Strange Steam Bath

I was in favor of assimilating the aliens into human society until I saw them in my steam bath trying to peek under my towel. The larger ones emitted an inky substance all over their towels. Their sweat was fuchsia colored, very off putting.
You couldn't tell if they were male or female. When my friends and I tried to talk business, they interrupted with gibberish. Some had too many appendages and grunted too loudly.
It could have been worse. Wait until they infiltrate our jacuzzi realm.
Call me bigoted, but they need to establish their own sweat boxes and trim their nails. I think that one over there with six incisors is female. damn it. One of the little ones crawled under my towel.

Caught You

Every year I clean out my refrigerator. Certain foods try to hide behind other foods. I find that cowardly. A four year old bowl of fried munch balls covered with sprinkles has been taking up space. My sister in law gave it to me and I feel family loyalty trumps common sense.
Yogurt and pudding containers fall over and crouch behind fruit, some of which is rotting. In my vegetable bin, cucumbers try hiding under the carrots, but their mushiness and juice give them away. Plum tomatoes crawl into the celery to no avail. I am merciless.
I caught you is what I tell them. This is all about quality of life.
It's like when you catch someone picking their nose in traffic. Without a word, using only facial expressions, you can shame them to tears.
Now this round thing which may have been cabbage is troubling me. I'll bet it contains bed bugs. I just hope my sister in law doesn't want her bowl back. Those little fried balls are probably glued to the glass by now.

Language Barrier

Reasons why I am not fly (cool)

I wear plaid
I drive an 8 year old Accent
I've never smoked hemp
My sneakers only cost $35
I've never worn sharkskin
I can't dance
I never wear vests
I like marching bands
I have lawyer friends
My underwear is loose fitting
I don't own a fedora
I can't saunter
I read Joyce Carol Oates
I tip at Burger King
In profile I look like a pear
My handshake is boring
I have no tattoos or bling
I sometimes don suspenders.
The accordion is my favorite instrument

I'm Suing

I'm Suing...
my insurance agent for selling me a hair loss prevention policy
Lois, who blew in my ear on a date, causing permanent cochlear damage
Marcie for convincing me to babysit her two demons who drugged my seltzer, locked me in the closet and then watched the Telemundo channel all night
Richard for posting a webnar on cooking buffalo meat, which I followed closely, only to have my dinner guests begin stomping the floor and charge into each other afterwards
Keith for dozing off as I explained my creative process
Virginia for advising me to wear as much plaid as possible, making me a babe magnet
Jenny for dislocating my hip during a leg wrestling match at a western themed bar
Steve for no longer laughing at everything I say or write

Nibbling at the Edges

I have been nibbling at the edges of maturity for years. I wake up and think today I will be a responsible adult. I begin by eating a mature breakfast like corn flakes. I skim the Times. Try in vain to smoke a pipe.
I admit a major sticking point in this effort at adulthood are my three dozen sock puppets carefully placed in my closet. They all have names and their own personalities.
Sometimes they get into loud arguments and insensitive neighbors pound on my wall.
I have developed a mature stride, but usually that leads me right to the Leggo store. They take up most of my garage.
I'm dating Leslie, a mature woman who does not laugh at my Pee Wee Herman impression. So I'm working on a John Garfield impression, a tough manly man, who sadly croaked very young.
Come to think of it, I'd rather be a silly 80 year old than a dead mature corpse.
Isn't that a mature thought?

My Network

I don't know where I'd be without my network. Hunting nuts is a difficult occupation, but I have no choice. I'm a squirrel.
My parents gave me little guidance other than telling me pine cones and weasel crap were not nuts. They also said beware of humans, who trap us, attach tiny headphones and play bad Bob Dylan loud. Things were tough until I attended a convention in another forest and learned the secrets of nut discovery and the proper digging technique, as well as how to store many more in my cheeks.
I highly recommend networking. I ran across some poor beaver trying to build a porch deck without proper guidance. Sad. It's one thing to construct a dam, but you have to move beyond the mundane.
Pardon me while I crunch this acorn.

Reinvention

For as long as I can remember, strangers have told me I have the potential to be a top male underwear model. I wasn't crazy about my job designing outdoor gazebos. One day I looked in the mirror and asked myself, is this what my life is about?
Before I could stop myself, I had stripped down to my tighty whities, and it was obvious they were right. Except I didn't know how to pose. So I did a Google search for male underwear posing instruction and found just one hit, a guy by the name of  Reinsdorf. He was pretty corpulent, but knew his stuff and within a month I felt confident enough to find an agent.
Her name was Brunhilda and her photo was intimidating. She looked like a logger. I made my first appointment and decided to wear boxers in case this amazon loses control and tries to pin me to a wall. I can run away faster in boxers.
Pretty soon it's goodbye gazebos, hello billboards.

