Legends

Please, TV hosts, stop using the word legend and icon when introducing guests who are successful and famous, but fall far short of legendary status.
Here are genuine living legends:
Sophia Loren, Jack Nicholson, Clint Eastwood, Barbra Streisand, Tony Bennett, Kirk Douglas,Carol Burnett, Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan... you get the idea.
Please also limit the standing ovations to those whose lifetime work merits it.
Henry Winkler is a nice guy who created an iconic role, but falls short of legend. Ted Danson has had more successful series than just about anyone--not a legend. Bill Cosby was iconic, but now has a whole new image. Larry David may be close to legend status because his work has been at a consistently high level for decades. Tim Allen has had long term success, but not nearly as ground breaking as David.
I have to say, this is one iconic post.

Password Hell

I change my Google PW because it wouldn't accept my old PW. An email congratulates me for recovering my account. Five days later I try reaching my blog and am told the new password is incorrect. I have to have them call me for a verification code to make sure I am me. Once I type that in and click Next I get another message indicating I am verified.
Today I discover Facebook has been hacked again to the tune of 270 million members having their info on the Dark Web all week, available to hackers. Is any of this aggravation worth it? Phony emails from banks and Paypal and bogus charities that look genuine.
I feel sorry for people who store their life on their phones. The more I try to simplify my life, the more complicated things get.

White Whale

Call me Ishmael.
That's a stupid first sentence, Mr. Kraven.
Give it a chance class. This is a classic.
But it's so long. My older sister says a white whale bites off some guy's leg and he goes bonkers.
Mr. Kraven, if he got that close, why wasn't he eaten?
Whales are black, not white. I wish they were yellow.
Only seals and walruses are black. Are they in this book?
My sister says there's lots of blood. I hate bloody stories.
Is there kissing? Does Ishmeal kiss anyone?
What about the shirtless guy with the harpoon? Does he kill the whale?
This guy Ahab--does he whip his crew? Does the whale eat the ship?
Calm down class. We haven't started yet.
Are there females in there like Wonder Woman?
Does anyone have tattoos?
What about sharks? I won't read it without sharks.
Does the whale eat the boat? Is that allowed?
Who is this Herman Melville? Does he have a reality show?
Is Ishmael cute?
Class, this is an adventure and a psychological study of a damaged, possibly insane man.
So does our President throw a harpoon?
I'm getting a headache, class.
But Mr. Kraven we haven't even started the book yet.

Investment Guru

Why am I here, Lenny?
You are my investment advisor.
I told you to buy shares in Tesla. Did you listen?
No. I saw a better opportunity.
Did you consult with me?
No. I was sure this would grow.
You lost your shirt.
That's one way of putting it. I crave the thrill of risk.
Tell me about this company.
Dallinger--Del Priore Dry Wit Inc. They sell dry wit globally. There's a need.
Most people do not get dry wit. They want dirty jokes and slapstick.
I also invested in Selinger Enterprises. They offer ballroom dancing and hair restoration.
Join my Fantasy Football League. There's a draft coming up.
You're gas lighting me.
No, that was dry wit.

Mind Games

My condo association has ordered everyone to have a numbered sticker on their back window. Supposedly it's due to parking restrictions. I think they are keeping tabs on us with a tracker in the sticker.
They did this in Ca. and created messages centering on Satan being the true redeemer. Billy Bob Thornton and Woody Harrelson supposedly fell for it, along with the Olsen twins and Faye Dunaway.
Gas lighting happens all around us. People have been dropping hints I may be unhinged.  One unfortunate trip to Great Adventure with those endless water slides and annoying, splashing kids. I told the judge it was self defense. My probation ends next month.

Baby Duty

Rolf's concept of child care at his facility revolved around responsibility. Babies under his care were required to roll over four times an hour. Pacifiers were to be secured inside the mouth. If they fell out that was three demerits. Babbling was strictly limited and no babbles could be repeated. Dribblinbg and chin drool meant another demerit.
Only three hiccups per child per day. No screaming unless being stuck by a safety pin. Absolutely no coughing without reason.Crawling should ensue at a designated time. Each child, at some point, is expected to change their own diaper. He does allow unlimited giggling. But reckless leg kicking and arm waving will not be tolerated. It wastes energy needed for eyeball rolling.

Killer Deal

The man at the writers exchange told me he had killer deals. I wanted to add to my collection of writers in my basement.
I had no particular preference as long as each one was unique. He brought me into a huge warehouse where dozens of people roamed around aimlessly, hoping for a home.
There's Mandy, he said, pointing t a middle-aged woman. She writes salty poems and naughty limericks. I nodded, impressed. Over there is Sam, who knows everything about writing, but is totally blocked. A good home might get him going again. I wasn't sure about him. I saw another guy who looked stoned. No, that's Frank, a paranormal writer. Very imaginative. Loves humus. Can do the hokey pokey. I shrugged. I asked about another fellow who was crawling around with his butt crack showing, drooling and cackling. That's Joe, the man said. If you want him you'll need a tetanus shot
I said give me him. I'll house train him. He writes flash fiction, the man said. I nodded. One of those..

