Category: My stories

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.

Cake Baking

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Mom was busy in the kitchen, baking a gigantic cake.
Little Susie asked why.
“It’s Baking A Cake Day,” said Mom. “And that’s why I am baking a cake.”
“Why is there a Baking A Cake Day, Mommy?” asked Little Susie.
“To celebrate Cake-Baking!”
“Why celebrate cakes? Why not pies?”
“You’re not an unpatriotic pie-lover are you?”
Little Susie asked why pie was bad, but her mother shoved her out the door.
“Go play outside!” she shouted.
Susie walked through the trees to the neighborhood creek and made mud pies with her friends.
But she came home caked with dirt.

Chorus

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Ever hear of the Falling Chorus of Ghastly Cliffs?
No? It’s a fascinating story.
Imagine a gigantic gleaning amphitheater set on the edge of a cliff.
As the city residents become old and weak, they join the line down Main Street to the chorus at the cliff.
When they reach the amphitheater, they sing for all they’re worth.
Some go for a few seconds. Others, for hours.
When they’re exhausted, helpers pick them off the ground and toss them over the edge.
Another takes their place. The choir goes on forever.
It’s beautiful, except for the screams and messy splatters.

Strewn at his feet

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It is a rule of the royal palace that everywhere our liege walks, rose petals must be strewn at his feet.
Sadly, the roses were killed by unexpected frost, and it will be months before new blooms can grow.
Our master lays in bed, tied up and angry.
“All I want to do is walk to the bathroom,” he growls.
“No,” I say. “We have no roses to strew at your feet. We must carry you.”
He sighs. He knows that he is no more important than the office, and with the office comes rules.
We tighten the ropes.

Twilight Years

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I’m not old, they tell me.
I’m in my Twilight Years.
They’re not lying, I tell them. They’re just full of shit.
I look like I’m in my eighties, but I’m really in my eight hundreds.
Been that way since I was… well, eighty.
I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I just know that I haven’t died yet and I don’t appear to be in any rush to.
Know that song Forever Young? Well, I’m Forever Old.
I get sick a lot. I feel tired, weak.
But it beats the hell out of the alternative, I guess.