Root of the Problem

There must be 60000 different beers in the world. Starting a brewery is this decade's dot com blizzard. Everyone wants to create their own beer.
I don't like beer, never did. It leaves me bloated and when you're a top male underwear model, that's a no no. But I am someone who spots a void and acts. Root beer, yes, root beer, and its lack of variety screamed opportunity. But I needed capital and investors.
I gathered my writer friends at my elegant male underwear model 6500 square foot condo and pitched my idea. Writers are adventurous sorts and my power point presentation left them touching themselves in fervor and anticipation. I raised $300000 toward realizing our own distillery, which was run by three guys I found on Craigslist.
I won't reveal our ingredients. I will say I included sarsaparilla. I wanted to call it Joe's Really Good Root Beer, but was outvoted. Our brand is Writers Root Beer. The day finally came when we gave it the taste test. My oh My! We knew we had a winner.
We hugged each other, knowing we'd soon be wealthy.
Except about an hour later something bad happened. We bloated, boy did we bloat. Most of us floated to the ceiling and just bobbed there. Archie floated right out the window and into the clouds.
Damn. He was supposed to proof read my next book.

Goosebumps

I get goosebumps when I look at a bowl of nachos. It reminds me of Esmirella, a sensual Mexican woman I couldn't get enough of. My goosebumps during lovemaking were so pronounced she would lose her grip and fall off me.
I approach nachos with tenderness. I gently take a single chip and hold it between thumb and index finger. I carefully place it on my eager tongue. It is said nachos cannot be consumed without a severe crunching noise. I disagree. If one moves the chip around the palate and lets saliva do its work, the chip will soften, much like a woman, and noiselessly leave the mouth and slide down the esophagus.
This technique means consuming the entire bowl will take longer. But envisioning Esmirella with each delectable nacho is all I need to add sensuality to my snack.
I believe I will post my goosebumps on You Tube for documentation purposes, and perhaps to engender jealousy.

New Jersey Olympic Events

Freestyle Talking Out of the Side of Your Mouth
Heavy Eyeliner Open
Traffic Jam Obscenity Luge
Hipster Bobsled
Inner City Automatic Weapon Biathlon
State Senate Issue Spinning
Skating Around the Truth Jump
Snow Boarding the Public
Sliding into Compulsory Tax Increases
Back Room Wheeling & Dealing Invitation
Cross Country Insults Involving Mothers & Sisters
Mustard and Kraut Slalom
Wide Open Slush Splattering on Kids Walking to School
Ballroom Sinatra Sneering
Speed Skating Past Motor Vehicle Office

Cheap and Flimsy

This is an excerpt from one of my flash fiction pieces in newly published Cadaver Dreams, available on Amazon.

I went to the pet shop and asked for something cheap and flimsy. I get bored easily and avoid long term relationships, even with pets. I once bought a Labrador and initially we got along fine. But after several months my attention began to waver under all those annoying dog owner responsibilities like petting and stomach rubbing. I could imagine this healthy beast living another dozen years, trapping me in a toxic relationship. So I gave it to an upscale professional couple who would love it forever.
The pet shop owner understood my needs without being judgmental, first showing me a goldfish. I shook my head. I wanted cheap and flimsy, but something I could interact with.
We moved to a rather scraggly looking parrot that tilted to one side and could say only three words--credit default dispersion. It eyed me suspiciously and I could imagine it somehow leaving its perch at three A.M. and clawing me to death in my sleep.

Present Guidelines

I have certain guidelines for people receiving my presents.
Look surprised, even if you're not.
Look delighted, even if you're not.
Hug me and make it look spontaneous. If there is hesitation I question whether you are really appreciative. Or perhaps I don't smell that good. Hug me anyway.
Ask questions about how I knew this is what you wanted. I'll just nod and look wise.
Breaking down in tears is optional, but will get you a headstart toward my next present.
Understand that your reception of my present means I expect you to be there for me during my next panic attack.
Do not comment negatively about my sloppy wrapping.
Hold up my gift so everyone can see, unless it's sort of cheap.
Who defines cheap, anyway?
If it's possible, like with jewelry or a scarf, put it on immediately. In fact, if it's socks put them on too.
Be able to handle the pressure of choosing a future present for me.
Chuckle at my card and read it aloud.
Hug me again.

