Twisted fairy tales for broken people.
639174
The letter said I qualified for a 7 day free trial. But it didn’t say what it was for.
I figured what the hell, right, and I called the 800 number.
I heard it ring twice and then a click.
No answer. No voice.
The line went dead.
The next thing I knew, I was in Paris.
It was a week later, and there was a receipt in my hand.
“REFUNDED IN FULL”
I had no idea what had happened to me or how I got there.
There were no other receipts, no clues.
I found a cafe and drank.
639172
McKinney. Leader of the pack.
I grew up watching him on late night specials, learning his voice, his gestures, his jokes.
The unknotted bowtie hangs around my neck just like his.
Martini glass in hand, one olive on a glass spear.
I do his routine at retirement homes, people old enough to remember, too old to put up with the new stuff out there.
Keep it familiar.
McKinney’s fame was wider than I’d thought.
Broadcasts, deep in space.
That audience came for him.
They found me.
Now I’m touring the galaxy. Rich as hell.
But no olives to be found.
546076
Why did you do it? What put you over the edge?
You were so happy when I saw you yesterday. So full of the joy of life.
What made you pull the trigger. Twice.
What horror filled your mind with despair and hopelessness What could possibly drag you down so deep?
Twice. Did you pull the trigger?
Or did someone else do it?
They shot you twice and put the gun in your hand.
Then, as they waited to call for help, you breathed.
“I heard the shot. I found him there. I found him dead.”
But you still breathed.
639171
There are five booths in Bill’s Diner.
This is my spot.
Second to last booth, seat facing the door.
Nobody takes my spot. If someone does, Bill tells them to sit somewhere else.
If they don’t move, he puts their coffee down at the counter.
Even the mailman knows this is my spot. He doesn’t even bother to deliver my mail to my apartment or my office.
He puts it down at my spot.
Same with the paperboy.
Bill asked if I wanted like a metal plaque or something to mark my spot
There’s no point, really.
Everybody already knows.
798902
The doctors hauled Abe’s gangly frame out of the theater and across the street.
The bed was too short, so they laid him upon it at an angle.
Mary Todd was a wreck. Not only was her husband mortally wounded, but the theater owner refused to give a refund.
Abe’s son Robert pondered the situation: “Surely, God would not have created such a being as man, with an ability to grasp the infinite, to exist only for a day! No, man was made for immortality!”
Abe wheezed, sighed, and breathed no more.
The President was dead.
“Never mind,” said Robert.
639174
Robert Pastorelli’s been dead for years, but that didn’t stop me from dreaming about him.
His corpse had been torn to pieces and I had stumbled across his tongue, a throbbing slab of redness inchworming its way along the pavement.
I placed a resonating gadget to its tip and it spoke of his death and subsequent desecration.
When I found the rest of his head, I placed the tongue back inside and it babbled nonsense.
Why I dreamed of Robert Pastorelli, let alone his severed head, tongue torn out, I have no idea. I haven’t watched Murphy Brown in years.
639157
The brothers stand at either side of the door, wearing their finest red military parade jackets.
Even though they each had a musket on their shoulder, the guns hadn’t been fired in years.
When had they been fired? Let’s see…
I know. I remember.
That day, the brothers had challenged each other to a duel.
After walking ten paces, they turned, and fired.
Both brothers fell over, dead.
I had them both stuffed, dressed, and propped up at either side of the door.
They are pretty useless as guards now, but then they were pretty useless as guards back then.
halfthemoon.mp3
Which half of the moon do you want?
The left? The right?
Waning? Waxing?
Or perhaps you want the top of it?
Don’t forget the bottom.
Maybe you want the side that faces us. Certainly you do not want the side that faces away.
What do they call it? The dark side of the moon?
Take your time. It is an important decision.
What of the other half? Who gets that?
Is half the moon not enough for you? Need you have more?
I can understand. What good is half a moon?
Better to have none at all, I suppose.
639160
Every day after work, I go to the art museum.
It is on my way home, next to a family grocery that always has the best apples.
You aren’t supposed to eat in a museum. But they let me bring an apple in.
Or an orange, if I am not in the mood for an apple.
Museums often display just a part of their collection to the public. The rest is in storage or being restored with touchups and cleaning.
They let me look at the many works sitting in storage, admiring the Junior Varsity squad of the art world.
639159
There’s no greater thrill than when your team wins the championship and the crowd tears the goalposts down.
I wish we had stopped at that.
After the goalposts came down, we started tearing up the field, ripping huge sheets of sod and tossing them around like bathroom mats.
Then we busted up the concession stands and the bathrooms.
The seats and bleachers took some effort, but soon enough, we were throwing seats around smashing them to bits.
The rest of the stadium required heavy construction equipment, but we were persistent and fired up.
A final cheer, then we went home.