Grand Union

After we scored the winning goal, we hugged each other on the field. When we tried to break up, we were stuck. No amount of pulling and twisting could loosen us. The refs and other team had already left. Parents tried to separate us unsuccessfully. We cried like babies. I had to pee. We tried walking backwards to the dressing room. Thunder and lightning suddenly struck. Rain pelted down. We staggered in the mud. Out of the trees a tall figure emerged. He raised his arms to the sky and spoke in a strange language. Fire erupted all around us.
We had beaten a Catholic school for the championship. God was not happy.

Memories

Thanks for the memories was Bob Hope's signature song. In his old age, he sat in airport lounges hoping someone would recognize him.
Bad memories are part of who we are. But I won't attend high school reunions. A mine field of bad memories I do not need to revisit. Classmates would reminisce about the great times, while I have little to feel good about. We make our own history and must live with it. Bury it, I say, and move on.
So I become a writer and just make stuff up. So much safer.
If I ever ran into Bob Hope I'd shake his hand and say thanks for everything. I'd offer him a mint.

Drunken Tree

It leaned far to the left, frightening the flowers. Its shade also leaned. Roots tried desperately to keep it straight. Soon, at this rate, the tree would collapse.
How could this happen, asked the grass. One other tree responded. We are all jealous of the drunken tree, it admitted. The children from the family owning the property played only on it, hanging from the branches. The rest of us were ignored.
Now the kids are grown and gone. All we hear is the sound of birds.  The drunken tree is sad, causing it to sag even more. One day it will crash to the ground. Men will come, chop it up and take away the pieces. Only an empty space will remain. Memories will fade.
WTF! screamed a tulip. What about us. We'll be squashed, crushed under a dead tree. I need a drink. Why can't flowers absorb alcohol?

Jump

Why have I stopped jumping for joy? As a kid I was always joyous, especially at Halloween. Adults would place small unwanted pets in my trick or treat bag. Also a hamster, roach, spider and entire ant colonies. A baby chick. Once, a cactus. OUCH!
I jumped for joy when I saw my muscles were bigger than Sandra's and I had more leg hair, although it was close.
It wasn't until I was older that I realized giving was better than getting. So I impart my charm, wisdom and knowledge to others and watch their faces light up. As a senior I enjoy hearing my neck crack and peeing straight. I jumped for joy, but forgot to zip up first and almost knocked myself out from my weenie impact

Escape Plan

When I was a mailman I fantasicized about just driving my truck away into another state like Pennsylvania to escape. I would start over without all the same mistakes. Others have done this, people I've known. Why they vanished from my life, I haven't a clue. I think I smell okay.
I found Escapes R Us online and made an appointment. I wanted answers, but they were so persuasive, I forked over the fee for running away. They put together a complete package. I had a new city, name, posture, wardrobe, persona. I am called Fannie and I wear a pixie cut.
I wonder if someone else seeking escape became Joe the Mailman.

Perfection

I am eating a perfect Portuguese roll. Fresh, soft, evenly buttered. I got it at Quick Check, a perfectly laid out store. All types of coffee on a table, with five different milks, sweeteners, stirrers and caps. The newspaper section located by the seating area. Sandwiches, cakes, snacks, beverages, all easily found. Clean floors, polite cashiers, plenty of light.
Wonderful salads.
In these areas, McDonalds has issues, but I won't specify.
At the risk of sounding immodest, no one can cnsume this particular roll like me. I calculate how big of a piece to bite off, how many chews before swallowing and how long before taking another bite.
I am a perfectionist. Even when I don't shave my scruff is evenly textured I want to make others feel better about themselves, so one day I will reveal a flaw. I come off as a rough and tumble cattle rancher.

.

Lost It

I lost it. The most brilliant paragraph I've ever written, done on a piece of scrap paper. I was sure I put it in a safe place waiting to be typed up. I looked everywhere. It's gone.
This is the writing that would have gotten me a grant, awards, maybe a position at a top university. These were the images that would have gotten me compared to Hunter S. Thompson. Lorrie Moore. Donald Bartleme.
I can remember only the first two sentences. You're not getting them here, in case the rest comes back to me. This is like Picasso losing an early brilliant sketch that could have launched him. Frank Loyd Wright misplacing a schematic for a home. Rogers losing Hammerstein.
I don't have a big co0ndo. This should never happen. Somehow I will go on .Something else. I lost a $3 bonus coupon from CVS. That is two beef jerkies. Organization is now my priority. I swear, that lost paragraph could have gotten me a MacArthur Genius Grant.

