Dinner was ready. They all sat down, said a prayer, and the wine was uncorked.
“When was the last time we had turkey?” asked Susan.
Fred scratched his chin. “Not since last Thanksgiving,” he said.
“Wait a second,” said Jo Jo. “We had some leftovers, so technically that was the last turkey we had together.”
“If turkey is such a wonderful feast, why don’t we have it more often?” asked Susan.
“Because it’s such a bitch to cook,” said Arthur.
“And I’m stuck with the cleanup this year,” said Susan. “Screw all this?”
They agreed. Next year, a Chinese take-out.
“History shall remember us as the Knights of the Round Table!” bellowed Arthur.
“Guenievere isn’t a knight,” mumbled Gawain. “But she’s sitting at our table.”
“She’s my wife,” said Arthur.
“Can I bring my wife?” said Tristan.
“No,” said Arthur. “I hereby declare Guenievere to be special authorized personnel.”
“I used that same exact argument for myself and you said no,” said Merlin. He vanished in a puff of smoke.
“I don’t mind her being at the table at all,” said Lancelot.
Arthur felt something rub against his armor.
“Stop that, ” said Arthur. “Go sit on the opposite side.”
She was wearing a push-up bra.
Or maybe she wasn’t a she. Maybe she was a he.
It’s hard to tell with sheep.
Yeah, I say I’m the guy who welcomes you to The Ritz and whispers he can get you anything, but I really just say that to get a big tip.
Still, when folks want me to deliver, I deliver pronto.
Some folks take me up on that for girls. Or boys. Or drugs. Or tickets.
This was the first sheep.
I hope it’s the last. I swear, call me crazy, but it’s starting to turn me on.
What a goddamned mess. Janey’s yellow and throwing up blood. Her eyes want to roll out of their sockets.
“Dragon,” she croaks. “Pretty dragon.”
Shit. Dragon Ride’s the worst shit out there. Your mind takes a trip to Paradise, but your body might not be there when it gets back.
I fill the needle with Knight and stab it in Janey’s heart.
“Slay the fucker!” I yell.
I check the label: “M”
Bastard sold Janey a dragon when I warned him not to.
Marco’s gonna ride his car to the bottom of the river. Tied up in the trunk.
As Joseph and Mary made their way back home, Joseph seethed at the memory of all those innkeepers turning them away.
He had begged and pleaded, but none raised a finger to help in their time of need.
“I will have my revenge,” growled Joseph.
In modern days, hotels and inns have sprinkler systems and smoke detectors, but two thousand years ago? Not a chance.
Just as the Star of Bethlehem led the wise men to the manger, the trail of mysterious inn fires led back to Joseph’s pasture.
Years later, Jesus forgave him for it.
Such a good boy.
What is it with people and shopping?
I never understood it when I was little. We’d go to another city and my family would go shopping at franchise stores identical to places back home. Same stuff, different place.
They’d also eat at franchise restaurants exactly like back home. Why not go local?
Seventy years later, and my grandkids visit me here at Tycho Base.
Straight to the mall they bound, Sharper Image and Macy’s. Same crap they have dirtside.
Never mind the huge fees for dropshipping this consumermass from orbit. I think shopping without consciousness or awareness is a compulsion.
As unfortunate as Helen A. Handbasket’s name was, one should not mourn her present circumstances.
Six happy but brief marriages, each to men more successful and wealthy than the last, have left her rich in memories and assets. Not many can say they have been first lady twice, you know.
So when people in this town say they’re going to Helen A. Handbasket, it is either to pay their respects or to beg of her a favor that only her great wealth and connections can provide.
Every community should have one like her.
But only one, to avoid nasty rivalries.
I bet you that you’ll never guess what makes Elba Asylum unique.
Some people say it’s the hydrotherapy pool, but that thing hasn’t been used in years. None of our patients can swim nor have any inclination to learn.
The stables? Nice guess, but there are several institutions in upstate New York that involve equine activities to help draw out the shy and reclusive.
Ah, yes. You’ve finally noticed: every patient thinks he’s Napoleon!
The principles of mass production, applied to psychotherapy.
Okay, I haven’t cured any of them. But as long as they still pay their bills, why bother?
Fluffy glared at Steve from his nest made from shredded pajamas and hissed.
“Does Fluffy take anything besides pajamas?” asked Steve. “Towels? Socks?”
“Nope,” said Bob. “Just pajamas.”
Steve reached again.
Fluffy hissed louder.
“Fluffy doesn’t like to share,” said Bob. “He thinks those are his.”
“Well, they’re evidence,” said Steve. “Not even Fluffy can stop The Long Arm Of The Law.”
Two hours later, Steve sat in the emergency room with a heavy bandage on The Long Arm Of The Law and a patch on the Scratched Cornea Of The Law.
“You should have called for backup,” said Bob.
Gregory preferred “Father” but they called him “Lieutenant.”
“How’s your Arabic, Lieutenant?” asked the captain.
“Um… not good,” said Gregory. “Just two weeks during Basic.”
“More than I got,” said the captain. “HQ wants Mass for indigenous personnel at oh six hundred.”
“But, that’s in thirty min-”
“You have your orders,” said the captain. “Dismissed.”
Gregory genuflected, saluted, and left.
That afternoon, a Major-Bishop watched as Gregory stuttered and stumbled through the ceremony.
“Forgive us,” he muttered.
Later research by Papal Authorities determined that the wine and host had transformed into the body and blood of Roberto Clemente, not Jesus.