Skeletons in the Closet

Why is it that reporters always look for skeletons in the closet?
You’d think politicians would have figured out by now to put their skeletons in the attic or the basement, or stick them in a rented storage unit.
Why not donate the skeleton to a school to teach anatomy?
Or a haunted house to scare people?
And why is it a skeleton in the closet? Whatever happened to the wolfman?
Can’t be a vampire. Coffins take up too much space. Unless it’s a walk-in closet.
How about a mummy?
At least a mummy can be kept under wraps, right?

Weekly Challenge #360 – St. Patrick’s Day

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was St. Patrick’s Day.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Border.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

Myst yawn

MARC

B.K. is up much earlier than usual this morning. She has much to do. She quickly downs her coffee – black, scorching hot. She loads up her bag “I can’t forget the cut-outs”. She checks herself in the mirror and adjusts her leprechaun pin, grabs a cigarette leaving the pack on the coffee table. She arrives at the school and takes her last drag. In her room she begins flipping over chairs and desks – placing green paper-cut out footprints all over. Her students arrive sometime later. “We had a visitor last night,” she greets them “I think it was a Leprechaun!”

THOMAS

My uncle Ted was a fat, Irish cop in Connecticut. Every Saint Pat’s day, I would go to his house and watch Uncle Ted get drunk. He would make up stories about St. Patrick, and offer outlandish toasts as the adults at the table downed gallons of beer and whiskey. “May all of your children be born naked”, was the toast I remember most of all, as I was a youngster, and anything that mentioned naked was about sex, and even more titillating and obliging to my wee ears. These were the grand memories I carried into my senior years.

#

Uncle Ted would squeeze or pinch Aunt Tina’s bottom at the dining table, thinking no one would notice, but she always yelped and batted his hand away. Everyone knew what was going on. He was not the first swollen-faced, boozer to use his cigar to explore a lady’s anatomy, either. Uncle Ted always had a cigar, lit or unlit, in his mouth, and often took a bite of ham or sausage with the cigar still gripped in his teeth. He was an ox of a man. His nose, crisscrossed with red veins, his eyes, watery and swollen. My role model.

#

Ted loved his cats and his girlfriend, although she spent most of the day on the couch, smoking, playing with her hair…twisting the ends, and sucking on them. She was mad as a hatter. A real nutter. Ted worked part time doing yard care. He whacked weeds, mowed lawns, trimmed, pruned, and raked. With the extra money he had at the end of the week, he’d buy a wad of Lotto tickets, hoping to strike it rich. He never won, but he had hope he’d strike it big. He was struck by lightning, twice, the day he won the mega-jackpot.

BOTGIRL

Bruce is one of the strangest cats I’ve ever known. A big guy with a round face, bulging eyes and an Abe Lincoln beard, he looked like an overstuffed giant leprechaun with a severe case of Graves Disease. Bruce claimed he was a hereditary Druid priest and had been forced to flee Minnesota because of religious persecution. He loved to get drunk and wax poetic about nubile women serving as naked alters in deep-woods rituals of bacchanal debauchery. He hated St. Patrick so much that March 17 was the only day of the year he stayed cold stone sober.

JEFFREY

The Color of Envy
by Jeffrey Fischer

They say green is the color of envy, but that’s wrong. I say it’s blue.

I saw her at the bar at a St. Patrick’s Day party. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and her easy laugh made my heart beat a little faster.

I tried, I really did. She rebuffed my every effort to talk to her, preferring instead to stay with *him*. She touched his arm, giggled at his jokes.

Now I’m blue. Without her, I no longer see the point in happiness. She’s blue, too, lying in the alley beside her building where I strangled her with her scarf.

Blue. The color of envy.

World Domination will have to Wait
by Jeffrey Fischer

Zyrzec felt a meaty hand pound his back and he spewed green beer across the bar. *Dammit, I’m a galactic conquerer, not a mascot.* But he was a short, green, pointy-eared alien on St. Patrick’s Day, so he wasn’t entirely surprised when a group of half-drunk frat boys pointed at him, stuck a leprechaun hat on his head, and dragged him to the bar as their lucky charm. At least they bought his beer, disgusting as the substance was.

He glared at the offender. “Do that again, buddy, and I’ll blast your ass past Andromeda.”

