My Medicine

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I wake up, naked, surrounded by my servants.
They have strapped and chained me to a table.
I have a good view of the ceiling. Daylight through the windows.
I don’t taste blood. My hands aren’t sticky.
Still…
“I forgot my medicine again, didn’t I?” I asked.
“Yes,” said my secretary.
“How many died this time?”
“Seven, I think. You made quite a mess.”
They release the chains and straps, and I get up.
“Thank you for washing me off.”
“You made quite a mess.”
I must remember to take my medicine.
Or my prescription will change… to silver bullets.

In or Out

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“In or out?” shouted the bully.
The third-graders along the wall lifted up their shirts to show off their bellybuttons.
Today, he was punching the Ins.
Kid after kid, he’d look down and either take a swing at their gut or they’d run away.
The last kid on the wall didn’t lift up his shirt.
So, the bully did it for him.
And saw nothing.
“Test-tuber!” The bully pulled out a knife. “I can fix that.”
The kid pulled out a neurodisruptor and stunned the bully.
“Not test-tube,” said the kid. “Arcturan researchpod.”
He reported the incident and teleported out

Rock on

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Headquarters said to throw a curveball on the application form and then ask people about their answer in the interview.
So, I added a line asking “Paper, Scissors, or Rock?”
Most people write “Rock” on their application.
(Some just circle it.)
I throw out all the Paper, Scissors and Rock responses.
Stacks of Harvard and Yale grads tumble into my wastebin.
One is left.
Their response? “Bacon.”
I hired them blind.
No interview, no reference check.
Two weeks later, we carried our stuff out in cardboard boxes together.
I needed a drink, but it’s no surprise that they needed bacon.

Saints

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Last year, the Catholic Church performed an audit on all relics throughout the world.
Concerned, they sent out teams to authenticate as many as possible.
The report detailed forgeries and fakes, but there was a curious situation with Saint Miraculon, the Wonder Machine.
After the explosion at the power plant had fried his original processor, saving dozens of workers from death by electrocution, it was enshrined in San Jose.
But a backup processor had been installed in the rebuilt chassis, keeping Miraculon 2.0 running.
“Ignore that,” said the Pope. “Will someone explain exactly how St. Ignatius had five authentic femurs?”

The Cough

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“Forget this ever happened,” said Judy, grabbing her clothes off the floor and getting dressed quickly. “Forget I was here.”
So, Robert took two green pills, showered, and forgot.
The next day, he had a doctor’s appointment, and what he thought was only a cough turned out to be something serious.
“We’re lucky to catch this early,” said the doctor, giving Robert a second shot of antibiotics. “It’s a new strain going around. Deadly stuff.”
He took the rest of the day off, missing the call from the office to let him know that Judy had died at her desk.

Fizzy

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I never understood why people like those fizzy poprocks candies so much.
Then, someone watched how I was pouring the packet into my mouth and swallowing it.
“Put a little bit on your tongue,” she said.
“And?” I asked.
“Just let it sit there for a bit.”
So, I did, and that’s when I experienced the fizzling and popping flavors for the first time.
“When do they stop?” I asked.
But I couldn’t hear her answer. The popping had grown to a deafening, rumbling roar.
My tongue was numb, and blood started to run from the corners of my mouth.

Unmentionables

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It is rude to make mention of one’s unmentionables.
This creates a rather interesting dilemma: what is an unmentionable?
If you cannot mention then, then how does one know what not to mention?
I heard about a Downtown club where they’d mention the unmentionables.
Knock twice, then once, and then three times.
The password is “They forgot to mention it to me.”
The cops used to raid the place all the time, but these days they just collect a bribe and move on.
It’s hardly worth mentioning, really.
Perhaps that’s why the unmentionables are unmentionable.
Forget I ever mentioned them.

The Great Deal

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Five billion Zimbabwean dollars sounds like a great deal of money, but it’s worthless.
Due to hyperinflation and three devaluations, what was once on parity with the American dollar became worth just one trillion trillionth of a cent.
Since printing and reprinting that money was impossible, the Zimbabweans went electronic with all payments.
Never mind that many Zimbabweans don’t have access to electricity. And by the time everybody’s pile of paper moved over to the e-banking system, the digit limit was reached and all accounts rolled over.
Now, they use American dollars.
(Which will one day do the same thing.)

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.

Forget about the dragons

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It is illegal to slay a dragon. Even in self-defense.
Sure, there are no dragons in England anymore, but the law is the law, and it’s still illegal to slay dragons.
So when HM Revenue saw “Dragonslayer” on my return, I was picked up for questioning.
“Don’t you know that it’s illegal to slay dragons?” said the agent.
“There aren’t any dragons anymore,” I said. “There’s none left to slay.”
At that point, they handcuffed me and read me my rights.
“Why are you arresting me?” I said.
“You just couldn’t stop, could you?” they said. “You killed them all!”