Category: My stories

Money

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I know one guy who’s just rolling in money
No, I’m not rolling in money. And even if I were, I don’t think rolling in money is a very productive thing to do.
Invest it. Spend it. Save it.
But roll in it?
That’s just weird.
Then there’s the guy with money to burn.
That’s just fucking crazy. Burning money.
Sometimes, he dangles the money over the flame to tease me.
Once these two guys got together, and they ended up rolling in burning money.
I grabbed what I could, buried the charred corpses, and bought a ticket to Reno.

Not taking names

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I’m here to kick ass, but I’m not going to take names.
I forgot to bring a pen and paper. And it’s hard to take names on an iPhone when you’re kicking ass.
Sure, the phone has a decent keyboard, but it’s only good when you’re standing still.
Kicking ass jiggles your phone around a lot, and you’ll make a lot of spelling errors.
So instead of kicking ass and taking names, I’m just going to kick ass and then let the police check your wallet for your ID.
You left it at home?
Fine. He’ll use your dental records.

Behind Enemy Lines

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The architect designed a beautiful cathedral for the city, but the builder was slightly deaf, so when he heard “Confessional Booth” he thought he heard “Concession Booth.”
Things looked normal until the builder handed the job off to the decorators and the spot where parishioners were supposed to confess their sins, ended up a gaudy-colored alcove with glass counters under which candy bars were displayed.
The archbishop was outraged.
Until he saw how much revenue the large popcorn and Coke combo pack was bringing in.
“Besides,” he said to the cardinal, “We’re sick of hearing the same old crap confessed.”

The Cockroach

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The only words I know from the song La Cucaracha are the opening words.
I don’t know Spanish, so the supposedly rich satirical madness of the song has eluded me for all my life.
I’ve looked online for the lyrics, but you can’t trust Wikipedia these days. And those automatic translators end up garbling the words.
So, I went to the library and asked the librarian for help.
She sat me down at a table, clapped her hands, and a Mariachi band came by my table to play.
Pen in hand, I copied down what I could.
And tipped them.

Gravy Boat

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“Why do they call it a gravy boat?” I asked.
“Because there’s tiny German submarines in it,” said Grampa. “I bagged my share of Nazis, but there’s always one around the corner.”
Grampa was never in the army or navy. He drove his Buick into one of their Supreme Court-upheld Free Speech marches, and it was a miracle nobody got killed.
Well, okay. Maybe not the right use of the word miracle.
Anyway, they took away his license, and we’re stuck with him now.
I watched a tiny periscope rise… and then sink.
Just butter for my mashed potatoes, please?

The Viking Attack

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It was around two in the morning that Mike the security guard got it in his head to protect the office building from Viking attack.
Maybe it was his medication, or it could have been the booze.
Probably both.
He didn’t have a backhoe to dig a moat or pile up earthworks, but he did manage to park the golf cart in the lobby to block the doors.
Soda machines were far too heavy for him to move, but couches from the lobby were perfect.
When he was fired, he disputed the termination with: “Well, no Vikings got through, right?”

Miracle Season

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Another Opening Day at Wrigley Field, which means another disastrous season for the Cubs.
Ball after ball sails over the brick wall, and fans are booing and leaving before the inning is through.
It was halfway through another losing season that The Miracle happened.
The outfielder with the bloated multiyear contract and batting two hundred chased a fly ball into the ivy… and never emerged.
He was gone.
The umpire stopped the game, and the crew searched.
No sign of the player.
The game was called, and the FBI searched.
They never found him, and his replacement played much better.

Easter Aftermath

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Easter is not a holiday I look forward to.
The kids want baby chicks and bunnies, but that the dog might not get along with them.
The dog I walk. And feed.
They cry. I tell them to shut up and go to their rooms.
This year, Joey got special candy, being diabetic and all, but his sister Sally shared some of hers with him.
Instead of hunting for eggs, we rushed to the Emergency Room.
When we got home, the dog had eaten all the chocolate and was lying on the carpet, dead.
Better him that Joey, I thought.

Problem causing

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It’s not easy to teach problem solving skills to kids, but it’s something that they need to learn to get through life.
However, in order for them to solve problems, there need for there to be problems for them to solve.
There’s a problem with that: There are no problems anymore.
Maybe back in the old Twenty-First Century, there were problems, but not now.
However, in case a problem does come up, they need to be able to solve it.
So, we tell them about problems from back then.
And they laugh. Because it’s so absurd.
Try solving that problem.

Fear itself

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If the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, what about the other emotions?
Is the only thing for us to hate is hate itself?
What about love? Is the only thing we have to love is love itself?
What is the point of an emotion is the only thing you use it for is to use it on itself?
I mean, this kind of thing makes sense when you’re talking about magnets. I love watching magnets flip each other. Or drag them around through glass tables.
But fear, hate, and love?
I’ll hate fear, and love it.