Igloo Horror

The Alaskan pipeline created great wealth and with that came entitlement and soon after, boredom. Someone came up with the idea of creating steel cage death match battles among penguins in isolated igloos away from civilization.
This may sound cruel and inhumane, but all the birds could do really was keep running at each other in quick waddles until one fell over. Boring. Trainers taught them how to head butt and that was better, but still fairly tame. So they were taught to stomp each other once one was down. Frankly, it wasn't until they let female penguins enter the cage that real rage kicked in.
Anouk was a young girl with a genetically enhanced, steroid injected penguin she called Arky the Great. He stood 68 inches high and weighed 172 pounds with a wing span of nine feet. Her hope was to promote it and have a rich person purchase it so she would have the money to leave for California. Many small Alaskans vanished when Arky roamed the countryside. Some bodies were recovered however and CSI teams came up with an an-acronym for these cases--DBP--Death By Penguin.
There are rumors Donald Trump is flying up there to see Arky battle. Money finds more money in this world. .

Louis's Inspiration

Louise saw an opportunity and jumped in because that was how he rolled. Genetically altered cats and vastly improved poisons had almost eliminated the rodent population. Then something strange happened. People began to miss their rodents. Groups with flashlights scoured dank alleys, dumpsters, empty lots, abandoned warehouses and low class eating establishments seeking a sighting. When one occurred, there was a collective gasp of ecstasy.
Louis knew the country of Ugazu had a law prohibiting killing of any living thing including rodents. He knew a man who knew a man who could set up a smuggling operation. He found an empty storefront and rented the space. The sign said simply Rent a Rodent. Immediately, lines formed around the block. But within two weeks he had run out of product and his connection had been arrested.
He was not a man who gave up easily. Powerful insecticides had made insects virtually extinct. But he knew another man in another country who could provide millions of the bugs. However, rather than rent, he sold them outright because rentals came back damaged. Flies who couldn't fly, caterpillars who couldn't crawl and bees that couldn't buzz were worthless.
The venture became so successful Louis bought his own TV network and produced shows about all sorts of insects. He cared for them tenderly. Some grew to immense size. One night, he was working late, computing his huge profit margin, when he heard the door creak open. He turned and before he could scream they were upon him.
Only his shoes were left. Leather is quite difficult for certain creatures to digest.

Sudden Monsters

My Aunt Greta was turning 90 and we had a large family gathering. I invited some friends, including an English transplant named Martin. He insisted on bringing his special fondue even though the event was being catered. I gave in.
Cousin Ted played the piano and some of us slow danced. The catered food was delicious. Then, right at the end of the meal, Martin unveiled his fondue with special ingredients. It smelled delicious. We couldn't wait to dig in. Except for me. I was already stuffed.
As it turned out, I made the right decision. Within minutes of devouring the fondue, all of the guests sprouted horns, claws, and fangs. Their faces became swelled and distorted and their skin turned into lizard like leather. They growled and launched vicious attacks on each other. Hair, skin and blood splattered the walls, floor and ceiling. Unearthly howling made me cover my ears and drop to my knees, expecting looming death. Martin just sat in the corner picking his teeth. Then his humanoid mask slid down and I saw what he really was. Disgusting, but not as horrible as what my Aunt Greta turned into.

Year of the Horse

Horses are powerful and elegant and moody like English royalty. They've played major roles in our history. Paul Revere wouldn't have gotten past Camden if he had rode a burro. Washington atop his steed inspired an entire army, especially when he was in a boat. Covered wagons pulled by goats? I think not. The US Calvery mounted on hogs? Please. Teddy Roosevelt leading the Rough Riders on donkeys? Uh uh.
My kingdom for a horse!
Not My kingdom for a walrus.
Even after the auto arrived, we still had horse racing as a major sport. How much wisdom did Mr. Ed impart? They don't call it horse sense for nothing.
Now, sadly, the only contact most of us have is with sedated, blinder-wearing carriage horses. Remember how nutritional horse radish is. Whoever got horses to consume large quantities of radishes gets my respect. Consider this: how many children have enjoyed the thrill of a rocking horse? Without horses they'd be perched on rocking anteaters.

Range of Opinion

There's a range of opinions on why 31000 people have gotten sick on cruises lately. A leading vomitologist thinks its the salad dressing being used, manufactured in Cambodia. Others feel it's the bad stand up comics, impressionists, puppeteers, magicians, and ventriloquists used as entertainment. A fitness guru assumes passengers aren't stretching out enough after meals and allowing food to digest. The passengers themselves think it's the fish.
After extensive investigation, our government has ruled out terrorist activity.
None of the crew became ill, arousing suspicions they spiked the drinks as a protest over low wages. Swabbing the decks with dirty mops didn't help matters.
Here comes another ship docking, with hundreds leaning over the railing upchucking. must get my camera. This is Pulitzer stuff.