When the stewardess asked me to turn off my electronic devices and put my tray table back up, I refused.
“I want to keep my tray table down!” I growled. “And I want all of my electronic devices on!”
So, we couldn’t land. And we stayed in the air.
After an hour, the other passengers got mad. One tried to turn my stuff off while another shoved at my tray.
“No!” I yelled. “No!”
They subdued me, and then the plane landed.
At the gate, federal agents were there to arrest me.
Which is why I didn’t want to land.
Tag: dystopia
Two Doses Of Candy
Unlike other houses in the neighborhood, Doctor Odd makes his own candy for Halloween.
And it’s the best candy. In the world.
Kids flock from miles around to ring his doorbell and beg for his candy.
Some kids try to trick or treat his house twice. Or they trade their entire haul for a second helping of his candy.
One dose of the secret ingredient induces euphoria in a child. But two doses?
“The warning label clearly states that two servings may cause death,” says Doctor Odd’s attorney.
And this is why The Day Of The Dead comes after Halloween.
Upstairs Leak
The psycho upstairs neighbor has a leak in their pipes, so we’ve got a trickle of water down the wall and into the cabinets.
It’s their kitchen sink’s drain pipe, so it’s the crap that’s going down their sink.
And it stinks.
I put on my shoes and get ready to walk upstairs to yell at them to stop using the sink when I notice that the water’s turned from clear… to red.
I rub my finger on it.
It feels like… blood?
I calmly sit back down, pick up the phone, and call maintenance.
Their problem, not mine.
Scandal
Scandal! Scandal!
The mayor denied the allegations, while the line of accusers got longer and longer and longer.
“Resign!” shouted the city.
“Charge me!” shouted back the mayor.
But they never did charge him.
Instead of going to the police to file charges against the mayor, more and more people went to the media, filling the airwaves and newspapers and websites with even more allegations.
Eventually the list of accusers included everyone in the city… except for the mayor.
The mayor, disgusted with the city, resigned.
People lined up early to make allegations against the next mayor.
But nobody ran.
Surviving
You know how child actors turn out badly?
Well, that Peppermint Lane show was one of the worst for the kids who starred in it.
Instead of going to school, they had tutors on the set, but they were paid to give the kids passing grades.
All they knew how to do was be a child actor. And that doesn’t last.
Some got into drugs and alcohol.
Others lost their money to greedy parents and turned to crime or other ways to get by.
The puppets made it into museums, or on toy store shelves, envied by the surviving few.
Arts
The National Endowment For The Arts was founded to foster artists of all kinds.
Except one: con artists.
So, The National Endowment For Con Artists was started to foster them.
From all across the country they came to apply for grants: con artists, frauds, bamboozlers, and hucksters.
Some flew in from other countries with false documentation and credentials. When you think about it, faking up citizenship papers is a good test for your con artist skills.
In the end, the Endowment failed, because nobody on the board could agree on a definition of “legitimate” con artist with a straight face.
150
Sesquicentennial is a silly-looking word, but we here in Ocean Falls take everything serious.
Miss Liza has been teaching the schoolkids to count to 150.
That counting came in handy for the whipping of Fred Murks, the town drunk. The kids counted out loud with every crack of the whip.
Except for Little Fred Junior. He screamed in horror at the sight of his father covered with gashes and blood.
Fred only took seventeen lashes before dying.
“There there, Little Fred,” we said.
And then gave him a bottle of gin.
You know. So he can practice. For the Bicentennial.
Nothing personal
When the villagers put me in a cage and told me that they were going to shoot me in the heart with a silver bullet, they told me that it’s nothing personal.
But that’s because they don’t consider me a person anymore.
Gone is Moishe the Blacksmith.
Now, I’m just a snarling, throat-ripping monster to them.
Did I not keep my hunting to vermin and thieves?
Not once did I touch a honest villager!
When the Tsar sent his Cossacks, did I not kill all the soldiers barehanded?
Besides, I made this cage. And the lock.
And the spare key.
Red socks
Everybody at the office wears red socks on Thursday.
It’s not policy, and nobody tells anybody to do it.
We just do it.
I have no idea how it started, but every Thursday, everybody at the office wears red socks.
So, when Jake showed up with green socks, everybody was freaked out.
“What are you doing, Jake?”
“Where are your red socks?”
“Those socks are green!”
Jake pointed to the calendar…
It’s not Thursday.
It’s Wednesday.
We dragged him into the bathroom and beat the crap out of him anyway.
Not because of the socks. Because Jake’s been embezzling funds.
Music on the brain
There’s physical differences in the brain between professional musicians and ordinary people.
Over time, portions of the corpus collosum and right hemisphere change.
So much so, neuroscientists can spot a professional musician by inspecting an image of their brain.
Which is very helpful as the regime tries to enforce the ban on unauthorized music production.
“Let me see your brains,” orders a state neuroscientist to a group of teenagers sitting in a garage.
The teenagers claimed to be playing a Rock Band video game with controllers that look like musical instruments, but you can never tell.
Hail to the state!