Category: My stories

Back And Forth

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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.
*THUNK*
When the clock strikes two, I know that Hans will soon hurl the spear back at my door.
“SHAKA ZULU!” echoes across the street.
*THUNK*
Folks around here know to get down or keep clear.
So today, when I hurled the spear…
*AAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH*
Screams pierce the air. Sirens in the distance, approaching fast.
Bloody tourists.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 8

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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?”
Silence.
Grant emptied his flask.
“Jesus!”
The torch went out.

Threatened By Skies At Night

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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.
Gone.
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.

Take Two Tablets And Pray To Me In The Morning

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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.”
Juan stared.
The flames grew. “LEAVE! GO! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF HERE!”
No more weed before harvesting, thought Juan, running away.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 7

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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 Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 6

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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…
NOW!
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.

The Adventures of Mustard Man – Chapter 5

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Dear Justice League of America,
It is with much regret that I must decline your invitation to join your esteemed organization. Not only am I an ordinary person who lacks superpowers or technological wonders to simulate superpowers, but I am under exclusive contractual obligation to the Mustard Man Brand Mustard Company.
However, should the world be under attack by mustard-vulnerable alien invaders, much like the Martians in the “War of the Worlds” story were fatally vulnerable to the common cold virus, then please do not hesitate to call upon me through my numeric pager.
Regards,
Mustard Man
Enclosed: sampler package.

The Final Twist

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They drive the backhoe off, jump into the hole, and shovel out the remaining dirt.
A crane lowers into the vault and bumps the casket.
“Who disturbs my rest?” I think.
They raise the casket, lay it on a gurney, and roll it into the truck.
Two hours later, the coroner cracks open the casket.
It’s so rare to see a body with a spear through its skull, but not everyone dies from mooning a Zulu tribe.
Somehow, this excites him.
Unspeakable, disgusting acts follow.
Finally, he takes my arm in his latex-covered hand and winds my watch.
Gee, thanks.

Thirty Pounds To Go

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Bob watched the man toss pizza dough up and down.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Bob drooled.
Just thirty pounds to go, he thought. I just need thirty more pounds.
Up and down.
Bob opened his wallet and looked at The Card.
LETTUCE, WATER, AND VITAMINS it said.
Up and down.
Bob tried to remember what a pizza tasted like.
His mouth tasted lettuce.
And water.
And the bitter pills.
Up and down.
Bob swore that once reached his goal weight, he’d bomb insurance company for rejecting his gastric bypass surgery.
Up and down.
Just thirty pounds to go.

Doctor Odd

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Doctor Odd received the express written consent of Major League Baseball on Monday.
By Wednesday, Idaho was gone. Totally vanished. Nowhere to be found.
The market reacted quickly. Prices for potatoes skyrocketed. “Would you like fries with that?” was whispered only among the wealthy.
Congress held weeks of hearings, but they never did receive an adequate explanation from the baseball commissioner or Doctor Odd.
He said he was just being patriotic and trying to make Syria vanish, but his calculations were off by a bit.
What I found strange was that nobody ever asked for him to bring Idaho back.