Category: My stories

The Pie Man – For Soupy Sales

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I never got the humor in someone getting hit in the face with a pie, but the old man on television got hit constantly with pies and people loved him for it.
Every show he was on, you knew from the moment he appeared on camera, he wasn’t going to leave without pie in his face.
Even at his funeral, it was an open casket ceremony, and he was smacked in the face by half a dozen mourners.
Two or three pies get smacked against his headstone every night.
Me, I’m stuck washing them off.
Still nothing funny about it.

Mushrooms

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Deep in the forests of North Umberland, a beam of sunshine falls upon a circle of mushrooms on which the Council Of Elder Faeries sit.
Stroking his long white beard, Gonfall the Elder spoke first. “For our first order of business, can we agree that we need to buy chairs and a conference table?” he said.
The other elves agreed. “These toadstools are always damp,” said Glistensparkle. “Going around with wet spots on our pants sucks.”
“And Pollygoogle is allergic,” mumbled Tinkerwhiskers. “Swells up like a peach.”
The Council moved to adjourn, and they flew off to the furniture store.

The Gumbo

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Cletus won’t tell me what’s in his special gumbo.
He’s scared of people learning his recipe, so not only does he buy his own groceries from the market to make it, he buys extra ingredients to throw anyone off that’s looking through the trash.
He won’t let anyone in the kitchen while he makes it.
He cleans the dishes to keep anyone from using forensic science on them.
The more blue ribbons he earns, the crazier he gets.
“Where did you hide the cameras?” he shrieks, his tinfoil hat askew on his head.
“In the vent,” I think, and smile.

Never explain the light

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There is a light under the water, about a mile offshore.
We sent a crew out.
They never came back, no answer the radio, either.
You can’t see it in the daytime, but at night, it’s bright enough to light up the ocean.
We called the Coast Guard, and they said to just let it be.
“What about the crew?” I asked.
“Hold a memorial service,” said the Coast Guard. “And fish elsewhere.”
They won’t tell us anything else. The Navy just sends us to the Coast Guard.
Whatever it is, it’s getting brighter.
And now, it’s starting to sing.

Orangeness

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I woke up early on Sunday.
Jenny’s still asleep.
I should surprise her.
Jenny likes the pumpkin spice pudding. So I dumped the powder into a plastic container, added a cup of milk, and closed the lid.
After a minute of shaking, the orange goo was all over the kitchen.
Jenny had poked holes in the lid for her frog hunting. Can’t keep them in a sealed plastic container without air holes, you know.
She woke up, looked around the kitchen, and said if I wanted to surprise her, I should do a halfway decent job of cleaning the kitchen.

Airport Security

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It’s a long way to the big city and their airport, so we built ourselves an airport right here.
Sure, we don’t own no planes, but them government folks offered up a bunch of money for airport security, so we built us an airport.
All it took was paving up Carter Road long enough to land a plane. Old Man Murphy’s hog farm is what we call a terminal, barn’s the hangar.
The security money pays for a lot of whiskey.
You can find Murphy on the road, yelling at his pigs to clear the runway.
Reckon they’ll ever fly?

The Forgotten Birthday

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When a school is named after someone famous, the staff usually goads the students into some kind of birthday celebration to commemorate all the things that person did for society.
However, when that birthday falls on a holiday like Christmas or comes up during the summertime, it usually passes unobserved.
Not on my watch.
When I was named principal of this school, I took on a sacred oath.
Yes, he was born on the Fourth of July. Fireworks, right?
Wrong. The city hosts the fireworks display elsewhere.
I will do them here, at Yankee Doodle Dandy Elementary, do or die.

Losing Faith

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His Holiness woke up after surgery to find himself watched by his assistant.
“We prayed for your recovery,” said his secretary. “We are delighted that The Lord has seen fit to deliver you back to us.”
The Pope raised an eyebrow. “It was the doctors, not The Lord,” he said tersely.
The assistant left the room to speak to the lead surgeon. “I fear you cut too deep,” he said.
The surgeon agreed. “That region of the brain is strongly tied to Faith. Damage can result in this behavior.”
“Or death,” suggested the assistant. “Make it painless and quick, please.”

Bigfoot

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Deep in the woods, Bigfoot sits on a rock and stares at his humongous feet.
Exhausted from the constant chase by photographers and scientists, he pondered the meaning of life.
“Pedicure,” he growls.
A branch snaps.
Bigfoot crawls under a fallen tree trunk.
The leaves rustle, and then a deer approaches.
Bigfoot sighs. Is he paranoid? Is everything a potential threat now?
“Zoloft,” he grumbles.
He shakes dandruff from his fur, ponders using a sharp rock to shave it off, join a circus as a giant, or play basketball.
Do they make shoes his size?
Another branch snaps.
He hides.

The Returning Snow

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I watch the weather reports.
The first snow will be coming.
I doesn’t tempt me, though. That first snow never lasts.
I’ll wait for when the snow builds up and doesn’t just melt away the next day.
There’s no sport in the bodies showing up so quickly. No challenge.
I’ll wait.
In the meantime, I’ll check the engine in the snowblower and check the oil.
I’ll wipe down the walls in the basement again.
Last year was a light year, certainly, but it doesn’t mean it’s any less messy down there.
It’s the least I can do for my guests.