Tag: silly

War of the Gods

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Corn Goddess and the Sky God make war by the ocean.
Wind blows over crops, the people suffer and starve.
Thunder God makes rain, lightning.
Our homes burn.
Coyote the Trickster gives us salt painted like seed.
Fields are ruined, Earth Goddess boils with rage.
We survivors surround the chief.
“Why do we worship these assholes?” asks Runs With Wolves.
The Chief slaps away a bottlefly, courtesy of Insect God.
“Dunno,” says the Chief, handing out brochures. “Let’s pick new religion.”
As we discuss and reason with each other, the chaos subsides.
Their power came from faith. Withheld, it wanes.

Madman

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We drag the madman out of the basement and let him loose in the back yard.
The neighborhood kids squeal with joy and wave their butterfly nets.
“ONE! TWO! THREE!”
The madman hears the counting and remembers…
He needs to flee!
“NINE! TEN! ELEVEN!”
Over the fence he goes, and he”s loose in the streets. He jumps over hedges, paws at a car door, kicks over lawn ornaments…
EIGHTEEN! NINETEEN! TWENTY!
The kids swarm through the gate, laughing and cheering.
They catch the madman at a phone booth, trying to call Saturn.
Perhaps, next time, we’ll release two of them.

Ask A Grampa

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All the ATMs are gone.
These days, whenever you need money, just ask a Grampa for it.
He”ll pull out his roll of bills, licks his thumb, and gives you one last look before he peels off what you need.
Need to deposit your cash? Just give it to a Grampa, and it goes right in his pocket.
There”s always a Grampa around when you need one.
Little, fuzzy-eared wrinkled old men, puttering around, smiling wide, enjoying the beautiful weather.
Nobody would ever think to rob a Grampa. After all, he”s our Grampa!
We love Grampa, and he loves us.

Exile

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Forget cruises or eco-hikes.
This summer, going into exile is all the rage.
A good travel agent can put the whole package together.
A military coup.
The Swiss bank accounts.
That midnight flight to… where?
Well, whatever country will take you. Bribes and allies go a long way, you know.
Just make sure you can trust them. Otherwise, you may find your deposit turned over to the new regime or stolen by your travel agent.
And who wants to spend their exile on a godforsaken rock like Napoleon did on St. Helena?
If only he had a better travel agent.

Penguins

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I’m sitting at home, reading a book.
There’s a knock at the door.
I get up, walk to the door, and open it.
There’s penguins there. Ten of them.
They have lit torches. And pitchforks.
One steps forward. I think he’s the leader.
He says… CUT IT OUT!
I say… WHAT?
He says… CUT IT OUT! NOW!
The others nod their beaks.
I look at them, confused. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT
He checks his Blackberry, looks at the mailbox.
OH. SORRY. WRONG PLACE.
They leave.
I pick up the book.
“Cooking With Penguins”
Damn it.

Diapers

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Kids. They’re so confusing.
All the things you have to do to babyproof your house are they sick are they not sick and so on.
It’s enough to drive a guy crazy.
I mean, for instance – take diapers.
Cloth vs. disposable, I’m not getting into that mess.
The manufacturers have all these commercials with pouring pitchers of water into diapers, sealing the wetness away.
They’re all a bunch of crooks.
I picked up some diapers that said “up to sixteen pounds” on them.
I swear, you can’t even come close to leaving just a pound of baby shit in them.

Axe Murderer

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The judge banged his gavel and called the court to order.
“Fred Axemurderer, you are charged with two counts of first degree murder. How do you plead?”
A blood-soaked figure in torn overalls and a hockey mask stood up.
“Well, let’s see,” he said. “You have my axe over there. Next to it, videotapes of the murders. Beside that, my signed confession. What more do you want?”
All the while, Fred’s attorney was shouting “HE PLEADS NOT GUILTY BY REASON OF INSANITY!”
You see, only a crazy man would give up the massive revenue potential of a sequel. Or two.

Six Iron

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“What the hell’s that racket?” growls the boss.
It’s not a racket, I say. Joe’s been beating the copier with a five iron.
The boss tells me to make Joe stop, so I head for the copier room.
Joe”s got a five iron in his hands, and he”s beating the copier.
Pieces are flying all over the room, but the jam has yet to clear.
I sigh. This is not what it says in the owner’s manual.
The owner’s manual calls for a six iron.
I try to tell Joe this, but his caddy keeps me out of the drive-line.

Wash Your Hands

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The sign on the bathroom door says: All employees must wash their hands before returning to work.
Lefty McGinty just looks at the sign, clacks his hooks together, and goes back to his desk.
He writes up memoes using speech recognition software, you know.
Talks into a microphone and the words appear on the screen.
He’s got a special mouse for doing edits and that kind of stuff. He’s gotten really good with those hooks.
But I keep thinking of him in the bathroom. Those hooks. And his… his…
Scary stuff.
I guess he’s gotten really good with those hooks.

Blowtorch

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Molly says that the blowtorch had a label that said FOR ALL AGES but I think it’s a misprint.
“If they thought it was dangerous, it would say KEEP OUT OF THE REACH OF CHILDREN, wouldn’t it?” she said.
“I guess so,” I say. “But not everything that’s dangerous for kids has a warning label on it.”
“If it was dangerous, it wouldn’t have FOR ALL AGES on it. It’s safe.”
I had a gut feeling Molly was wrong, but I couldn’t come up with a response.
So, I gently placed the blowtorch in the crib and removed the handgun.