That’s when the crowd turned on Zyrzec. No one likes a grumpy leprechaun. They picked him up, threw him on the street, and slammed the bar door shut. They even kept the hat.

SEICHER

They came, thieves in the night. The livestock panicked but the noise was too late for the sleepers to react. Dressed only in nightclothes, the boy raced to the yard. The last things he saw, before being shoved to the ground, were his parents clinging to each other while the torches and the pack swooped around them like demons of the dark. Bound and carried off while unconscious, he awoke in the pitching, putrid dankness of what he later learned was an Irish raider’s ship hold. He was no longer the son of patricians but cargo with an uncertain future.

TURA

“Well, well, what’s this, a pair of hobbitses? And on this St. Paddy’s Night! Ye’re a ways from home, are ye no? We don’t like hobbitses around here.” The leprechaun grinned evilly and spat. “We don’t like hobbitses anywhere!” The rest of the gang stood up from the long grass, shillelaghs and hatchets drawn.

The fight was quickly over. The leprechauns stripped the bodies and started a cooking fire.

“Elvish swords, elvish cloak-pins, and a big gold ring. Looks like these were two important little hobbitses!” guffawed the leader, sucking the marrow out of a shinbone. “Ain’t so important now!”

MUNSI

The Reason for the Season

By Christopher Munroe

…and Patrick was like “that’s it! I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on the motherfucking plains of Ireland!” and drove them into the sea!

And that’s what we’re celebrating.

Will that be reflected in how we celebrate?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

No. Little will be said about Saint Patrick, no mention will be made of snakes. Still, we’ll celebrate.

We’ll wear green, affect fake accents and hit Irish pubs, and fun will be had.

Is this appropriate? Perhaps not, but it’s what we’re doing.

Now get out there and drink!

Shine on, faux-Irish douche-bags, shine on!

LIZZIE

Unlucky 400-leaf clover

A drink or four, then he trotted back home, his paces tick-tacking at the command of his watch. He didn’t remember when he started doing that or even when he started walking the less populated streets. At pace 400, he looked around and found a grin, one who would never grin again. He knew the police was perplexed, struggling to catch him, but this was his day, his routine, wearing some green, doing some drinking, some singing and, to help with his headaches, some hunting. Fortunately for him, it worked. The last look on their faces wasn’t as fortunate though…

SERENDIPITY

The week’s assignment was ‘St Patrick’s Day’: Inwardly I groaned… How many phoney Irish accents would this spawn?

Obviously, there’d be shamrocks, leprechauns and at least one rendering of ‘Molly Malone’ over a glass or two of Guinness, with the inevitable whiskey chaser. Maybe even the odd Baileys’ coffee! And would it be too much to expect not to be handed a harrowing potato famine tale, or political rant about ‘The Troubles’, just for once?

Not for the first time, I found myself wishing the creative writing curriculum could be a little more creative, and involve a little less writing!

TOM

Kissed the Stone Twice

You may find this hard to believe but my grandfather went to school with St Patrick, so course he wasn’t a saint back then. Pat was pretty wicked with a Hurling stick and not one to pass on a pull of the water of life. Grandma says there were quite close being sold into slavery and all. When they final got back It was my grandfather’s idea to round up all the snakes which worked out pretty good for both of them. Patrick converted Ireland and my grandfather became the first man to make a fortune off of snake oil.

MIATA

Jade handed another green beer to a customer.
“Happy St. Patrick’s Day!”, she giggled. Her life of freedom, the one she had fought so hard for, was just coming back.
“Married to a control freak does have it’s advantages.”, she said smilin’, “and when I think of one I’ll let ya’ll know.”
Mike was intrigued by Jade’s light heartedness to her former dilema. He knew what she had gone through to get out. He knew she had left things she’d cherished behind, barely escaping with her life. Now, her wink said it all. She was free and his.

ISHTAR

Drinking Problem: by Ishtar

It was Saint Paddy’s Day when I learned the truth. The sad man sitting at the bar, blood shot eyes, nervous tick.

He was God. So I bought him a beer.

“I had a plan” he said. “A pinch of Artistry here, a touch of hero’s there, but it all went wrong.

He explained creation was like baking. The right mix of ingredients, bake it at a high temperature, and you get life.

“So what went wrong” I asked.

“The ingredient lid fell off, I added to many assholes.”

