Tag: mystery

Ghost UFOs

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Some people believe in ghosts.
Other people believe in UFOs.
I believe in ghosts in UFOs.
Think of it… ghosts are the spirits of the dead who still have something left to accomplish in life that keeps them around, right?
So, there’s bound to be some ghosts who are obsessed with exploring the universe in search of life on other planets.
That means – ghosts in UFOs.
Of course, they could be the ghosts of ghost hunters, people who look for ghosts as proof of life after death.
That means they’re searching for signs of death on other planets, I guess.

The Hamburger

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Condiments slipping, sliding from a sesame seed bun, flowing down a white shirt like a tidal wave, staining pants with yellow and red.
Brion Gysin was eating a hamburger in a manner no mortal man had eaten a sandwich of any kind, and the consumption of said hamburger was an experience I had the pleasure of witnessing in its entirety.
Like an Aztec war bib, that shirt became, a river of color.
It was no less than religious epiphany, a communion that I daresay has not been repeated since, not even by Jack Kerouac and his legendary overstuffed Chicago-style frankfurters.

Files

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I can’t tell you how many times I was told something would go in my permanent file.
I always wondered where they kept those files. And if they bothered to convert all the old records to computer files when hard drives and computers got cheap.
What do they do with those things when people die? Do they burn the paper records and delete the computer files, or do they burn them to a CD or write them to a tape, stacking all the dead records in a box and putting them in a storage room?
Can this be considered immortality?

Dangerous Catch

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We haul in the nets and dump out our catch.
As usual, it’s mostly guitars. Piles and piles of acoustics, with a few electrics here and there.
In the middle of the pile rests one shiny tuba.
Dead or alive, we throw it all back.
“No banjoes,” growls the captain. “Still no banjoes.”
He clomps back into the wheelhouse to light his pipe and scowl for the rest of the trip.
As we prepare the nets for another try, I hear the siren from the Coast Guard.
They’re going to harass us about not having tuba-excluding devices on our nets.

The Drummers

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The ghostly drummers are the spirits of the dead, a parade of the ancestors of this town.
Out of nothing, they appear from an alleyway, their slow steady beat echoes throughout the city.
Uniforms crisp and bright, they march proudly past their modern progeny.
“That is your grandfather,” whispers a mother to her son.
Ba-ba died before he was born, but still, the grandson waves to his grandfather.
The grandfather does not miss a beat, doesn’t look to the waving child.
He just marches on, keeps his place in line, and they all return to the dust of another alleyway.

Cake

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Somewhere, far away in a distant galaxy, there is a planet that is inhabited by a race of intelligent birthday cakes.
If your mother had more skills at the helm of a jump-capable star cruiser instead of in the kitchen, you’ve probably had one or two of these things.
Hunting for the right cake isn’t easy, but not because they’re aggressive or particularly fast.
Finding the right name on the icing is easy. Most cakes are blanks.
Getting the right flavor of cake, that’s the tough part.
Let’s head up to the polar regions for an ice cream cake, okay?

Judge

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The judge’s instructions started off simple, but after three hours the jury was utterly confused.
Some of the things the judge asked for them to do weren’t just illegal but downright impossible.
The foreman stood up and tried to interrupt the judge, but the judge didn’t pay him any heed and kept rambling on, getting weirder by the minute.
The foreman looked to the bailiff. The bailiff, having heard this for the better part of a decade, just shrugged and went back to staring blankly.
The stump of his left wrist was a constant, painful reminder not to get involved.

Fail

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Doctor Odd watched the mice scurry around the maze, trying to find the source of the scent of cheese.
Unlike other mazes, there was no “center” or “goal” to this one. It was just a series of loops.
And as for the cheese, well, he had smeared the walls and floors of the maze with a cloth containing a cheese scent an hour before.
The mice kept going in circles, and Doctor Odd waited for one to just give up.
Sure enough, the mice were poking their noses through the mesh on top of the maze.
They’d learned to fail.

Tickler

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Little Jimmy liked to tickle people. He loved to hear laughter.
He got so good at it, he could find the ticklish spots on all people who claimed not to be ticklish at all.
Folks got to know him well. So much so, all he had to do was wiggle his fingers and you’d feel them on your body, tickling you. Five, six, ten feet away – you could feel it.
Maybe he could too?
Jimmy’s last tickle victim was a toaster. He used a metal fork to do the deed.
I wonder… right before he was electrocuted, did it tickle?

Red

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I was explaining the color red to a blind man when the hot ham sandwiches arrived.
The blind man laughed. “You have no idea what red is,” he said.
“I know what red is,” I said. “You’re the one who has no idea what red is. You’re blind.”
“But I know what red is.”
Then he began an hour-long, amazingly poetic, utterly riveting explanation of what red was.
When he was finished, he took a bite of his sandwich.
“It’s cold! Waitress!”
I may not know what red is, but I know when to eat my hot ham sandwich hot.