Tag: commentary

Vampire News

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My neighbor is a very old German vampire. His English isn’t so good, so he’s always calling me over to explain things to him.
Tonight, it’s the news that’s confusing him.
“What is this NO BLOOD FOR OIL signs they carry?” he says, pointing at a war protest on the screen.
“They think this war is not worth the lives of the soldiers fighting it,” I said. “And they think it’s being fought for cheap oil.”
“Ah,” said the vampire. “I agree. Less blood for oil, more blood for Count Victor.”
He smiles, coughs, and goes back to watching golf.

Creature Infinite in Scope

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Like every creature infinite in scope, God was a bored and lonely being.
He created the universe, then He filled it with all sorts of interesting stuff.
Including us.
What interests Him the most is our capacity for faith and gratitude in the aftermath of a disaster.
Whatever He hurls our way, we come together and seek His guidance.
So, He tests us more. You could even say He tortures us now and then.
But not for His amusement. No, it’s for some kind of reason or plan.
For a creature infinite in scope, shouldn’t He know the answer already?

Ghostwork

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If you have a ghost, my advice to you is to give it a job.
Ghosts can be very useful. And loyal.
A ghost will enjoy walking your dog for you while you’re busy. And they’ll prepare delicious dinner meals while saving you the chore of cleaning up afterwards.
Got landscaping to do? I’ve got one word for you: ghost. There is nothing more reliable than a ghost with a lawnmower and hedge trimmers.
I, for one, have three of them working for me.
Hold on… maybe I meant to say “Mexicans.”
Or Mexican ghosts.
Still, they do excellent work.

Scythe

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Fashion is so fickle, you know.
This year in Paris, all the rage is scythe.
“Scythe is the new black,” says a designer, and he pedals the grindstone faster. Sparks fly!
The blade’s edge is sharp, and the flat of it is polished mirror-like.
Trowels and rototillers are so yesterday… scythe is now! It’s hip! It’s fresh!
It’s the in thing.
The word is: scythe.
“It’s the new black,” says the model behind the stage, changing from Versace to Armani. “It goes with everything.”
She checks her hair and heads for the runway.
Watch out, world. Scythe! Scythe is here!

Woodwork

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If I seem a tad distracted, it’s because my new lathe is broken.
I bought it last month, thinking I’d do woodwork. Sure, I don’t know anything about carpentry or crafts, but Wood 2.0 is new and exciting. It’s all about social woodworking. And the marketing brochures said it was profitable, too.
All I needed was a lathe and a client base.
Technical Support tells me it’s not plugged in. Then they say I’m using glass instead of wood… that’s why my finished product is often a pile of broken glass.
I’ll just scream louder and threaten to sue them.

Reboots On The Ground

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Here in Army Weapons Technical Support Services, we get all kinds of calls from the field.
Usually, the solution is just to reboot the device, but the reboot switch on the Standard Assault Rifle Unit is hard to get to when the operator is in combat and wearing thermal gloves.
It used to be even more difficult to reboot the things – you had to stick a paperclip in a hole and hold it there for 5 seconds.
This is why it’s so important to hold live-fire exercises for testing these devices. Virtual simulations don’t fail quite like real hardware does.

METRO

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Imagine a disgusting, ferocious parasite.
This creature feeds on time, and when it lands on you, it sucks out twenty-five minutes of your life and flies away.
Every day, this creature comes, and no matter how hard you run or scream for it to stop, it keeps coming back.
Again, twenty-five minutes. Gone forever.
Oh, and its owner does nothing about it.
You’d be pissed off, wouldn’t you?
To me, this creature wears a METRO uniform. It is a bus driver who races through his route, several minutes early.
And leaving me behind, waiting twenty-five minutes for the next bus.

Sailing To Freedom

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Slaves dream of freedom like the starving dream of food.
I pondered this as I went below decks to check on our passengers.
Well, they were more like cargo, to tell the truth.
The shifting of chains in the darkness. A moan. A shout.
Never singing. They were too sick to sing.
Poor bastards.
Regulations called for a mid-trip survival check, but nobody was crazy enough to walk in the middle of that sea of savagery.
I closed the hatch and asked the navigator: “How much longer?”
“Two days, and we’ll see the Liberian coast,” he said.
And then, freedom.

Cleveland

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When people ask me where the bad man touched me, I tell them: “Cleveland.”
He touched me in Cleveland.
It could have happened anywhere, really.
Dallas, Chicago, Denver… but there was a huge storm in Buffalo that night. So the airline diverted the flight in Cleveland and forgot about us.
No hotel rooms.
No food.
Nothing.
We dragged chairs together and slept in the terminal.
And that’s when the bad man touched me.
In Cleveland.
And I liked it.
In fact, I’m going back to Cleveland next week.
We’ll see if the bad man is there, too.
I hope so.

Calendar

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Every morning in the lobby of my building, there’s always the same crazy man wandering around, asking what day it is.
Sure, I could tell him, but instead of that, I hand him a cheap, giveaway pocket calendar.
I don’t remember where I got this one, but I don’t need it, so I’m giving it to the crazy man.
“Here you go,” I said. “Now you can look up what day it is whenever you want.”
He looks at it, flips through the pages, and scowls.
“Does it say what day it is?” he asks.
He’s right. It doesn’t.
Weird.