Category: My stories

Random Dave

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Every fifteen seconds, Dave hits the Random link in Wikipedia and learns something new.
Hypotrichosis is when you have less than normal amounts of hair, for instance. Dave looked in the mirror and smirked… he might have that.
He kept clicking until he found an article about himself.
He read it from top to bottom.
Everything… his birth, his school days, his career.
It was all there. Boring as hell.
So, he changed it.
He added a wife and kids. Made himself a retired football star.
Everything was great.
Until, of course, someone deleted the page by accident.
Bye, Dave.

Mall Santa

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Yeah, I punched a mall Santa in the face.
Guy had it coming. He was drunk and falling all over himself.
Plus, it was July.
That drunk bastard should be up at the North Pole, making toys.
Instead, he’s making faces at the kids and puking on himself.
There’s enough of that in December, but I won’t want to have to see this crap in July.
Who do you think makes all the fireworks for the Fourth of July? he drools.
The Chinese, I say, and I punch him again.
Santa goes down, and I take his sack of fireworks.

Happy Birthday

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Happy Birthday, America. So, how old are you now?
We’ve baked you a cake. A country-sized cake.
I know, we didn’t have to, but we had all this food lying around in silos and warehouses and store shelves.
It would have just gone to waste. Or food aid to people that hate us anyway.
We’ll dig a gigantic hole and call it your mouth.
Go ahead. Make a wish. Blow out the candles.
Then, thousands of bulldozers will push the cake into your mouth.
Earthquakes will chew it up. Grind it into a sugary mush.
And swallow the cake down.

Armageddon

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Armageddon.
The final battle between Good and Evil.
And here I am, a rifle in one hand and a cell phone in the other, waiting to find out which side I’m on.
Evil likes how I’m a good shot, but Good thinks I’m officer material.
Doesn’t matter which calls. Whatever side I end up on, I’m going to fight.
Phone rings, and I answer it.
It’s one of those automated calling systems, asking if I’ve contributed to the local policeman’s fund.
I hang up and wait.
Looking around, lots of people with guns and phones, waiting.
Maybe this is hell.

Nosebleed

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Ever have a nosebleed and then you sneeze?
It makes a really big mess. Especially if you sneeze on the carpet.
So, there I was, pinching my nose and holding my head back and aah aaah aaah choo!
Gigantic red splatters all over the bathroom mirror. Violent tendrils, splotches, and patterns I can see myself through.
Wicked awesome!
That’s when I got the idea to paint canvas with my blood.
Over and over, I’d pick my nose to get it nice and bloody. Then, I’d tickle a few nosehairs and… voila!
Yes, my friends, I truly bleed for my art.

It Takes A Thief

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It takes a thief to catch a thief.
That’s what the mayor said to the police chief when the crime rate threatened his re-election chances.
So, the police chief went to other towns, recruiting thieves.
He figured he should grab some rapists and murderers, too.
When the crime rate soared, the mayor lost the election and a new mayor took office.
The problem was, this guy was corrupt as hell.
The police chief wondered. It takes a mayor to catch a mayor?
He never got the chance, though. It took 10 hours for the coroner to find all the bullets.

Smash It With A Brick!

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Ever have a problem that was impossible to solve?
I can solve it.
You see, I have a Masters Degree in Smashitwithabrickology.
Simply put, you can solve anything by smashing it with a brick.
Ever try it?
Well, of course it didn’t work. It takes a seasoned expert to master the art of the brick.
The size of the brick.
The speed of the smashing.
Which end to use.
These are things that you might not consider, but I have considered for years.
What? You think this is stupid?
Sounds like a problem to me.
Stand still for me, please.

Lightning Spirit

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I’ve seen the Lightning Spirit dance from cloud to cloud, shouting thunder and waving her jagged fingers of lightning across the sky.
She dances to the music of the winds, rushing across the plains and laughing as the trees sway in the moonlight.
With a touch, a tree explodes in a shower of shattered bark and light.
And another.
She looks for her love, the Spirit of Iron.
Metal rods poked into the ground, offerings left at their base to beg her attention away from the homes.
Over and over, she and Iron become one.
She shouts satisfaction, and departs.

Marble Rain

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You can hear them clacking against the street, shattering windshields on parked cars.
It’s raining marbles. Glass beads falling from the sky, the distant sound of thunder and the flash of lightning.
Yesterday, it was raining bologna.
The cheap stuff, too. Not even store-brand. That institutional crap they sell to schools and prisons.
It’s rained pretty much everything this past year. Cats and dogs ain’t the least of it.
You name it, it’s fallen from the sky.
Popcorn wasn’t bad.
Razorblades, on the other hand, totally sucked.
The weatherman’s given up completely. He just stares at the camera, laughing hysterically.

Financial Advisor

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I got a financial advisor.
He tells me to buy, so I buy.
He tells me to sell, so I sell.
Works out pretty nice.
Then, he tells me to meet him at the diner at midnight.
So, I meet him.
He slides a gun across the table.
He tells me to kill the priest who molested him as a child.
I say no.
He slides a stack of bills across the table.
“I’m here to make you money,” he says. “Go on. Take it.”
I slide it back.
“Invest it for me,” I say, and I take the gun.