And that kids is the reason grandma does not drink anymore.

ZACKMANN

“Hello, I see you come in always in the holiday spirit. You get candy on Valentine’s Day, pie on March fourteenth, corned beef and cabbage on Saint Patrick’s Day, eggs and food coloring on Easter, corn chips on Cinco de Mayo, as well as turkey and yams on Thanksgiving. Do you have big Saint Patrick’s Day plans?”
“Sorry, to disappoint but bit more of the spirit of frugality than a holiday spirit since those are the times of years those things are on sale. Other than going to work after listening to some Marc Gunn, no Saint Paddy’s Day plans.”

CLIFF

Ok, it’s pretty clear that he was a very important figure in spreading Christianity in Ireland.
Aye, he brought the faith to Ireland first.
Actually, historical records show that before him, there were …
He was FIRST!
Ok, fine. Maybe he was. And I’ll grant you that the legend claims he drove out all the snakes even though there is no evidence that there were ever snakes in Ireland.
Sure there were. They were everywhere and he drove ‘em out.
Whatever. But, once and for all, Saint Patrick did not invent beer.
That’s a damn lie!
Oh, I give up.

DONDO

The Guinness was ready, and shamrocks were placed everywhere. Billy had his tacky, bright green leprechaun suit dry-cleaned and ready for the weekend.
Business was really tough lately. The regulars were dying of liver failure or “getting healthy” and drinking less, and Billy’s country bar was really struggling. But a couple years ago, he had a brilliant idea. He changed to whole bar into an Irish pub for one week of the year, when all the cowboys claimed to be from the Emerald Isle. Billy was making enough in that week to stay afloat the rest of the year.
This year, he even hired a ginger.

NORVAL JOE

“We’ll orbit for an hour while the drive and our internal organs neutralize. Then we’ll descend to the planet,” Borle said reclining his chair.
“How can you tell if our internal organs have been transferred?” Flerdie asked.
“Do you have gas?”
“Yeah. So?”
“I don’t, anymore,” Borle giggled.
“The planet’s completely green,” Flerdie said, changing the subject. “How do you know there will be fish there?”
“The planet’s named O’Gillyham, terra formed 500 years ago by Patrick O’Carroll, a displaced Irish potato farmer. The green of the planet comes from all the plants. That many plants need lots of water.”

Dergill wrapped Long John Silver in a towel and dabbed hydrogen peroxide on a festering wound on the dog’s side. The old dog squirmed at first, but was soon fast asleep inside the towel. He had cut himself the week before while escaping his kennel to frolic among the females.
Dergill had a silly thought. While the dog slept he saturated it’s coat with peroxide. He didn’t want to hurt the wiener dog, so he avoided the eyes, mouth, and tail.
After fifteen minutes with green food coloring, Dergill decided Long John looked more like a zombie than a leprechaun.

SINGH

The St Patrick’s Day Curse

Chris Mooney-Singh

1. The Pilgrims

I’ve heard the pilgrimage story a hundred times in our local Melbourne pub, looking into my glass darkly filled with Guinness as Dad tells his tale again:

“Lionel and Liam – our long-gone great-grand uncles decided to make pilgrimage to Old Man Wise in the woods. On reaching Flanagan’s Fork, Lionel looked left and saw the house of Tara, the beauty who lived on the hill.

‘“Liam, I will meet you here on your way back. We’ll go together tomorrow, Lad.”’

With that, he made haste for the prostitute, leaving Liam to pilgrimage on alone to Old Man Wise’s campfire.”

2. The Itch

“The next day at Flanagan’s Fork, Lionel again got that itch in his trousers for the flaming redhead.

‘“I’m off to Tara’s, lad. I’ll be waiting here for you.”’

“Liam the serious younger brother continued on to Old Man Wise. He sat, listened, then returned stepping on a blackthorn branch puncturing his foot. He limped shoeless back to the crossroads. There waiting , Lionel in high spirits kicked a rock and uncovered a gold coin with a bust of Charles II on one side and the Irish Cross on the other:

‘”Well, wouldn’t you know it. Lady Luck is smiling on me.”’

3. Fate

“On the third day Liam dragged Lionel past Tara’s infamous house on to Old Man Wise. He couldn’t understand how his brother who’d visited the prostitute twice had found a gold coin, while he, the faithful pilgrim had only earned a thorn in the foot for his troubles. What was God playing at?

