Category: My stories

Caulk

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I stood over the sheriff with my caulking gun, a ribbon of white goo still swinging from the nozzle.
The sheriff was confused. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be to get this crap out of my shirt?”
Not hard at all if you know what you’re doing.
You see, I run the town’s drycleaning shop.
Caulk is easy to get out of a shirt. Easier than blood.
That’s why I gunfight with a caulking gun.
He gets up, draws his gun, and shoots me.
Great. A huge bloodstain on my shirt.
This’ll be a bitch to fix.

Skydiving

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The instructor said that I should read the manual very carefully.
So, I did.
But I read it backwards.
Instead of getting in the airplane and jumping out of it, I was standing in the middle of a field. The parachute was draped over me, and I was tangled up in its lines.
When the plane passed overhead, I shouted “I’ll be right up!” and I jumped as high as I could.
No, I didn’t fly up to the plane. Instead, I twisted my ankle on a rock and got tangled up in the parachute lines even worse.
Stupid manual.

Moonbeam Harvest

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The moonbeams cover the forest floor, and we gather the magic sparkles and put them into glass jars.
We elves have been gathering for centuries. The deep, rich forests that produce the best moonbeams may be gone, but there’s plenty of trees left in hard-to-reach places to harvest under.
Besides, we’re more efficient at refining moonbeams now. It only takes ten jars of sparkles to fill a Moonbeam Bomb where it used to require thousands.
My water-basin swirls, and a message arrives from Germany. Another ancient forest is in danger from developers.
Not for long. Send a bomb to Berlin.

The Knife Tossers

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Two men toss a sharp knife back and forth.
They catch it each time.
One man tries to catch it in his teeth, and with a head-spin he comes up smiling, blade in his mouth.
He tosses it to the other man, who leaps and kicks at the knife, catching it in his toes.
This goes on for hours, until one man is lying on the sand, knife buried in his chest.
The other man pulls it out, wipes the blood off on a sleeve, and says “So, what do you think of my suggestion to flip a coin now?”

Cupid’s Arrows

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That’s not a tattoo on my shoulder.
It’s a scar.
Damn Cupid got his arrows mixed up with hunting arrows.
I saw my true love, worked up my courage, and took an arrow in the chest.
He missed my heart, thankfully.
Unlike my true love. She was dead within a second.
But then, we both were hit with hunting arrows, not with Cupid’s.
Were we hit by Cupid’s arrows, I’d believe it.
Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.
Cupid apologized at the funeral, offered to hit us again with the right arrows.
“What’s the point?” I said.

Jackals and Jokers

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Jackals and jokers line the streets.
Licking their lips as the coffin goes by.
A nice juicy leg would make such a treat.
You bite through the knees while I tug on the feet.
Don’t lock down the lid.
We all want a peek.
No? Not this time?
What if we promise not to suck out the other eye?
We made him. We own him. He is a part of us.
Let us tear him apart. Let us scatter his bones.
When we are done all is left is his suit.
What size did he wear? I take forty-two long.

Faxcakes

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Every so often, we get someone who needs to send a fax.
I got careless with the office supplies and ran out of fax machine paper.
No, it doesn’t use the cut-sheet paper. It needs the old thermal rolls.
So I ended up loading the machine with pancakes.
That’s right. Rolled-up pancakes.
I didn’t expect to get a fax all day, and the office supply store was going to deliver another roll tomorrow, but I heard the phone ring and that telltale fax sound.
It printed, and I picked up the pancake.
They faxed a photo of butter and syrup.

Let’s all thank Finland

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The meeting went long, so I asked who was responsible for that.
“Finland,” said Joe. “The meeting went long because of Finland.”
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s thank Finland.”
We tried to open the windows so we could shout THANK YOU FINLAND at the same time, but like all office buildings, the windows were sealed shut.
It took just three hits with a heavy chair to shatter the glass.
“THANK YOU FINLAND!” we all shouted at once.
Except for Joe. He was laughing.
“You’re all morons,” he said. “Finland can’t hear you. Those windows face South. Finland is to the East.”

So hard to believe

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It’s hard to believe that Macy is gone.
Nobody in the room can believe it. Not even Sarah, who still believes in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus.
“Someone needs to believe this,” I say, and I dial 1-800-BEL-IEVE.
It rings twice, and then: “What don’t you believe?”
“Macy is gone,” I say.
“MACY IS GONE????” shrieks the voice. “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
The shrieking subsides after a minute, and I hold out a cell phone emitting sobs and whimpers.
“Now do you believe that Macy is gone?” I asked the group.
“No,” said Sarah. “In fact, that voice… it sounds like Macy.”

The Garage

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Hewlett-Packard was founded in a garage. So was Apple.
Famous Amos started in his kitchen.
Me, I start businesses all over this house.
The bank began in the bathroom, consulting firms in the crawl space, and my shed led to the creation of a quarter of the Fortune 500.
If you look in the dishwasher, you’ll see some venture capitalists checking the industry broadsheets, looking for good investments.
It’s getting harder to find good talent, so I’m founding a business school in my pants.
Care to check out my generous endowment?
Um… try again, stupid. It’s in my back pocket.