Tag: drugs

The Possible Pelicans

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The zoo pays me well enough.
What’s my job? I feed the lions during the day and bless the pelicans every night.
The rest of the time, I stand and smile.
Sometimes, I wave.
I do this seven days a week, every day of the year.
People ask me things and I tell them that’s interesting.
The bosses give me babies to feed the lions, and I toss them into their habitat.
Then I stand and smile to keep from screaming.
I drink vodka. Constantly.
I bless the pelicans, thinking they’re penguins. Just pink.
Or are those flamingos?
Or babies?

The Itch

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Two more days.
They warned me not to scratch it.
“If that poison touches the air, it’ll change,” said the nurse. “Your body can fight it on its own if it’s inside, but if you scratch it, you’ll get worse.”
They can’t give me anything for the pain.
“It’ll react with the poison, too,” said the nurse. “Nasty stuff.”
My hands are tied to the bed rails. I’ve dislocated my shoulder again in the past hour.
“MAKE IT STOP!” I scream.
The door is closed, the walls are padded.
The nurse smiles. “Be good, or we’ll inject you with more.”

Ghost Drinks

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The bar serves ghost drinks.
What’s a ghost drink?
Take an ordinary drink, like a Jack and Coke, and then bubble the spiritual essence of someone that’s recently died through it.
The fresher, the better. Has a tangy, sparkly feel. Like a battery.
If you sip it, the ghost’s ectoplasmic residue will be all that you taste. And that slime is disgusting.
You have to drink it. Quickly.
How the bar gets the ghosts, that’s another matter entirely.
I could tell you the secret, but I’d have to kill you.
Seriously. The last guy I told is in your glass.

Cough And Dagger

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The Dark Days are here.
I see their faces in the shadows, handing cough drops to each other.
There’s something in them. I just know there is.
No, I don’t know what it is. They won’t let me in the lab anymore.
I hear whispers: “Keep them medicated, keep them under control.”
I am offered the coughdrops at every corner, and I palm them to fool the others.
But now, their eyes are starting to glow green.
I can’t fake that, so I’m fleeing the city.
And then… I cough a single cough.
They hear it, growling, and I run.

Alaska Wins!

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At first, I thought the flier said “Alaska Wins!” but it turned out to say “Alaska Wines!”
“Do grapes grow in Alaska?” I asked the Eskimo sitting in the booth
“Sure do!” he said. “It’s not just blizzards and Prudoe Bay oil, you know. When we don’t use hothouses, we’ve got nice wild berries on the nature trails and some really tough grapes up there.”
He handed me a glass and poured out some wine from a bottle that had a polar bear on the label.
I took one sip and spit it out.
Disgusting!
Alaska wins? No, Alaska Loses!

The shock

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Today, we fill our bodies with drugs to make up for reckless lives.
In the world of tomorrow, futurists say there will be nanobots making adjustments, repairs, and corrections.
At what point do we stop being ourselves and end up at the mercy of machines?
Does it matter who controls the machines?
Does it matter who dispenses the drugs?
What raw animal instincts are we prisoners to?
Perhaps we never have had any control over ourselves?
I feel a spark and my vision flickers for a bit.
I feel better now.
That shot didn’t hurt at all. Thank you, Doctor.

Two Hundred Grapes

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She waved a bony hand over the glass, refilling it with wine.
The demon she’d summoned was a gossip. He’d have told her anything, even without the wine.
“I just enjoy the company,” he said. “But the wine helps.”
“Tell me more,” says the witch. “Please,” she added.
“There’s nothing more to say,” says the demon. His red, scaly hand wraps its talons around the glass, raises it to black lips over yellowed fangs, and he sips. “What’s new with you?”
She nodded, broke the circle around his chair with a heel, and they had a nice quiet evening together.

Hangover

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How many shots of tequila did I drink?
Five?
Six?
I can’t remember.
But what I do know is that I feel the worst I’ve ever felt.
I always remember how bad I feel.
So what I will do is wait until I feel better, then I will do five shots of tequila.
When I wake up hung over, I can then compare how bad I feel then to how bad I feel now.
If it’s the same, then I know I had five shots of tequila.
If it’s not, then I know I had six.
Pass me the bottle.

Piano Bar

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The kids were hungry, so I said “Let’s go to McDonalds.”
They screamed “No!”
Sounds weird, right? Kids not wanting to go to McDonalds?
Well, it makes a lot more sense when I mention: our McDonalds has a piano bar.
Three hours later, the kids are asleep in the ball pit and I’m blasted out of my mind as all the soccermoms and single dads are singing whatever the guy on the bench is playing.
A guy in a Grimmace costume asks me if I need a cab.
“Just a light,” I say, cigarette in hand.
The kids scream louder.

I Killed The Moon

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Look at this knife.
This knife is mine.
I threw it at the moon.
And killed it.
Its blood raining down.
Dead.
Police station.
Jail. Behind bars.
Arrested for murder.
Other cells hold drunks. Hookers. Thieves.
I am the only murderer.
“Why did you do it?” asks the cop.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I had a knife. It was there. It followed me home.”
This angers him.
“Why did you do it?” he shouts.
I really don’t know. All I know, is that I killed the moon.
Every night, my victim up there in the sky.
Still following me.