Category: My stories

Some stains

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Some stains don’t come out easily.
No, I’m not talking about grape juice stains. We get enough of those in the clothes people donate through us.
I’m talking about spiritual stains. Echoes of misery and agony, soaked into the fabric beyond the reach of any detergent.
Put on a haunted suit, the wedding goes bad.
Put on a haunted ball cap, you get headaches.
Put on a haunted dress, your tits sag.
That’s why we use a laundry that has a full-time exorcist on staff. Removes the curses.
But if you don’t pay, we can always put them back in.

Radio Free Hell

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Silvia’s parents thought she was retarded, but her inattentiveness was due to constant buzzing in her ears.
Despite the doctors’ many treatments, it grew worse over time.
Many years later, Silvia learned about meditation, slowing herself down to manage pain.
The buzzing slowed to a ringing, and then… a stream of voices.
‘Why did you kill me, Arthur?”
“It’s not fair.”
“The pain!”
“I’ll see you in Hell.”
Radio Free Hell. In her skull.
Then, she heard them…
“We wasted our lives worrying for her.”
Her parents. In Hell.
She drove knitting needles into her ears and embraced the silence.

The Wacky Adventures Of Abraham Lincoln 56

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Abe firmly believed that if he forfeited the confidence of his fellow citizens, he could never regain their respect and esteem.
First, he promised candy. Lots of it.
Nobody fell for that. They never did.
Then he offered flowers to everyone. Some people warmed to his overtures, but they saw that he’d given out flowers to everyone and thought even worse of the desperate president.
Finally, he sent soldiers around to beat everyone up.
Sure, they didn’t regain their respect and esteem, but they sure as hell feared him.
“Good enough for me,” said Abe.
What a bully he was.

The Hottest Girl In Class

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By far, Veronica was the hottest girl in the class. She’ll really make you sweat.
At 900 degrees, ordinary desks would melt or burst into flame at her slightest touch. So she sat at the back of the class in a massive heat-sink, uncomfortable in her tungsten gown, taking notes with a ceramic stylus.
On most days, the air handlers barely kept up with her, but today we’ve got all the windows open in January.
Nobody sits next to her at lunch, although some occasionally approach her asking if she’ll reheat their soup or grill their sandwiches between her palms.

Headache pills

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Jennie pulled open the mirror and fumbled through the bottles of pills.
“Where are you… where are you…” she muttered, pulling bottle after bottle off of the shelves, looking at their labels, and dropping them in the sink.
“Where are my headache pills?” she whined.
She then looked in each of the drawers, sliding each one out and then slamming them shut.
No headache pills.
She turned out the light, went back to bed, and felt a lump under the pillow.
The pills!
She shook one out of the bottle and dry-swallowed it.
Pain filled her skull.
“Not tonight, dear…”

The Dangerous Salad

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I ordered a Chef’s Salad, but the chef didn’t want to part with his salad. He does that sometimes, the crazy bastard.
So I ended up with a Dangerous Salad instead.
Nothing was dangerous about the ingredients themselves, mind you. From the iceberg lettuce to the herb-encrusted wheat bread croutons, you’d assume that it would be benign.
You’d assume wrongly. Because a salad’s ingredients might all be ordinary, it’s the arrangement of those ingredients that can have fatal consequences.
Well, that and the salad dressing. I mean, who ever heard of Arnsenic Vinaigrette?
I specifically ordered fat-free Arnsenic Vinaigrette, dammit.

Ulysses grants

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Ulysses sold Inspiration in a bottle.
Sure, it was ordinary tap water, and the bottles dingy beer bottles with cheap laser-printed labels glued on them crooked-like, but people desperate for Inspiration will pay anything for it.
Ulysses does his best bsiness on Artist’s Row in Midtown. He goes around collecting up empties like an old-fashioned milkman, leaving full bottles on the doorstep.
“I need a lot of Inspiration for tomorrow,” says a painter. “Twice the normal order.”
Ulysses grunts, marks a pad with a nub of a pencil, and pushes his cart down the alley.
Inspiration waits for no one.

The Easter Egg Hunt

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We spent all of yesterday painting eggs. The kids love the bright colors and the sparkles. Their wide-open eyes dazzle in delight.
After they went to bed, I hid the eggs throughout the house. That’s right. When they wake up, we’re going to have ourselves an old-fashioned Easter egg hunt.
But sometimes, they whine about this kind of thing. Kids can be lazy these days, you know. Damn X-Box Generation.
So if they give up, I’ll just tell them that we didn’t paint chicken eggs. We painted rattlesnake and alligator eggs. And if they don’t find them all, they’ll hatch.

The Wacky Adventures Of Abraham Lincoln 55

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General Grant slid the card across the table to his Commander In Chief and winked.

Abe looked at it:

“HOUSE OF PAIN”

“They’re good,” said Grant. “They’ve got S&M clubs here in Washington, New York, Boston, and Atlanta. Made Sherman think twice about burning the city down.”

Abe slid it back to Grant.

“As I would not be a slave,” said Abraham Lincoln. “So I would not be a master.”

“Fine,” Grant said. “Your loss. I’ll take Stanton this weekend.”
Abe left the room, went upstairs, and put on his diaper.

“I want my bottle!” he shouted.

Mary Todd sighed.

The Dali Code

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I know you’ve heard of the DaVinci Code, but have you heard of the Dali Code?
Just as the true nature of Christ is in a vault only reachable by following clues laid out by Leonardo DaVinci’s work, Salvador Dali’s work is a map to the Missing Fifteenth Station of the Cross.
Dali? Devout?
Of course he was. Why else would he paint Crucifixion?
Okay, so here’s the secret: Between having his clothes stripped off and getting nailed to the cross, Jesus was slapped with a fish in a bowler hat.
Okay, so he was a weird kind of devout.