Squirrel

Noted flash fiction author Joseph Del Priore was on his way to a reading when a flyng squirrel landed on his head and knocked him out.
Months in a coma ended with him awakening in a hospital. Nurse Beth, who had been taking care of him all those months, was overjoyed to see his eyes open. He slurred his words, but thanked her profusely for taking care of him. He wondered aloud if the squirrel who landed on him was demonized.
He looked up at nurse Beth. I need one favor, he whispered. Could you slide the bed pan under me and press down on my stomach? I feel like I'm ready to explode. Nurse Beth reached for a pillow and thought about something horrible and completely against hospital policy. No, she would let him live and write again. I think I need a bigger pan, she thought.

Floss

Max loved flossing beyond anything else. He did it several times a day. He took a chance on a new brand of thicker string. Midway through, he realized the string was caught between a molar and incisor. He yanked and twisted to no avail. He tried to close his mouth, but his jaw locked halfway. Panic stricken, he dialed 911, but his words were unintelligible. He hurriedly dressed and ran out to his car. Drooling and wild-eyed, he scared parents walking their kids to school.
Max was so nervous he smacked into a mailbox with his car. Someone saw it and called police, thinking he was drunk. The cops came, saw his predicament and made a call.
Minutes later, a Volvo pulled up. Out stepped Finn Wrobbles, who walked over wearing a serious expression. He examined Max and said get him inside where I can do my work.
Max was shaking and in tears.
Finn calmed him with these words--Do not fret, sir. I am the floss whisperer. You arein good hands.

Take Out

Garbanzo Heaven was packed. Bill saw dollar signs. All he served was garbanzo beans and pimento olives.
Joe sat in the corner by himself. His face was literally buried in a bowl of pimento olives. He came up for air, face covered in grease. He licked his lips and dove down again. People were lined up around the block at 11 pm. Bill wanted to close up and go home to his family. What to do?
Take Out Available!! he yelled. The line attacked the counter, barking out orders. His workers moved fast and the line shrunk. Soon the place was empty except for Joe who had dozed off, face buried in pimento. EMS had to be called. Joe was revived and staggered home, rubbing his belly.
Please note: No Italians were harmed during this post.

Wisdom Teeth

Maury Baum became the first person to actually request wisdom teeth be implanted into his gums because he had no wisdom or intelligence and he figured how could this hurt?
I made a deal with my wisdom tooth. If it didn't act up, I would show it porn.
Let's hear from my gum.
Hi. I'm Joe's gum. He flosses every morning, brushes his tongue, uses a pic to dig in between teeth.
Despite all that, it would not surprise me if his wisdom tooth acted up. Look at his diet. Peanut brittle all day long.
He has power issues.

Good Omen

Winston emerged from the coffee shop only to have a bird poop on his windshield. He was late for an appointment and had no time to wipe it off. As he drove along others pointed to the spot and shouted Good Omen!
This drove up his blood pressure, which his doctor noted. Dr. Farley nodded when told of the situation and confessed he collected bird poop and tossed it on his own car, furniture, friends and crossing guards for good luck. He also left poop in church pews.
Winston felt better. Outside, someone had wiped off the poop. Winston silently cursed. The rest of the day he drove around looking for flocks of birds.

Promises

We are immersed in promises. Marriages are all about vows, which are life long promises. Taking a job means promising your employer you will give it your best effort. People promise to call you back, to be at a certain place at a certain time. Men promise to leave the seat down.
How do we deal with broken promises. I say punishment is in order. You get three broken promises, after which you will be dragged to the center of town and beaten witha bamboo stick. This includes politicians.
The Salem witch trials have gotten a bum rap. You never see witches around there anymore. Pets  and kids can promise happiness. Yeah right. Loser kids should be sent to military school.
A while back, I promised myself I would create a body Hercules would be proud of. Plus, I would smell good every single day.
Still working on that.

Simple Solution

The solution to overcrowding is to send about 40 million folks to Alaska. They have plenty of room, especially if you focus on small people and kids. Offer free moving expenses and one year free housing. Stress the nutritional value of seal meat. Alaska is beautiful. Give these transplants warm clothes and winter underwear.
Global warming means less ice, more green. Push the adventure of hunting caribou. Plenty of parking, excellent garbage collection. The aurora borealis is almost spiritual. I'm pretty sure they have self flushing toilets. I'm told nobody hugs like Eskimos.
Nine monthys of snowball fights. Your kids will love it. So quiet one can spend hours meditating.
Unless we act fast, Russia will annex the whole territory. Not possible? Talk to the Ukraine.

