Ahead of the Curve

Gerry was a man of ideas, ahead of the curve. He watched as grocery deliveries direct to houses took off. A light went off in his head. A delivery service aimed at blocked writers. A van pulls up full of ideas, story arcs, characters, metaphors and even punctuation. He advertised and within dayd he was flooded with requests for his service. All he needed was raw material.
He knew a writer who was prolific. For 20% of the profits he would make him a partner in exchange for his writing skills. This would be the future of literature similar to bitcoins being the future of currency.
He went to the man's apartment and rang the bell. Minutes later the door opened. The man stood there wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. On the bed behind him was an inflatable doll resembling Wonder Woman.
Great to see you, Gerry. What's up?
Gerry gave him a big smile. Joe, have I got a proposition for you.

The Wrong Man

Sally knew she was being followed. He wasn't very good at disguising it. One day she saw him enter a flower shop. I'm turning the tables, she thought, and proceeded to follow him. Maybe if he had someone to gift with flowers he wasn't a creep.
He kept walking out of the business section into the residential area. To her shock, he made his way right to her house and rang the bell as she hid behind a tree. The mailman came by. They spoke. The man showed him a sheet of paper and the mailman smiled and patted his shoulder. They actually hugged.
Sally watched the carrier continue on his route. This is a violation, she thought. Fearlessly, she marched right up to the man. He met her eyes. He looked familiar. He showed her the sheet of paper. Sally read it and began sobbing. This was her son, kidnapped many years ago. On the paper was a poem he had written in the fourth grade. Her copy was upstairs in a box under her bed. Mom, he whispered.

Blackboard Nonsense

Phil stared at theequations on the blackboard and got dizzy. The Professor kept scribbling letters and numbers and none of it made any sense. The other students were just as baffled. Why did I take this course, he asked himself. Kardashian Theory 101. Why were they so popular?
Surely it couldn't e very complicated. Botox, luxury, big butts and whining entitlement. There it is in a nutshell. The Professor droned on about pleasure centers lighting up whenever one of them appeared on the screen. Phil cursed his stupidity. He should have taken another course in the syllabus.
The Meaning of Pee Wee Herman's Playhouse in Relation to the Elevation of Child's Play Within the Post Modern Parent Consciousness.
Yeah, that one he could have aced.

The Showdown

No one could manipulate a fidget spinner like Barb. She was known far and wide as a master. Crowds gathered to watch her on weekends in the park. She was special. People greeted her in stores. When she mentored others, they got so much better at this art.
Long an outsider, fidget spinning made her popular and changed her life.
Then one day Reggie arrived, him and his yo yo. This young man did amazing tricks.. People were awed at his creativity, the sheer complexity of his tricks. Everyone knew there had to be a showdown.
Memorial Day, with a park filled with onlookers, Reggie and Barb faced each other. There were no rules. No judges. No time limit. They would go at each other until one quit in pain. They stood glaring at each other, ten feet apart.
Everyone took a deep breath. The contest began.
I've been sworn to secrecy regarding the result.
Sorry.

Laundry Card Blues

I lost my laundry card just after I put $5 on it. Disappeared from my pocket in CVS. I asked the girl at the front end if she saw it. No luck. Actually because I used it in the washer there was only $2.40 left. But I had to invest another $5 in my backup card, which I found in said laundry. If I want a new card I have to insert $10 in the machine. It comes with $6 already on it, so my new card only costs $4. But that adds up to $6.40 I had to shell out. That's three cups of coffee.
Which brings me to my next point. The loud guy in Dunkin' who shouts his order from a seat in the back. His explosive white hair is Einstein squared. His Spanish accent is kind of charming. Kids love him. But I can't read, write or concentrate with him exclaiming every sentence. He talks to anyone except me because I keep my head down. I wonder where he works. Maybe a really loud factory.
After months of forced listening, I know more about him than family members.
I should find another Dunkin', but that would be surrendering, no?

Me and Satan

So I said to Satan, can we get some ventilation in here?
Walking around naked, sweat rolling off me, I'm getting dehydrated and may pass out. Satan sat in his recliner staring at a screen, monitoring humans going about their business, calculating which souls are vulnerable. Ignoring my question.
Frustrated, I wandered around the huge cavern filled with naked, sweating souls. Manson squatted in the corner mumbling. I tried again with Satan. How about central air conditioning? Too much paperwork, he replies. Installation in an area this big is problematic. A water fountain? No fountains in hell, fool.
I guess it could be worse. I could be burning. That's a myth. Only bankers and some lawyers burn here.
God, what I wouldn't give for an ice cube. Oh I forgot. God isn't listening.
Is that Richard Nixon? Boy, I thought he sweated while alive. He's just one big puddle. Seeing someone like that naked may be worse than burning. Who am I to judge? I look down. Who knew extreme heat causes shrinkage.