Old Man Wise smiled: ‘“Well, Lionel was to find a pot of gold,’’’ he said, ‘“But because of his trouser hunger found but a single coin, while you, Liam destined to be mauled by a wolf, changed your fate to a thorn-prick due to your pilgrim piety.”’

4. The Migration

“My father tells the tale every year. Inevitably someone asks ‘“What happened to the two brothers?”’

“This is where I get really uncomfortable with all this family fable stuff.

‘“Liam’s pilgrim piety hardened into pride,”’ Dad says, ‘“Whereas, after Lionel realised his foolish loss he repented his loose ways.”’ Dad goes on: ‘“Well, the brothers migrated here in 1882 and took up horse-breaking for a living.”’

“This is where I get up to go and relieve myself, but Dad, noticing me skipping out on his story orders: ‘“Bring a fresh round, will you Son. We’ll wait until you get back.”’

5. The Curse

Returning, I plonk the Guinness pints down.

Dad continues: “One day, Liam boasted he’d tame the lead brumby brought in from the mountains, but the stallion threw him and the fool broke his bloody neck.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pride takes a fall, Dad.”

“Son, you think life’s different nowadays? I named you Liam Lionel Fogerty for a reason.”

“It’s like a family curse.”

“We’ve all got a Liam and a Lionel inside. Which one rules you, Son?”

So speaks dear old Dad who has become Old Man Wise.

With that, he raises a dark glass to toast the ancestors and my future.

REDGODDESS

Hotels are the perfect refuge for people who can’t say no to temptations. Every corner you turn, there is a substance that Lola should avoid. There are left over glazed donuts and stale chips in the cafeteria. Cake in the dining room for a staff birthday who’s not even working today. Her Manager has liquor hidden in plain sight in her desk. Standing in the lobby, wearing a green scarf, wishing guests “Happy St.Patty’s Day,” is her best escape. Let’s pretend all is jolly while she rewinds her worries in silence. Some people don’t need an occasion to misbehave under the influence. The bar will be packed with countless lost souls for Happy Hour. She will leave on the dot tonight. She has zero tolerance for privileged drunks with an ax to grind.

PLANET Z

St. Patrick drove all the snakes out of Ireland?

Bullshit. He never drove snakes anywhere.

In fact, he carried a sack of snakes with him everywhere.

He gave them out to kids like Rockefeller handed out nickels and dimes

Kids love snakes. They crawl all over their shoulders and along their arms and eat mice…

Well, okay. They love the crawly not-bitey snakes

Nobody likes the bitey ones.

Even when they’re non-poisonous, the bites still suck.

Maybe St. Patrick got mixed up and gave away a poisonous snake or two.

No wonder why they martyred the son of a bitch.

Circus Ballet

Attendance for the ballet is down.
Way down.
Attendance for the circus is also way down.
So, the ballet and the circus were merged into productions like Circe du Soleil.
But it also produced abominations like Elephant Lake.
What’s Elephant Lake?
Take Swan Lake, remove the swan, and fill the stage with elephants.
The Mouse King from Nutcracker showed up, and the elephants stampeded.
But that’s not the worst of it.
The second act has Russian dancing bears dressed up in tutus.
Ever tried to put a tutu and slippers on to a bear?
I’d rather be stampeded by elephants.

Bounty

Of all the gangsters in town, Vinnie The Finger was the meanest.
He’d put the finger on anyone at the drop of a hat, and he had a very small head, so the fan in his office was always blowing his hat off.
And that meant a lot of people got the finger.
The craziest was a grocer who sold Vinnie a salad he didn’t like, so Vinnie put a bounty on every head of lettuce he owned.
Thugs trashed the grocer’s produce section, and cut off an ear of corn as a warning not to mess with Vinnie anymore.

Alone with your thoughts…

Even though I spend a lot of time alone, I don’t feel lonely at all.
I like to be alone with my thoughts.
I think up my best ideas when there’s nobody interrupting me or trying to tell me everything they’re thinking.
I barely have room for all my own thoughts, let alone theirs.
So, I thank them for their thoughts, walk away, and spit them out in the toilet.
I check before flushing, just to make sure it’s their thoughts I spit out, and not mine.
I hope the toilet doesn’t back up again. I just cleaned the floor.

