The reporter asked the billionaire if he could see his collection of rare musical instruments.
The old man walked over to a map, and waved at all the pins on it.
“A violin in a vault serves no purpose. It is meant to be played.”
The reporter smiled. “So, you’ve given them to musicians around the world?”
“Not really. I’m just messing with you. They’re in the basement.”
“May I see them?”
“If there’s any left. We’re feeding them into the furnace.”
The reporter fainted.
“I hate the press,” said the billionaire, and he picked up a violin and played.
Tag: mystery
Inside Information
Ted’s an Afterlife Coach, helping the recently departed deal with post traumatic death syndrome and other issues.
He likes to say he gets ghosts to believe in themselves.
You’d think it’s hard for him to get paid. Dead people don’t carry cash. Their assets are usually frozen or bequeathed to family or given to charity.
And so few people actually have wall safes full of cash or buried gold coins in the back yard.
But when you can talk to spirits, the dead have plenty of dirt on the living.
Blackmail’s such a dirty word.
Let’s call it “Inside information.”
The Toaster
Dad was cleaning the gutters when he slipped off the ladder, fell, and broke his neck.
After the funeral, Mom thought Dad’s soul was in the toaster.
“He never did like wheat bread,” she said, as the toast popped up burnt again.
“You have it on the bagel setting, Mom,” I said, but she ignored me.
She’d stay up late, talking to it.
And sometimes went to bed with it.
“I’ll just have cereal,” I told my mom, eyeing the toast and butter suspiciously.
I get the milk from the fridge, which is my Grandmother, and close the door gently.
The Kite
I can’t remember the last time I flew a kite.
In fact, I can’t remember the first time I flew a kite.
Or even flying a kite.
I know I’ve gotten kites as gifts, and I remember putting them together.
And I live somewhere near a spot with large fields and far from power lines.
It gets windy here, too… perfect kite-flying weather.
But not today. It’s not windy. And it’s raining.
So, that’s why I have this kite-making kit with me.
In case it’s nice out.
And windy.
And I’m near a wide open field.
So I’ll be ready.
Bluesman
The story that Robert Johnson went down to the crossroads and sold his soul to The Devil to become the greatest guitarist in the world is totally bogus.
However, the story that Rabbi Hiram Goldberg sold his soul to God to become the greatest washboard player is absolutely true.
Why he wanted to become the greatest washboard player is a bit of a mystery, but when given the option to drag your fingers along a washboard with a hillbilly band and to stick your mouth on a disgusting ram’s horn every year, I’d choose the washboard, too.
Play, Rabbi! Play!
RGB
If you take the red pill, it’s poison.
If you take the green pill, it’s poison.
And if you take the blue pill, it’s poison.
But if you take all three at the same time, yeah, it’s a really wild trip.
RGB’s the newest drug to hit the streets.
But nobody sells the pills together.
For that reason, the courts can’t convict a Red Dealer, a Blue Dealer, or Green Dealer.
You’ve got to get busted with all three, or with two trying to make the third.
So, the cops were screwed.
Until they started manufacturing and distributing genuine-looking placebos.
Why do birds
Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?
This is a trick question, right?
It’s because you’re covered with bird seed.
How do you do it? How is it sticking to your body?
Is it some kind of spray-on adhesive? Caramel? Office Depot gluestick?
Either way, it’s really kind of weird.
When the birds pick the seed off, does it hurt?
And do you scrape it all off at the end of the day, or do you wash it off?
I’m just curious, that’s all. And I’m sick of gluing dog biscuits to my body to attract dogs.
The Water Marshal
It never rains in The Burning Lands.
But in case it ever does, the citizens must be prepared.
Young salamanders and firedrake students laugh and play as they are shepherded from their classrooms into the gymnasium.
An iron tank covered with warning symbols sits in the middle of the room.
Water: The most dreaded and feared substance in The Burning Lands.
Students hiss with fear as The Water Marshal turns a knob, and an ordinary flame is…
Extinguished! Dowsed!
What magic is this?
Screams. Shouts.
The Water Marshal demands order.
Then, together, they shout the Water Drill:
“SMITE! IGNITE! ALIGHT!
The Spies
The final test for spy training is passing a test conducted in one of our own cities.
However, due to printing mistake, the trainees were given mission parameters meant to go to a counter-insurgency team in Syria.
A rash of political assassinations struck Memphis, and the agency tried to pull their trainees out before they did more damage.
The orders state “NO EXTRACTIONS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.”
And the students killed the teachers sent to collect them.
If there’s a bright side to this, Memphis’ local government runs much better now. No corruption at all.
But Syria? Yeah, they’re still fucked.
Not A Prophet
The press says that God talks to Jimmy, but that’s nonsense.
Jimmy can hear God talking, but he’s only overhearing what God is saying.
According to Jimmy, it’s a constant stream of mathematics. At first, Jimmy tried to copy it down, but he didn’t know mathematical notation.
Until the researchers taught him how.
Formula after formula, solution after solution. His notebooks contain tangled nightmares that Bertrand Russell and Einstein couldn’t have comprehended.
I watch him write, then erase what he wrote, write again.
Jimmy laughed. “God stutters.”
The lightning was quick; a charred desk and ashes were all that remained.