Annoying Jennifer

Ten reasons Jennifer Lawrence annoys me

1.She thinks everything is about her
2.She's 27 and still thinks getting hammered and vomiting is cool
3.She claims dieting and working out are not her concern
4.She dropped out of Middle School, yet lectures reporters
5.She reacts to every tiny negative thing written about her
6.She dates men much older than her
7.She never takes time off
8.She's a complete hypochondriac.
9.he railed against nude photos of her online, thwen stripped for Red Sparrow
10.She watches the Kardashians instead of reading books

Spider Angst

Will never got the hang of being a spider. The first time sticky string came out of his butt it scared the hell out of him. Things went downhill from there. He hated the taste of flies, was allergic to dust, and never could create intricate webs that won awards and impressed female spiders. His peers considered him inept. Will spent his days sulking in dark corners of the sock drawer, his sanity hanging by a thread.
One day he met a Praying Mantis whose bad knees prevented it from kneeling. Will didn't realize hoe depressed his friend was until it asked for a silk thread. The next day he found his friend hanging by the kitchen faucet. Sicide.
That image propelled him to take a more positive attitude toward being a spider. Immediately, his webs became stronger and more elegant. Eventually female spiders took notice and his romantic evenings multiplied. He even developed a taste for small gluten free flies.

Bulleted Sunrise

You enter a room like a bulleted sunrise
I shield my eyes as you circle space
Rays of mystery strafe the walls
Other guests vanish in your shadow
Out on the veranda
Your spare words like sunspots
I can not decipher
My feeble effort lost in an eclipse of blended color
I bask in your corona
Fearful of being singed by your exquisite lava
Why must you ever set, my luminous sunrise?
Men would die for you sun goddesss
Now I must return to the party
My wife is calling me
I'm out here, Marsha!

HMO Hell

Rivers of blood
Ruah to your head
A gasp of pain
Splash of crimson
Covers the operating table
The floor, the attending team
They yank and yank on the arm
Someone forgot to change the saw blade
Sinew and flesh rip
You scramble off the table
Crawl to the door on one arm
Realizing
Some HMOs are better than others

Bedroom Eyes

I want Armand Assante, Charles Boyer bedroom eyes. Droopy, sensual lids. Hooded and mysterious. Smoldering. Marlene Dietrich eyes.
I need a woman and eye contact is my best bet. Right now I have vestibule eyes. Even my cat turns away.
I want to be world weary and cynical. Robert Mitchum. But I am constantly surprised and wide eyed. I resemble comic Richard Lewis, who looks like an electrocution in progress.
Why do women always go for sleepy eyed?
I asked my doctor for help. Perhaps a lid operation. He said I wasn't getting enough oxygen or fiber.
I finally did meet a woman as wide eyed as me and she seems interested. Her name is Betty Boop.

Fashion Immunity

I wear strange hats and clothes. Always have. No problem, except after I bought a house in the suburbs. Now angry neighbors demand I upgrade my wardrobe. I'm frightening their kids and driving down property values.
They hit me with fresh tomatoes from some lady's garden.
I released the following statement:
"I understand your concerns. But I am an intellectual with too much on his mind to worry about clothes. Did people complain about Einstein's baggy pants and stained shirts? What about actor Nick Nolte, who walks around in pajamas and slippers?
You have given me warnings and offered to shop for me. I appreciate that. But I have to be my own man. Do not banish me from this area. I am asking for amnesty. Don't I get credit for good posture, close shaves, hair combed, no undershirt sticking out? Do I look unclean?
Children can tell whether someone is good. Bring them to me and let them decide. And hold off on those tomatoes. People in Appalachia are starving."

Holding Together

I was falling apart. Couldn't finish a sentence. Couldn't listen to others. Should I grow a beard or not? Cheese did not help. Baked beans neither. Meditation made me dizzy. Watching porn only a temporary stopgap.
I was diagnosed with splintered personality. Too many thoughts at once. Too much sensation. I was told to focus on one thing, like someone's neck. Wear earplugs, close eyes, slow, deep breaths. Change my socks twice a day.
Mindfulness. That's what saved me. Live in the moment and enjoy every second. Right now there is a tiny stream of mucus leaking from my left nostril. I am fully experiencing this, total focus. Soon I will be able to converse normally, I really believe that.
All I need is a happy place for when things get too intense. Perhaps your spare room?