Mummy’s Curse

Despite what they tell you at the tavern, there is no Mummy’s Curse.
Maybe there’s the risk of exposure to deadly mold, but you just wore a breathing mask to avoid that particular hazard.
Simple.
The bodies are long dead, and their spirits have moved on.
Your only concern should be the authorities. They look unkindly upon grave robbers and have been known to torture then to death.
Thank goodness I found you.
I’ll just steal it from you, but contrary to popular wisdom, I do have honor.
You can cut through your bonds in an hour with your knife.

Forget

You.
I didn’t want to know
your name.
But when you asked for help,
I helped.
And all it took was
Just
One
Click.
There it was.
Right. There.
I told myself
“I won’t search it.”
But I did.
And all it took was
Just
One
Click.
Click.
Click.
I can’t unsee that.
I don’t want to know.
So, I took out a forgetting pill.
The ones that
Nasty people use
To do nasty things
But I use it
For good.
To forget.
And I swallowed it.
Just
One
Little
Pill
I won’t even remember
That I swallowed
It
Click

The Case of the Amber Rose of the Amazon – Part 19

“Since Mr. Jones by virtue of his clothing does not wear the clothing of a younger man. He is neither the fashionable teller nor the youthful 3rd vice president. The cashier is Mr. Jones.

“Only Mr. Long can be a happily married, so he is the dapper teller”

“And by a final deduction Mr. Adams is both the grandson and the 3rd vice president and in grave danger.”

“From who?”

“From within, look there is the house now”

“Holmes why would he receive us at this hour?”

“Because he await us.”

“Steady your hand gun, but wait for the moment.”

Weekly Challenge #359 – Idiot

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was Idiot.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of St. Patrick’s Day.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

Freaked Out Tinny

MURPHY

Blood flowed over my linked fingers as I clutched the gash closed. “Get a towel!” I screamed.

Stan stared at me, blinking. “You hurt?”

“Get something!” I pressed hard on my wound, forgetting the masked, knife-wielding stranger bolting down the hallway as I struggled to stay conscious. A wave of pain swept over my glaze of angry frustration. “Call…call 911!”

“Call who? Why?” He gazed at me, his brows knit. Was he in on it? Was Stan’s mild, friendly ways, his vacuous smile and his knit hat all a disguise? Or was he that dumb? “Oh! I’ll get a band-aid.”

THOMAS

Tom was a ninnyhammer, a schlub, an idiot. He was well liked and treated very warmly by the owners of the coffee house that hired him to mop the floor and clean tables – the limit of his comprehension and motor skills. Tom felt that the other imbeciles and morons that worked at the nearby coffee houses treated him badly. Tom was shunned and teased by them. Today, he was told that only a few IQ points separated him from the imbeciles and morons. He had hope, almost instantly. With his newfound hope and confidence, he began to write 100-word stories.
#

Like Dostoevsky’s character, Johnson faced the dark world of corruption and moral decay that he discovered and dealt with. As a member of the senate, entering as an idealist and willing to sacrifice himself for the “good”, he sunk into a deep depression as he realized that the world of politics was not what he had hoped for. He saw his colleagues accept bribes, patronize call girls, and not wash their hands after using the men’s room – only to go to the hallway and shake hundreds of the hands of visitors and politicians from the other side of the aisle.
#

Buzan was an idiot-savant. His memory was prodigious, but he could not make use of the information he could recall. His parents discovered that he was an extraordinary pianist. He would play a piece through, having only heard it once on the family phonograph. He often “composed” pieces on the spot, some derived from the tones generated by the appliances in his mother’s kitchen, or his father’s shop. Most of his day was spent in the corner of the front porch playing rock, paper, scissors, by himself. The hours would fly by, and Buzan would nap on the porch swing.
#

Sarah called the boy that pulled her hair during recess, a “severely mentally retarded person”. Her parents were Democrats, her Mother, a Soroptimist, and very politically correct. They taught their children that words like idiot, ‘tard and retard were rash, incorrect and impolite; and could hurt others, collaterally, if they heard the word or related it to their own circumstance. When asked to dance at the after-game party by a new boy she did not recognize, Sarah told him to “fuck off”! Her parents had not yet gotten to the topic of boy-girl relations and proper etiquette in this regard.
#

JEFFREY

The King on His Throne
by Jeffrey Fischer

The king sat on his throne, surveying his trusted advisors. He had the countenance of an idiot, as though he was considering a problem whose solution was permanently just out of reach. The other ten, sycophantic lackeys all, bobbed their heads whenever the great man opened his mouth. Some, reacting to a particularly stupid idea, may have turned their heads away briefly or sipped their coffee. But in the end the instinct for self-preservation was too strong, and decisions were all agreed to unanimously.

