Today would have been your birthday.
I baked you a cake.
When I got to the cemetery, I wandered around until I remembered:
You were cremated and your ashes spread over your favorite park.
I get so forgetful these days.
So, I walked to the park with the cake.
Groundskeepers were there, clearing brush and raking leaves.
I tried to share the cake with them, but they didn’t speak English.
That’s when I saw the woodchipper.
I turned the exhaust spout into the air, threw the cake into the blades, and the sky filled with white.
Coconut. It’s your favorite.
Category: My stories
Pay The Price
I was losing my hearing, but I couldn’t afford the surgery to repair it.
So, I got financial assistance from a corporation.
Now, I can hear again, but I also hear advertising.
When I walk by a restaurant, their ad plays in my ear.
“Michael, you deserve a break today,” says the voice, calling me out by name.
I want the ads to stop, but my doctor says the cost of ad-free implants is not covered by my plan.
And under his Doctors Union contract, he can’t remove them.
So that’s why I’m here with the mirrors and the drill.
Sitting very still.
The Captain
My title is Captain Of The Guard.
However, as I look at this week’s schedule, it’s meaningless.
Jacques and Fergusen are in training. They need to work on marching.
Oswaldo’s attending the Guard Convention, checking out new halberds.
Benoit called in sick, but he’s faking it. Didn’t schedule time off again. King doesn’t like rollover days.
Everyone’s out… except for me.
Not to worry: The same end-of-the-year staffing issues are affecting our enemy, too.
A lone attacker appears, yelling CHARGE!
I laugh, inviting him to sit down.
We shake hands, he sits. Invasion averted.
(This is why I am Captain.)
The Clown Bitches Need Oral
My life is a three ring circus.
A swarm of clowns flows from ring to ring, leering at the audience and pumping their hips in crude, suggestive ways.
Thrust thrust in your face, don’t look away, that just makes them laugh more.
The clown bitches don’t want your applause, they just need oral.
Drop your popcorn.
Drop your soda.
Drop to your knees.
The band is getting louder and you can’t hear yourself think.
Reach for the clown cock… pull it out… unwinding longer… and longer…
Tied-together handkerchiefs… then their dirty underwear.
All over your face.
(You can cry now.)
The Conspiracy
We recruited quietly.
Terminal cancer patients.
The mentally retarded.
The homeless.
The hopeless.
Each received two packages: maps showing their target, and a bomb to deliver to that target.
We wanted to coordinate attacks, but some of these people couldn’t wait… time was running out, and we had to collect some maps and bombs.
It was only a matter of time before we’d get caught.
So, we set them loose, and the impact was devastating.
Every soft target was hit. Corrupt politicians, greedy bankers, crooked parasites all obliterated.
Society panicked.
Then, when the smoke cleared, we waited.
Hoping for change.
Pardon
The President watched the news in horror as the plane hit the Empire State Building over and over and over…
His National Security Advisor tried to brief him as he walked to the Press Room, but there wasn’t much known yet, other than the fact that a plane had hit the famous skyscraper.
As he stood there, fielding questions without answers, the identity of the hijacker was released:
It was a turkey.
A reporter stood up. “Didn’t you pardon that turkey this past Thanksgiving?”
The President then recognized the bird and winced.
“I guess he got cooked in the end.”
Robot Replacements
The owner of the factory looked at the productivity reports and sighed.
His workers were shiftless and lazy, so he decided to replace them with robots.
The robots tried to get the work done, but their output still wasn’t what he’d hoped for.
Then, the idea struck him: What if the robots were shiftless and lazy?
He had them reprogrammed and started the factory back up.
The robots turned out to be even more efficient than humans at shirking their duties. One robot could shirk the duties of ten men.
He gave up on the factory business, building politicians instead.
Fish In A Barrel
Ever shot fish in a barrel?
It’s not as easy as you think.
Fish are small moving targets.
And you have to take into consideration the refractive properties of the water.
Light bends considerably depending on the angle you’re looking into the water.
Don’t believe me? Stick a straw in a glass at an angle and look at it.
That weird break in the angle is due to refraction.
So, go ahead. Try to shoot fish in a barrel.
You’re better off just pouring the barrel out, picking up the fish, and smacking them on the ground until they’re dead.
Gun Fight
Only a fool brings a knife to a gun fight.
But it takes a bigger fool to bring floppy clown shoes, a bright red wig, and a seltzer bottle.
I stood there, staring at the fool, with my gun pointed at his head.
“What is it about ‘gun fight’ you didn’t understand?” I asked.
“I thought you said ‘clown fight’ when you called,” said the fool. “I think I need to get my hearing checked. Or were you chewing gum while you were talking to me?”
I shook my head, put my gun away, and turned to-
He shot me.
Trust Me
“If you love me, you’ll trust me.”
Ever hear that one?
I hear it all the time.
She comes home with a bow and arrow, wanting to put an apple on my head to shoot off.
Or a wheel to strap me to as she throws knives at me.
Then there’s our savings account. Every weekend, she wants to take it to Vegas with dreams of not leaving it all there as we hitch a ride back home.
Today, she’s cooking dinner.
She sets out a plate and smiles.
I take one whiff and…
“So, where’s the bow and arrow?”