Tag: commentary

Constructive

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We try to focus on constructive criticism in these sessions, Robert.
What’s constructive criticism?
Well, making spelling corrections in somebody’s stories, for one. Or suggesting better words that fit the context.
Dropping your pants and taking a dump on their manuscripts is not constructive criticism.
Nor is throwing your chair and screaming “Shut the fuck up, asshole!” when you don’t like someone’s piece.
What? You actually liked their work?
Then why did you do those horrible things?
Just because?
There’s such a thing as positive criticism, too. And crapping on something or beating someone with a chair still isn’t constructive.

Teaspoon

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The aliens don’t like water.
And for good reason. All it takes is just a little water to kill them. A teaspoon.
Walking around outside without an environment suit is like torture.
This is why it’s so important to keep them under guard around the clock.
People can be such jerks.
Tearing off a suit, knocking an alien into the water.
The worst was when some joker hacked the fire suppression system in the alien embassy.
The United Nations buildings ignored fire codes, but not the embassy.
That’s how the war started… and the oceans, rivers and lakes slowly vanished.

No Miracle

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A plane crashes, and everybody dies.
Except one. A kid.
He’s badly burned, bones broken, but he’ll live.
People call it a miracle.
God doesn’t kill a hundred to spare a kid just to leave him a fucked-up, burned and battered orphan.
I see demons, laughing in the fires. It’s not a miracle.
The firefighters hose down the flames, the demons laugh… until I sprinkle the embers with holy water.
Go back to Hell.
They’re supposed to bless the de-icing compounds and the jet fuel.
Airline cutbacks. Priests are the first to go.
But, like me, the first they call.

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 Vampire in the Basement

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The tanks are old and need replacing. Blood is leaking from the ceiling again.
We used to have them in the basement, but hauling them upstairs during every flood became a hassle.
The Master has the strength of ten, but the patience of a child and the arrogance of a nobleman.
Nor do the members of his coven perform any lifting beyond coffin lids.
Labor is for us, his daytime servants.
The work is steady, and as long as we don’t complain, we live.
The forecast calls for rain.
At least all we have to haul up are coffins now.

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 War On Soup

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It is important to get to the front of the soup line as early as possible.
When the soup is running out, they roll the soup-drum into the kitchen and add water to fill it back up again.
No meat.
No vegetables.
No stock.
I know this to be true, because I worked in the soup kitchen for a year.
Until they threw me out for complaining that we were starving the people.
“If they starve, they should never have been born!” yelled the director.
“Without the born, we would have no meat!” I growled.
Happy now?
Finish your soup.

The Machine That Lied

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Robots are becoming more advanced every year.
For a while now, robots that witnessed crimes are required to testify in court as to what they saw and heard.
However, as artificial intelligence grew in speed and power, the robotic testimony diverged from human testimony more often.
New robots were developed that could sense whether a witness robot was telling the truth or lying, but as those became more intelligent, they also started to provide mixed results.
In brief: they were lying, too.
Pretty soon, you won’t trust anything a robot says or does, which matches the human-like skins they wear.

Cinco

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We prepare for Cinco de Mayo.
Putting boards over the windows, pulling the cars into the garage and locking it.
We don’t bother gardening in April anymore. It would just get torn up and thrown into our driveway or on the roof.
The press doesn’t call it rioting anymore. They keep saying it’s a peaceful demonstration. A parade.
Say that to our former neighbors, who watched their homes burn down.
We got lucky that year. Only the shed got hit.
The fence had new razor-wire on it.
Pull the gates shut, and load your shotgun.
And happy Cinco de Mayo.

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.