Tag: mystery

The Ghosts

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I looked around me, and suddenly, it made sense.
“How is it that you can walk through walls while walking on the floor?” I asked one of the ghosts.
The ghost thought for a moment and shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Hah!” I shouted. “You don’t exist!”
“I guess you’re right,” said another ghost. They all nodded in agreement.
The next day, when the doctor asked me how I was doing, I told him that the ghosts didn’t exist.
“Oh, really?” he said.
“Absolutely,” I said. “And they agree with me. So, can I go home now?”
Apparently not.

Hannibal Rex

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Nobody trusts old Hannibal Rex, and Hannibal Rex doesn’t trust anybody, either.
I’m not sure why. If you ask around, nobody is.
It’s not like you can walk up to him and ask him “Why don’t you trust anybody, Hannibal?”
Because he doesn’t tell anybody to anything.
And he doesn’t let anyone come close enough to ask him.
He grows his own food, makes his own clothes.
Keeps to himself in the woods.
You could try to write him, but he doesn’t read anything people send him.
And he certainly wouldn’t write down his thoughts.
He looks happy, doesn’t he?

The Playboy God

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In his penthouse apartment, God is drinking.
He does this every night.
One, two, three too many.
He wobbles and sways on his barstool, finally falling to the vast black marble floor.
In a final moment of clarity, he retches up the universe.
Then, he passes out.
In this vomit cosmos, we are born, and live, and love.
And die.
After eons of uneasy slumber, God comes to his senses.
Confused, clumsy, and disgusted with himself.
Ignoring our pleas for mercy, he looks for a mop.
Then, after cleaning up, he settles at the bar.
And begins the cycle again.

Blue Ear Wax

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Everybody knows you’re not supposed to stick a cotton swab down in your ear canal to dig stuff out, but we all do it anyway.
You gently swirl it around in there, even though eardrums will rip no matter how gentle you are.
The cotton swab comes out and…
It’s blue.
Usually, you can expect some yellow or tan ear-wax, but blue?
What could you have stuck in your ear that was blue?
Why don’t you remember?
Do you dig in there deeper?
Do you call the doctor?
Or…
This is why there’s cotton at either end of the swab.

Spotters

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The last time I went to the beach, there were lots of watchtowers along the shoreline.
In every watchtower was a spotter, looking over the ocean for swimmers and surfers in danger.
The moment they spotted one, they raised the alarm.
Pretty soon, every watchtower raised their alarm, too.
Then… nothing.
“Don’t you have any lifeguards on duty?” I yelled up at the tower.
“Lifeguards?” yelled a spotter. “We’re too busy spotting. Besides, the public is all about perception of vigilance, not action.”
Since then, I’ve stayed the hell out of the water.
But then, so have the spotters, too.

Malone

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Word on the street is that Malone is back in town.
Malone’s got a file on him.
It’s a big file. Really big.
Takes up a whole building. Twenty cops working around the clock on that file.
The Feds took an interest in Malone a while back, and they wanted a copy of the file.
We laughed. They came down to see what we were laughing at.
When they saw it, they laughed too, and lost interest in Malone really quick.
Chief says we move on Malone tonight.
Good. We need the building.
It’ll make more room for Casey’s file.

Creature Infinite in Scope

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Like every creature infinite in scope, God was a bored and lonely being.
He created the universe, then He filled it with all sorts of interesting stuff.
Including us.
What interests Him the most is our capacity for faith and gratitude in the aftermath of a disaster.
Whatever He hurls our way, we come together and seek His guidance.
So, He tests us more. You could even say He tortures us now and then.
But not for His amusement. No, it’s for some kind of reason or plan.
For a creature infinite in scope, shouldn’t He know the answer already?

Rygar

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Jack?
Oh, Jack! He calls himself “Rygar” now, and he sleeps in his basement under a pile of old towels.
Until… he wakes up… senses… INTRUDER!
“Come on out, Jack,” said his landlord, nervously twiddling his keychain. “We need to talk about you tapping the Smith’s cable line.”
“RYGAR ANGRY!” shouts Jack, and he searches his towel-pile for weapons.
“I’m sure you are,” said the landlord. “We’ll discuss this when you’re ready, okay?”
The landlord sighed and reminded himself that of all his tenants, Jack paid his rent on time.
And in cash.
“Grondar Goldheart happy,” growled the landlord, chuckling.

Bad Wine

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As I watch the sailboats slide slowly across the bay, I open our bottle of wine.
“Was it a good year?” my sister asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “Year’s not over yet.”
Aunt Polly used to say that good company makes up for bad wine.
We’ve been doing this for years – bad wine, stale bread, and a ratty old blanket on the shore of the bay.
“Is the sun going up or down?” my sister says.
“I’m not sure anymore,” I say. “Have a drink.”
We used to go out rowing, the three of us.
Don’t ask.
Just drink.

Baby Elephant Wank

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Little Susie wanted to learn about the birds and the bees, but Daddy liked elephants.
“When a mommy elephant and a daddy elephant love each other very much,” said Daddy, “they do something special at night and make a baby elephant.”
“What if a mommy elephant loves a mommy elephant?” asked Susie.
Daddy looked down at his hand. The ring was gone, but its impression was still fresh on his finger.
“Then the daddy elephant hires a lawyer,” he said. “And then he moves away to Pittsburgh.”
To this day, Susie always gets a bit turned on at the circus.