Of course, even a king is ultimately accountable, and ours was accountable to the shareholders. He looked as surprised as anyone when they fired him.

The Heist
by Jeffrey Fischer

“You’re an idiot,” I told Frank, which did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm for the project.

“Don’t worry, it’ll go great. We’ll be rich,” Frank said. I wanted to be rich, and my greed eventually overcame my judgment.

At first, the bank robbery seemed to go well. The tellers turned over the cash without our firing a shot. Things went downhill from there, starting with old Mrs. Fairweather, who turned to face my ski mask and said, “Why, Rusty Johnson, whatever would your mother say if she knew what you were doing?”

“Frank, you’re an idiot,” I told him as we sat in jail, waiting arraignment.

“I couldn’t think of everything. How was I supposed to know the mask went over the face?”

LIZZIE

The cops chased the armed fugitive down the street. He was packing a G18 handgun and a knife. The screeching tires and the yelling sirens didn’t bother him. He was used to running away from the police. At the age of 25, he had been convicted multiple times. Armed robbery, kidnapping, homicide. The media was all over the arrest of this extremely dangerous criminal. Odd thing though, when he was taken away in the patrol unit, he was sobbing like a 10 year old, denying every single crime, his and anyone else’s, for that matter. “A dangerous idiot,” someone mumbled.

TOM

Your Kid is an Idiot

When I was in the fifth grade I was reading at a first grade level. At the same time I demonstrated a totally lack of interest in mathematic operations. This led to three years in the Idiot section of my grammar school. I spent a lot of time with retarded and brain damaged kids. No one expected much from me, so I was pretty much left on my own. Somehow I developed a deep interest in history, ended up reading every book in the school library and the community library. By eighth grade I was reading at a college level.

TURA

My friend, these elections are perfectly free and fair. Our supporters are enthusiastic to ensure the right result. Our enemies call this intimidation!

No, you listen to me, when the will of the people is opposed we must defend ourselves. They are cowards, casting their secret votes against us. We know how to deal with that, we chop their hands off, chop! chop!

Let me tell you, if we were corrupt they would not get even one seat, but we are honest idiots, idiots enough to let our enemies participate in free elections. But after the election, we chop heads!

ISHTAR

First one: Travel Advisory

Excerpt from the aliens guide to Humanity Volume 4

There are three types of idiots on earth.

The first type need a very special helmet to protect their sensitivities. They ride a very special bus decorated with pictures of animals such as Elephants and Donkeys.

The second type of idiot likes to wear fancy clothes, make up, and yell. That’s all they ever do. They look at themselves in the screen and yell.

The third type of idiot is very deadly. They are never wrong. Hate fuels their souls. Travel advisory is in effect for Westborough Kansas at this time.

Second Story: Idiot Boyfriend

Right now I’m laying on back with my back legs around his waist and I wonder “Why do I have this idiot for a boyfriend.”

I mean sure he’s a great guy, treats me with respect like a gentleman should. But why do I keep him.

Sure he’s both part Indian and Werewolf, and when he changes forms while in bed he can be very intense. Yes I’m grinning on that.

I guess this is what every girl wants to know. Are men generally like this. Or could it be the way he howl’s at the moon and at me.

SERENDIPITY

“You’re a complete idiot!”, observed my boss.

I was learning the hard way that whistle blowers got a raw deal: the information I’d passed to official sources meant that tax scams, worth millions to the company and significant personal returns for the CEO – would now come under intense scrutiny, with inevitable consequences.

“Happily”, he continued, “I’ve fixed things so that the evidence no longer points to me, but to you!”

I left the room, pausing only to pick up my pen – the one with the built-in voice recorder…

I may be a complete idiot, but I’m certainly not stupid!

