Tag: sick

Fistfucking The Platypus

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I’ve read every overpriced advice book there is at the bookstore.
Who Moved My Cheese? and Throwing The Elephant didn’t help with my miserable stupid job, meaningless life, and spiritual bankruptcy. I just got shit on more.
So, I decided to write my own overpriced advice book: Fistfucking The Platypus.
I put tons of bad advice between the covers, added crappy drawings that a third grader with two broken hands could doodle up, and then put a twenty-dollar price tag on the hardback.
Despite my not mentioning platypuses, PETA doesn’t like it.
They can just bend over like…
You know.

Calling Myself

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I know it sounds weird, but I put myself on speed dial.
That way, when I don’t know what to do, I can always call myself.
Sometimes, I’m the one calling myself. And other times, my phone rings and it’s me.
Usually, it’s nothing important, like directions somewhere.
But the other day, I swear, I heard crying in the background.
“I can’t find the chainsaw,” said my voice over the phone.
“It’s in the shed,” I said. “What do I need it for?”
“Thank you,” I said, and I hung up.
I took myself off of speed-dial and blocked myself.

Belt Loop

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When I’m having a bad day, I’ll take off my belt and reverse it through the loops.
Instead of feeding it around to the right, I’ll feed it to the left.
Does it change anything?
No. But it gives me a moment to breathe and think.
Now, if someone gets me so riled up that I take my belt off a second time, I take it off and beat them with it.
When I’m done, I thread it back the right way.
Get up. Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up.
And don’t piss me off a third time.

Spiders

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Sometimes, grocery shopping with Zelda the Enchantress can be scary.
“What kind of peanut butter would you like?” she asks.
Here’s where it gets confusing.
I like creamy peanut butter.
But I also like crunchy.
Creamy! Crunchy! I can’t decide!
“Spiders!” I shout.
“Spiders?” she asks. “Spider peanut butter?”
“I dunno!” I say. “I panicked.”
She shrugs. “Spider peanut butter,” she says. “And what kind of jelly? Spider jelly?”
“No,” I say. “Um… forget the spider peanut butter. And the jelly.”
“What about the bread?” she asks.
“Forget about the bread,” I say.
Oh great. Now I’m hungry for spiders.

Willy Lied

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Willy Wonka said that they’d come away unchanged and unharmed, but just a little wiser.
Willy lied.
The fat kid drowned in the fudge vats. They didn’t bother scooping him out. Choppy-chop!
The gum-chewer exploded into blueberry goo in the hallway. Fucking gross!
The greedy bitch was crisped in a furnace, followed by her father. Good riddance to them both.
The TV kid survived. But he was only four inches tall. That makes it hard to treat for radiation sickness.
By the time they buried little Mike Teevee in a shoebox, Charlie and his family were moving into the factory.

Confession

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Confession is good for the soul.
And for the community, too.
Every few nights, Max shows up with a bag of cash.
It scares me to think what he’s done to his wife and daughters this time.
Over the years, we’ve renovated the church with that money. Put in a community center. Added computers, tutors for homework.
Last night, soaked with blood, all torn up. Hands me a briefcase.
“Make it last,” he says. “You’ll never see me again.”
I don’t even listen. I just put it in the bank, and watch the news as they bring the bodies out.

Mark Brown

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Mark Brown. Spoiled rotten rich kid.
The worst bully in the entire school.
He pushed kids down the stairs.
Nobody ever stopped him.
One day, he tried to push me down the stairs.
But I saw him coming and ducked to the side.
Mark lost his balance and fell, tumbling down.
Crack… he broke his neck.
Laying there in the hospital bed, he tries to apologize to me.
“Say it like you mean it, Mark,” I say.
He’s crying, looking at the ventilator hose.
My hand, crimping it shut.
“Cry for me,” I say.
There’s a new bully in town.

Diapers

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Kids. They’re so confusing.
All the things you have to do to babyproof your house are they sick are they not sick and so on.
It’s enough to drive a guy crazy.
I mean, for instance – take diapers.
Cloth vs. disposable, I’m not getting into that mess.
The manufacturers have all these commercials with pouring pitchers of water into diapers, sealing the wetness away.
They’re all a bunch of crooks.
I picked up some diapers that said “up to sixteen pounds” on them.
I swear, you can’t even come close to leaving just a pound of baby shit in them.

Call To Dinner

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Jeremiah beats the triangle with a metal rod and calls us to dinner.
The table is piled high with all sorts of dishes he’s prepared for us.
How he manages such feasts, we have no idea. He doesn’t let us in his kitchen, and the only time we see the food is when it’s already out on the table and he’s ringing the dinner bell.
Every so often, someone gets curious, and they say they’re going to find out.
Too curious, because the next time Jeremiah rings the bell and we all come to dinner, they aren’t there.
Say Grace.

Back In The Bottle

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They say you can’t put the genie back in the bottle.
This is not true.
First, you have to club the genie in the back of the head, knocking them unconscious.
Then, slit their throat with a knife.
Cut them up into smallish pieces that will fit in an industrial blender.
Finally, with the blender set on Liquefy, render the genie into a slurry.
Oh, and you might need a plastic kitchen funnel so you don”t spill any.
I used to dissolve genies with acid in my bathtub, but it’s so much easier to pour them straight from the blender.