, so he shot her a few more times.
The hand kept moving, twitching, and the mugger picked up her purse and ran.

The Dead Bird

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I’ve had this bird for years.
Used to be pretty with bright white feathers.
One morning, I lifted the cage’s cover and it was lying there on the bottom of the cage, ugly and dead.
I was about to open the cage when I saw it twitch.
I’d seen this in the news: zombie birds.
If it hadn’t have twitched, it would have bitten off a finger or two.
I padlocked the latch to keep it from escaping.
Now, it just claws and bites at the bars of the cage, getting scrawnier and uglier over the years.
Fifty bucks? Deal.

Bystander

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Who names a child Innocent Bystander?
I look over the victim’s medical records and shake my head.
A car jumped the curb and mowed down a bunch of kids on the sidewalk.
They all suffered broken arms and legs except for one: little Innocent here, laying on the gurney.
His parents have asked for no autopsy. It’s obvious that the driver is to blame for the kid’s death, right?
Except that he’s not.
The kid was standing in the middle of the street, and the driver swerved to avoid him.
Afterwards, Innocent was beaten to death by an angry mob.

Muppets

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It’s been a while since you heard anything out of the Muppets, right?
Oh, sure. Jim Henson’s Workshop carries on, but when you ask about the Muppets, they hush up quick.
It turns out they tried to make a movie about the Sicilian Mafia: The Godfrogger.
After watching a preview copy, a boss named Don Music wasn’t amused at his portrayal as a failed songwriter bashing his head against a piano.
Fozzie ended up as a bearskin rug on his floor.
Kermit got skinned and stretched over a pool table.
Poor Gonzo. Tasted like the chickens he loved so much.

The Man

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After countless adventures with Curious George, The Man in the Yellow Hat got tired of chasing him down and having to pay for damage.
For a while, he kept the rambunctious monkey locked in a cage. The little creature couldn’t escape, and he would shriek all day long.
The neighbors complained. They said The Man that he was being cruel, keeping George in a cage, so he let George out and fed him tranquilizers.
These days, you’ll see them walking hand-in-hand, The Man smiling wide with his glassy-eyed, simian zombie.
“Wipe the drool from your lip, George,” he says.
Pathetic.

Hard news to swallow

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The ringmaster took Luigi to his office.
“Sword-swallowing isn’t exciting,” he said. “You can’t see the action. It’s hidden inside.”
Luigi tried to argue, but failed.
“Report to Bobo.”
Luigi sighed and left for the clown tent.
Two hours later, he saw himself in the mirror, covered in bright, garish makeup.
“Not bad,” said Bobo putting a hand on Luigi’s shoulder. “Look, I know this is humiliating. We’ll work your swords into the act somehow.”
Luigi nodded.
“C’mon. Dinnertime. Let’s fill your stomach with food for once.”
That night, Luigi stabbed himself.
He could swallow swords, but not his pride.

Neptune

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The psychiatrist arrives just in time.
On the rocks, the Sea God is arguing with himself, shaking his trident, raising waves higher and higher.
“Neptune fighting Poseidon again, Sam?” he asks, climbing into the rowboat.
“Yep,” I say, lighting my pipe and pulling the rope from the mooring post. “Poor god’s mind has cracked. His delusions are getting worse.”
The doctor pats my shoulder. “Go!”
I row out into the swells.
Fifty yards out, he puts a needle into my shoulder.
“Just relax” he says, the storm becoming calm.
And, as my eyelids grow heavier, the massive sea god vanishes.

The Kiss

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They were the perfect couple, I swear they were.
They’ll be together until the end of their days, I had thought.
He said “I love you” to another woman, and that earned him a knife in his throat.
She was going to cut out his eyes when the bartender hit her with the bottle.
Now he doesn’t say anything to anyone, just whispers to himself every now and then.
And she just sits by the window, staring at things nobody else can see.
Wrecked and lost, no longer perfect, but they’ll still be together until they end of their days.

Scarface

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Al Capone claimed that his facial scars were a war wound, and his bodyguard would chuckle at the comment.
“What are you laughing at?” said Al, and his bodyguard went silent.
The bodyguard was the one who had slashed Al for insulting his sister.
Years later, after Al died in prison, the bodyguard went out in the streets and found a kid in a gang.
“C’mere,” he said, and he slashed the kid’s face three times.
The kid’s mouth hung open, and then a familiar sneer came over his face.
“Nice knifework,” said Al. “Got a cigar and a light?”

I can’t complain

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How are things going?
I can’t complain.
No. Really. I can’t complain.
My doctor got fed up with my constant complaining, so he suggested an experimental treatment.
I now have a microchip in my head that will stop me when I complain.
I absolutely love this thing. I don’t complain about anything anymore.
Life is good when you have no complaints.
Oh, sure, I have problems, mind you. Life’s not perfect, but instead of complaining about them, I try to resolve them.
Usually, I do.
But when I don’t, I get out my chainsaw and fire it up.