BOTGIRL

The Tibetan Buddhist view of the universe can be visualized as a “Wheel of Cyclic Existence.” Sentient beings wander from lifetime to lifetime between its six realms. Those in the lower Hell, Hungry Ghost and Animal realms are caught up in pain. Those in the higher realms of Demi-Gods and Gods are snared by pleasure. Humans are the only ones fortunate enough to live in a just-right realm that offers the opportunity to escape. In retrospect, I’ve been living like I am a being of the God Realm, feasting in idiot abandon until my good karma is exhausted.

MUNSI

Waxing Nostalgic

By Christopher Munroe

I miss all-ages punk shows.

Sixteen years old, in a WWI-era trench-coat, cargo-pants and a t-shirt with “Idiot” emblazoned across the front, out for an evening of local punk bands in an alcohol, and therefore ID, free atmosphere.

The shirt was bought at a Wonder Stuff show, and it was kind of a trademark of mine. I wore it to every gig.

If I ever see another, I’ll likely buy it.

I’m sure there are still all-ages punk shows out there.

I could probably find one, if I bothered to look.

I could probably go.

It wouldn’t be the same…

ZACKMANN

“I had a cousin whose only talent was teaching small woodland creatures how to sing.”
“Was he an idiot savant?”
“No, he was more of an idiot Seville.”
“Did he do anything with his talent , sir.”
“He formed a band. They became very popular and they worked for peanuts, or actually I guess it was walnuts and filberts. He made enough from the sales of their first album to buy a few nut orchards and was smart enough to hire someone competent to manage the orchards. They became cartoon voices. Do you believe me?”
“I’d be an idiot to, sir.”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Baal blocked Bob’s view of the television.

“The tightness in your chest is probably a little distracting. That’s because you’re dying. No-spin zone time. I’m a demon, yes. You do have a soul. All the rest was a lie. A minute after you die, your soul evaporates into nothingness…or I can absorb your soul. You’ll be part of me, but you’ll still exist. Whaddya say?”

Baal licked his lips as he absorbed Bob. The angel behind him scowled.

Baal shrugged. “Never would’ve thought of it ourselves.” The demon turned off Fox News. “Scare ’em enough and they’ll believe anything.”

DONDO

The Town Idiot
Everyone calls him the town idiot. The man dresses well, never bothers anyone, and nobody really knows whether his intelligence warrants the nickname.
When the carnival is in town, he stands in the shadow of the ferris wheel, waiting for anyone to take a little ride with. Day after day he patiently walks near the amusement ride, as the other folks in the town keep their distance. Even when he approaches someone politely, they run away.
It never occurred to him that the townsfolk were judging him based on his appearance.

REDGODESS

On her bus commute to work, Lola imagines leaving her neighborhood behind. For the past 10 years, neighbors have been fighting for an urban renaissance. Politicians promise jobs, safety and better schools but with each election, less get done. She’s fed up with all the lip service and being treated like an idiot for votes. Even the condition of the bus is a symbol of decay.
The passenger next to her smells like booze, piss and peanuts. The old lady in the front with her two grandchildren, cursing at the bus driver. The teenager in the back shouting on her cell phone. It’s all taking a toll on her. It’s time to take control of her destiny.

JUSTIN

When I played the first Call of Duty game I learned a bit of German. English was originally a west germanic language, and the Normans added lots of French to it, so many people mistake English as being Latin based, as I did. I just looked that up right now as I wrote this, to fact check myself. I bet you learned something, too. The point I’m making is that English and German have similar roots, so I felt like an idiot when I saw a sign that said “Minen” and stepped past it and blew up on a landmine.

NORVAL JOE

“So far you’ve used a Theoretical String drive, the Standard Gimlet drive, and now we’re using the Oopsiedaisy 360,” Flerdy said and glanced tentatively at the closed viewport. Once the hyper-drive had been engaged, the stars outside appeared to burst into a pinwheel of confusion. His stomach quickly turned. “How many drives does this crate have?”
Borle scratched his head and said, “The Galactic Infinity has any number of drives. I’ve only used a half dozen, myself. One I’ll never use again is the OAIWUADLT 13. The Only An Idiot Would Use A Drive Like This 13 was named appropriately.”

