Every week, Chang pulled a business card out of the fishbowl and the winner got a free lunch at The Happy Dragon.
Every so often, another hand would dip into the fishbowl and draw a business card. But they never got a free lunch.
They found Mary’s body in the dumpster the next day. The same with Steve, Lynn, Arthur, and Jose. Sixteen in all.
One day, the killer reached into the bowl and got his hand wet.
No business cards. Just a goldfish.
Sure, there is such a thing as a free lunch, but it’s not worth the risk.
Abraham smiled and leered over his old enemy Senator Douglas.
“So, will you be my friend now?” said Lincoln.
“Never!” shouted the bloody-faced Douglas. “I will never yield!”
Lincoln kicked Douglas in the ribs, and Douglas howled in pain.
“Friends?’ offered Lincoln, reaching down to the bloody and ragged Senator. “Please?”
“Never!” wheezed the wobbly Douglas.
Lincoln hit him with a chair, knocking Douglas out.
Lincoln had him dragged back to the dungeon.
“Rest, my enemy,” said Lincoln. “We begin fresh tomorrow morning.”
Sure, you can destroy your enemies by making friends of them, but where’s the fun in that?
As Halloween approached, Dana made a robe, tunic, and headdress of the feathers, stapling and gluing them into place.
She tried them on and turned in front of the mirror.
“Perfect,” she said.
“What are you doing?” asked Toby, her little brother.
“I’m going to be Queztocoatl,” said Dana. “This will get me lots of candy.”
“You look like a Las Vegas hooker,” said Toby.
“How would you know?” said Dana. “You’ve been watching all the blocked channels again! MOM! MOM!”
He lit a match and tossed it at his sister.
“Now you’re the Burning Bush,” said Toby.
Abraham woke to a horrific grinding and screaming. He ran down to the White House kitchen
“Professor Reynolds, explain yourself this instant!” shouted Lincoln.
“Well, you know how I like to mutilate puppies with knives, correct?”
“Yes,” said Lincoln hesitantly. “You’re quite good at it.”
“I’ve invented a device that will mutilate them quicker with high-speed rotating knives,” said Reynolds. “It’s called a blender.”
Lincoln examined the device. He wiped off the puppy guts and blood and held it up.
“At least you’re doing it well,” said Abraham, putting the blender down. “Go on.”
The screams continued into the night.
When the clock strikes one, I put down my shears, grab a spear, and head out the front door of my shop to challenge Hans, the baker across the way.
“SHAKA ZULU!” I shout, and I hurl the spear at his shop’s front door.
When the clock strikes two, I know that Hans will soon hurl the spear back at my door.
“SHAKA ZULU!” echoes across the street.
Folks around here know to get down or keep clear.
So today, when I hurled the spear…
Screams pierce the air. Sirens in the distance, approaching fast.
The chittering grew louder. Abraham wrapped the last of his shirt around the stick, dipped it in oil, and lit the torch again.
“Back to the Kingdom of the Molemen or ahead to The Cave Of Razor-Apes?” whispered Harry Stanton.
“We should have just stayed in the kitchen,” he grumbled. “What was I thinking?”
“Pardon me, genius,” said McLellan. “Didn’t you say we should seek the unexplored regions?”
“I didn’t mean in here,” he sighed. “How was I to know there was an abyss of caves under that trap door?”
Grant emptied his flask.
The torch went out.
Bob dropped his bong and looked up at the swirling green skies.
“Radical,” he whispered. “This needs Floyd.”
He went back inside, humming “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” while hunting for his iPod.
He found it, went back outside, and scanned his playlist.
“Damn,” he shouted. No Pink Floyd. Must have cleared it out.
He went back in to search for the files.
He then dug through his CDs, but they were too scratched to rip.
Ten bucks and two hours download later, he synced up and went back outside.
The lights were gone, and so was his buzz.
Juan and his burro Steve went up the mountain to pick coffee beans.
A bush was on fire.
“I AM THE LORD JEHOVAH, GOD OF ABRAHAM,” it said.
Juan stared. Steve brayed.
“I HAVE TEN NEW COMMANDMENTS FOR MY CREATION!”
“Que?” said Juan.
The bush rustled.
“OH GREAT,” it said. ” DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?”
“Que?” said Juan.
“YOU… SPEAKA… ENGLISH?” the bush said, slower and louder.
“No habla,” said Juan.
“SHIT,” said the bush. “NEVER MIND THEN.”
The flames grew. “LEAVE! GO! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF HERE!”
No more weed before harvesting, thought Juan, running away.
Abe had his back to the wall, surrounded by an angry mob of generals.
“Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have said all that about you,” said Lincoln. “After all, you can always make horses, too. You just put a Mommy horse and a Daddy horse together and-”
They dragged him to the White House Hanging Tree. The generals threw the rope over a branch, tied the other end around his neck, and put him on the back of an old nag.
“GIDDYAP!” shouted General Grant, slapping the horse on the ass.
The horse ignored Grant, turned to Abe, and winked.
The preacher shouted hellfire upon the congregation, waving his arms like a madman. He kept a stack of bibles by his pulpit, and he’d throw them at exhausted parishioners.
Twenty feet above, Abraham clung to the rafters.
He’d staked out this church for weeks, testing his drops and marking spots with chalk.
Wait for it… wait for it…
The rafter creaked under his weight. The hive slipped from his grasp and fell on the choir director.
Oh well, he thought. When I hear a choir play, I like to see them act as if they were fighting bees, too.