Start Up Business

Everyone loves candy. My start up involves candy. A gumball machine where you can choose your color with a phone app. A suction machine at parades which sucks up all the candy thrown by the marchers before those field mice kids get to it.
Gummy Bear politicians or Kardashians. Cotton candy shaped like world leaders or Lady Ga Ga. Circular candy canes. Edible suspenders. Giant paper weight gum drops.Chocolate Easter ground sloths. Licorice topping pizza.
Peanut brittle shaped like countries or body parts. Meat loaf with icing. Avocado lollipops. Initialized candy corn.
The possibilities are endless. I'm looking for high end investors. Who's in?

Chair Exercise

I stared at my chair. You bastard. Look at you, all innocent. Waiting for me to do my triceps push ups. Laughing at me, knowing I can only do six before my arms burn.
Then I lie on the floor with my feet up on the seat, attempting crunches. Grunting like a pregnant pig. Then there's the hamstring stretching, holding your back support and extending my leg. You'd love to tilt over, leaving me sprawled oon the floor.
You pitiful excuse for a folding chair. Jealous of me. I have opposable thumbs. I can type, play the trombone, change radio stations, quilt. All you are is a folded up piece of metal collecting dust.
Where would you be if I joined a gym? Left at the curb with the other garbage.
Now I feel better and am ready to do those hellish triceps push ups. At least I have a triceps. Bitch.

Credibility Factor

I went to the clinic with a headache. The doctor entered, unshaven, eating from a bag of Doritos. Crumbs covered his white jacket. He gave me a high five and asked what was the matter. I told him about my headache. Who doesn't have one these days? Have you been following the news? Take an aspirin.  I told him it didn't help.
Just between us, he said, you know what releases tension? Masturbation. Hey, this morning I woke up all stressed. So I did the weed wacker with my Mr. Johnson. Felt so much better.
Let me see if your shoulders are tight. Don't worry, I washed my hands. Both of them. Here, let me yank on your earlobe.

Decision Tree

I pity those who depend on the Decision Tree modal to determine choices. Sad. Me? When I walk into Dunkin, I know exactly what coffee-medium, two creams, 2 Sweet & Lows-- and what donut--either Old Fashioned or plain stick--I will order. I sit in my usual seat in the back. If it's already taken, I have a back up in the corner.
Okay, sometimes I'll get adventurous and order a latte and apple crumb. When I leave the house I know exactly what coupons I will use at what store and where I will gas up my car.
My only hesitation before making a decision comes when the temperature is around 60 degrees and I have to decide among boxers, briefs or thong underwear.
Recently I have decided my personal trainer, Brunella, will be my wife. She tells me to grunt while exercising and gives great massages. I will write Marry Me in black letters on one of the exercise balls. Who needs a Decision Tree when true love is involved?

What's for Dinner

Rita sat across from Dr. Lector, slightly intimidated. She was quiet in his class and couldn't understand why he invited her above all his other students.
They discussed many topics as they sipped wine and butternut squash soup. She had no idea he was such a good cook.
"Dr. Lecter, this is delicious."
"Call me Hannibal."
She got up nerve to ask him about Roger, his teaching assistant, who vanished one day without explanation. Truthfully, she was attracted to the young man.
"Ah yes, Roger. Quite an inquiring mind. Asked lots of questions. Let us say, he has moved on to greener pastures. I did notice you seemed to have a thing for him."
Rita blushed and nodded.
"What is our entree tonight, sir?"
He rose and smiled. "An unusual concoction, my dear, I'm sure you'll enjoy. Every tiny morsel."
He went into the kitchen. She could smell the aroma, and despite her best efforts, saliva filled her mouth.

Bomb Cyclone

I went out in the midst of the storm because I couldn't stomach me staying in bed while others had to get to work. That is how I roll. I drove to the strip mall, got stamps, mailed letters, got a prescription, sat in Burger King sipping coffee and reading the paper.
Periodically I'd check outside and watch fools try to control their umbrellas. I knew power lines would go down and children would be frightened. But I was a mailman and faced terrible storms with complete manliness. Today I gathered up all my testosterone and faced the monster.
By 1pm I was home watching Netflicks. But at least I made my presence felt. Courage doesn't have to exist all damn day.