Dergill Dunderspawn threw his hoodie onto the couch. The last of the twenty-seven puppies was delivered to another unsuspecting home. He had hoped to hang up the disguise and enjoy his twelve remaining older dogs.
Barking from the kennels told him something was not right. As he opened the door a streak of silver shot from the female kennel to males.
Like an idiot, he’d left the male’s gate open.
The old wiener dog was more grey than black, but age didn’t slow Long John Silver down. In a few weeks there could be as many as thirty new puppies.

CLIFF

Frank stomped the brake and jerked the wheel, narrowly avoiding the car that had lurched out of the parking lot. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself. Frank was convinced that drivers were getting worse every day. He remembered when there were manners on the road but those days were gone. Most annoying were tailgaters. Those fools were just begging for Frank to stop suddenly and see how good either their brakes or their insurance was. The only ones worse were the idiots who wouldn’t speed up no matter how much Frank tried to push them along. A world full of idiots.

SINGH

1. Proposal

They left – he in tuxedo and she in chiffon. His plan? Propose eternal love beside the eternity of ocean. The tide was soon licking ankles and his Italian shoes filled with seawater. Undaunted, he knelt and offered the ring. Crossing arms to warm her icy nipples, she envisioned a laughable life ahead. Neither noticed the big wave. It caught them off guard. They floundered in the back-wash together. Dripping like a spoilt flower, her hair a mess, she gasped for air. It was too funny, but she was ready to say Yes. Unfortunately the idiot had lost the diamond ring.

2. Send

“Darling, c-u on the bench @Chelsea Beach, 8pm,” he emailed his girlfriend. Now, he needed to inform his wife he’d be late. But the hotline rang. Distracted while speaking, he wrote to his wife on the girlfriend mail along with its chain of clandestine emails. The customer dealt with, he hit Send and left for the long drive along the Bay.

Darkness was falling when he arrived, so he couldn’t see her down the beachfront until he was just feet away from the bench. To his horror, there were two familiar faces waiting. You damn idiot! he said to himself.

3. Role-play

They stole a weekend at the resort. At the postcard cove they joined the other couples who had stolen the same weekend.

Two were playing Bikini Model and Photographer, “Lift your arm, pout your lips, reach to the camera,” the man ordered.

The just-arrived couple lay on their jumbo towel, amused.

“Same old role-play,” she said, clicking tongue to teeth.

“You know what John Lennon said? he asked.

“What?”

““As usual, there is a great woman behind every idiot.”’

“I guess that also applies to us.” she added.

For the rest of the weekend, he kept his trap shut.

4. Surf’s Up

He’d come evenings for an hour to dig a hole in the sand, only to fill it and leave, spade over shoulder. What an idiot! said the surfer to his girl. But they soon forgot him waiting for big waves beyond the breakers.

One evening when the sea was calm, the surfer mounted her from behind. Without looking up, the idiot dug faster and deeper as the couple climaxed out on the surfboard.

When their tricky act was done, he filled the hole, mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and left looking a little more redder faced and satisfied than usual.

5. Sand Box

The ex-pop star had survived all – losses in love, derangement through drugs, only to see his popularity slump into obscurity. Although he couldn’t walk to the ocean, he could smell the salt and hear the call of the eternal beach party. Heavily medicated, he played his piano on his patio with a tray of beach sand placed beneath the pedals to wriggle his toes in from time to time. He still wrote the same sappy love songs, yet, to his last dying idiot breath he remained true to the code of those who burn themselves in the name of love.

PLANET Z

I’d call Ted an idiot, but that would be insulting to idiots.

“Idiots wouldn’t know they were being insulted by a comparison to Ted,” said my friend Marie.

We argued about this for a bit, until Marie suggested that we find some idiots and ask them how they felt about me comparing them to Ted.

I called several institutions, but they only allow family to visit. And they said that they preferred the term “Mentally Challenged” these days.

“Do you prefer it, or do the idiots prefer it?”

I’ve wasted too much time on this.

I feel like an idiot.

Justin – Storm

I recently got an Android tablet, and put the same Star Trek communications sound on them to play when I get a message. When it goes off once, it’s OK, but when the phone and tablet go, it’s kind of annoying. When I get several messages in succession, both devices make a storm of notifications! Oh the horror. Hastags first world problems, nerd world problems. But turning the sound on and off on whichever device I’m using the most at the moment is annoying. My solution? I made custom ringtones that when they play at the same time, are melodious!