The imam wore a suit and an immaculately-sculpted beard, and he spoke perfect English as he answered the interviewer’s questions…
At first, he said that terrorism is not allowed under Islam.
But a minute later, he was saying that the captured men should be allowed Korans and have access to imams so as not to violate their right to practice Islam.
Point after point, he contradicted himself, smiling his “Fuck you, America” smile wider and wider.
“They are not terrorists.”
It was then that a robotic camera rammed into the imam, breaking his jaw.
“Software glitch,” said the camera operator.
Tag: horror
The Pet That Sucked
My first furry pet was a guinea pig.
I don’t know if it was a boy or girl. And I don’t remember if it had a name.
It lived in a monkey cage in the room I shared with my brother.
I wasn’t allowed to open the cage to pet the thing. And I have no idea who fed it, filled the water, or cleaned the cage.
It got out of its cage, cut itself on a sharp edge, and bled to death in a closet.
I cried a lot. Too much.
I shouldn’t have. It was a sucky pet.
Her Scar
She wears a bandana around her wrist to hide the scar. But she takes it off when she washes her hands, and that’s when I saw it.
“How did you get that scar?” I asked her.
She stopped washing her hands. Then, she wrapped her wrist with the bandana again.
All the other scars, she covers with long sleeves, a high collar, boots, dark glasses, and keeping her hair long.
The next time I see her, she’s wearing gloves. They tuck into her sleeves.
One day, she’ll put on a burkah again.
Which is how she got all those scars.
Dr. Frankenstein At The Grocery
Dr. Frankenstein burst into the grocery store and ran straight for the produce section.
“Damn that Igor!” he growled as he reached for a bag of Romaine hearts.
Only an hour ago, Frankenstein had thrown a head of Iceberg lettuce to the lab floor.
“I need a heart, not a head!” he shouted.
“Sorry, Master!” Igor had slurred. “I’ll go back to the gro-”
“No!” shouted Frankenstein. “I’ll get it myself!”
By the time Frankenstein returned to the castle, the lightning had stopped.
He’d have to perform his experiments some other stormy day.
He shrugged, and prepared a Caesar salad.
The Counselors
After the bomb went off, they rescued as many as they could from the rubble.
The doctors and surgeons did the best they could. But it wasn’t enough.
That’s when the counselors took over.
Repeat after me:
I am not a victim.
I am not a casualty.
I am not a statistic.
I will live on.
Remember these sixteen words.
And only these words.
They will get you through this.
And then the counselors went through the survivors.
The next day, they’d picked out the ones who were fading, and they harvested their organs.
You will live on.
In them.
Laxatives
Using laxatives to lose weight is a bad idea.
Not only will you drain your body of essential nutrients, but you’ll damage your fragile digestive tract.
And then there’s the possibility that you’ll shit out your soul.
Most people notice when it’s slipped out. Treat it like a knocked-out tooth: keep it moist, and get to a priest. They’re in the Yellow Pages.
If you accidentally flush your soul away, that’s just too bad. Just be sure to wash your hands, and there’s plenty of jobs available to you: Wall Street banker, politician, and Department of Motor Vehicles window clerk.
The Angels
Michelangelo said that he saw the angel in the marble, and carved until he was set free.
As for the basement of hookers that he’d brutally stabbed and eviscerated, well, Michelangelo claimed that he’d seen angels in them, but when he carved each of them up, he’d realized his mistake.
At first, the Pope wanted to have Michelangelo arrested and tried for murder, but instead, he asked Michelangelo if he heard any angels coming from his political rivals.
Sure enough, he did.
So, the Pope had the bodies quietly removed, and let the homicidal artist continue on with Papal patronage.
Spare keyboard
Once, I spilled coffee in my computer keyboard, and I couldn’t wash it out. The keyboard was ruined.
I didn’t have access to an office to borrow a replacement keyboard.
It was over Thanksgiving weekend, back before the Black Friday phenomenon, so stores were closed for two whole days.
Ever since, I’ve kept a spare keyboard and mouse on my closet shelf.
And spare ammunition.
And meals ready to eat.
And…
I’d better not say more. Someone might hear and want to steal my emergency supplies.
I’d better shut down the generator. Fuel’s scarce these days.
Do you hear zombies?
Writers
So you’re wondering why I’m holding out a blank sheet of paper as we walk along this alley.
That’s because there’s nothing more formidable to a writer than a blank sheet of paper. Or a deadline, but it’s hard to wave a deadline around at a rampaging pack of angry writers.
They think a blank sheet of paper is the most awful and daunting thing in the world, more dangerous than garlic or a cross to vampires.
What? Did you hear that?
I think I hear writers! Dangerous writers!
Hold out this paper, and make haste for the stationery shop!
Sharing
When I was growing up, my brother and I shared a room.
Our family had a maid who took the train from the city, but sometimes she stayed overnight in a room of her own.
When she died and wasn’t replaced, I was moved to her room.
“What kind of wallpaper do you want?” asked my dad, showing me hundreds of samples.
I chose Mighty Mouse wallpaper.
Bad choice. Dozens of bulgy-eyed supermice, staring at me from the wall.
He may be here to save the day, but he’ll be back at night to rob you of your precious sleep.