Category: My stories

Decade

605016

Unlike ordinary hourglasses, God’s is filled with cocaine.
It’s much brighter than sand, and significantly more expensive.
Especially when you consider the size of His hourglass, thirty feet tall.
Money means nothing to God. He has more money than Himself, you know.
He likes to sit in the bottom, letting the white pile rise around Him.
He snorts a bit, feels the buzz, and comes up with ideas.
“Let there be light!” He says, and passes out.
“Not again!” whines Gabriel.
The other angels sigh and struggle to turn the hourglass over.
(It’s so much easier than digging Him out.)

Serial Killer

605020

The IRS sent Billy Wallace a letter, warning him that he was due for an audit.
Billy shrugged, tore up the letter, and flushed it down the toilet.
The next day, the auditor was standing in front of his cell, looking in his briefcase.
“You say your profession is: Serial Killer, correct?” said the auditor.
“That’s correct,” said Billy.
“And how many people have you killed?”
“One.”
“Just one?” asked the auditor. “Don’t you need more than one to be classified as a serial killer?”
“I was just getting started.”
The auditor fined him for lying on his tax return.

Please, Sir, Buy My Trombone!

605036

To get you to buy a trombone, the Trombone Salesman will get you to try a trombone.
“I assure you: the reeds are clean,” he says, placing the trombone to your lips. “Now blow.”
Sure, you do not know how to play it, but one is at your lips. Your hands clutch the instrument, your fingers work the valves and slide.
“Now blow,” he repeats.
And so, you do.
The most horrible sound rushes out of the device.
Children scream.
Dogs howl.
Glass shatters.
The Trombone Salesman tries to take it back.
You refuse. “I’ll take it,” you say, grinning.

The Three Wise Men

605025

After the Three Wise Men dropped off their gifts for the Baby Jesus, they headed to a brothel for some whoring.
“Did you have to give them all the gold,” said the one who had brought myrrh.
“Do I look stupid?” said the gold-bearer. “I’m a wise man, just like you, but I don’t reek of herbs and funerary resins.”
“Maybe a little,” said the third one.
All three enjoyed a bath together with some of the finest ass Jerusalem had to offer, fucking anything with a price tag on it.
Then they got on their camels and went home.

Hostage

605014

I was moving music between computers when I came across a file I didn’t recognize.
Virus scan: Safe.
So, I opened it and heard the most hideous scream.
“HELP ME!” it said. “THEY’LL KILL ME!”
The file was called “Sound File” and there weren’t any tags on it.
And I didn’t know who it was.
So, I deleted it and didn’t think another minute about it.
Severed fingers and ears started showing up in the mail. Bloody ransom notes.
But who they belonged to, not a clue. Everyone I knew was okay.
I’d call the cops, but… I’m busy.
Sorry.

Christmas 2009

605021

Why does NORAD track Santa on Christmas Eve?
It’s part of his work-release agreement.
The rest of the year, his parole officer watches him.
He started with dealing, leaving a few extra packages here and there, picking up cash with the milk and cookies.
Then, distribution. That sack holds a lot of presents, you know. A few extra hundred kilos, properly wrapped. What’s the difference?
Keeping the toys going was bad enough. Keeping all his sources, pushers, and buyers straight required a lot of speed.
He’s clean now. No drugs. A natural jolly.
He’d better stay on our nice list.

The Truce

639159

There’s a demon standing at the gates of Heaven.
He bangs on the lock.
“Let him in,” The Lord says to Peter.
Every year, Satan offers up a Christmas Truce.
And every year, God declines it.
“Just as my son is the Prince of Peace, Lucifer is the Prince of Lies.”
The demon returned to hell, message torn in half.
Satan wept, black tears rolling down his greasy cheeks.
“We will honor it anyway,” he sighed.
With an oily rag, he wipes his face and turns to his minions.
“No missions today,” he says. “Instead, we will train for tomorrow.”

Festivus

639158

My friend told me about this Festivus Holiday.
It’s based on a Seinfeld episode. The characters made it up to protest Christmas commercialization.
He’s explaining this as he’s propping up an aluminum pole in the middle of the living room.
“Now air out your grievances,” he said.
“What?”
“Air out your grievances,” he says again. “It’s a part of the holiday.”
I can’t think of any.
So, at that point, he shouts “Feats of Strength!” and challenges me to wrestle him.
I don’t think I like Festivus.
He leaps from the sofa, screaming with madness.
I run for the door.

Wth Daddy

639160

Little Terry was only five, but when mommy asked her what she wanted to do, she said “Go to the moon with Daddy.”
Her mommy smiled, made sure her daughter’s wig was on straight, and checked the IV.
Terminal cancer, while Joe was training.
Two years later, he was wrestling with the controls of the lander.
The retrorockets weren’t firing.
The vessel was falling.
Alarms screaming in his ears, lights flashing everywhere.
Everyone watched on TV.
Except for his wife and daughter.
She’d been cured of the cancer, his wife had divorced him.
She still would get the life insurance.

Everyone’s dying

639166

On the first night of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a cough.
By the fourth night, the virus had spread throughout the neighborhood.
And on the twelfth night, the CDC put the city under quarantine.
Men in Hazmat suits go door to door, picking up bodies and handing out drugs that we know won’t do a damned thing to cure this superbug.
The news says that it’s in Boston, Chicago, Moscow, Tokyo…
The Chinese deny making it. The Arabs blame “Zionist scientists.”
Everyone’s dying.
So is the fire. We put the suicide capsules in egg nog, and drink.