Got This

Steam burst out from under the hood. Jim leaped out of his van, waited a minute and saw a damaged hose. In seconds he had replaced it with a duplicate from that van. A small payment by a grateful driver followed.
Cruising the city, he saw a woman doubled over in pain. Jim ran behind and yanked with his arms around her waist. Thank you, she gasped. He refused money and continued on his informal rounds. His van was full of useful stuff, ready to solve all sorts of problems. A couple struggled to fit a couch through a front door. Jim applied elbow grease and it slid right through.
A man and his son played catch on the front lawn. The boy kept missing the ball. Jim supplied a bigger glove and eye glasses. Problem solved. A tattoo artist ran out of ink and Jim was there with replenishment. A lady fumed over a run in her stocking. Jim, as always, leaped into action, proclaming, I got this!. In fact, that was printed on the side of his van. I Got This!
A snapped jump rope, a bicycle chain replaced, a walker for an elderly man.
Unfortunately, the walker had uneven legs. The man fell over and sued Jim for six figures. Jim was crestfallen and eventually drank himself to death.
At the funeral parlor, the mortician looked down at the body and announced to no one, I've got this.

Western Wind

I want to write a poem about the western wind, but I'm completely blocked. In a room full of writers focusing on this prompt, I fear ridicule.  I glance at Mirela's notebook hoping for inspiration. It is blank. She sits there, head braced against her palm, also blocked.
Carla has beautiful hand writing, but, as usual, she's ignoring the prompt and writing about this guy who dumped her. I won't protest because her arms dwarf mine.
I sigh. I think of the Santa Ana winds in California, which is west. It's a dry wind and who wants to read a poem about dryness? Blake Shelton should write a song about the western wind.

I am so inspired by a well written show like Breaking Bad, I call a meeting of all my characters to discuss this idea of chemistry in a story. I work my tail off to create vibrant writing, but too often my characters complain my stories aren't fleshed out and lack a satisfying conclusion. This is the epitome of ungratefulness. Without me, there is no them.
They actually wander off into other writers' pieces. Especially Susan's, who they seem to regard as funnier than me. I submit I have more gravitas.
I had just finished my talk when I became aware of a disturbance in the back. I charged right up to the characters involved and saw they were giving each other noogies. I looked closer and realized they were Keith's characters, sneaking into my talk. I always considered Keith's writing juvenile.
I escorted them out. Boundaries have got to be set among us writers.

A Hike

Joe was an unhappy Scoutmaster. His life wasn't going in the right direction, but molding these kids made him feel useful and fulfilled. He told the boys hiking builds character. His assistant, Ernie, kept humming patriotic tunes which drove Joe crazy. This nonsense of girls joining was ridiculous. They couldn't pee in the woods like boys.
Midway through this hike, Joe dropped back to inspire the stragglers as the temperature rose. Let's go guys! You can do this. These three had almost capsized a canoe and could not start a fire if their lives depended on it. Joe kept shouting until they had enough. They pinned him to the ground, took out lighters and set fire to his boots. Ernie came running, tripped over a branch and knocked himself unconscious. Joe pleaded. I'll sign off on any badge you want, he offered.
We want the bow and arrow badge, they said. He nodded vigorously. They freed him and continued hiking at their own pace. Ernie was found three days later, starving and thirsty.

Bee Colony

Roddy asked the Queen for a leave of absence. He was one burnt out bee. She could see his performance had fallen off, so she granted him a one month leave to find himself.
In gratitude, he shot a wad of honey that landed on her. She laughed it off.
Roddy then moved among the other insects to see where he fit. He embarrassed himself trying to leap like a grasshopper. He failed to carry the load of an ant. Inspecting fetid garbage with roaches made him sick, as did feeding on corpses with dung beetles.
Fireflies mocked his attempt to light up his bum. He lacked the elegance of a Praying Mantis. Houseflies were too quick. Mosquitos were too obnoxious.
At one point, Roddy fell hard for Roweena, a black spider. She rejected him after he failed to produce a web.
Wisdom was all he came away with after his sojourn. Upon returning to the hive, he apologized to the Queen. He still had to produce honey, but at least he didn't have Roweena's quota of five flies a day.

Ant Colony

I went looking for insects with my magnifying glass. More interesting than people. I discovered the worst ant colony ever. Hundreds of them just lying around in hammocks and lounge chairs doing nothing. No carrying or building or storing. No work happening.
Where was the leadership? Bees have a queen. How about a supervisor here?
Most looked overweight and possibly stoned.
Suddenly a gang of warrior red ants attacked. The black ants were helpless.The red ants ate the hammocks. Carnage prevailed. Dead, fat ants everywhere.
I had to turn away. Butterflies are more my taste. Later, a dozen Praying Mantis showed up and offered prayers for the fallen. Nature does care.

Paradise

Sunday nights are my evenings in paradise. A time for writers living in Hudson County, NJ. I walk up and down Bergenline Avenue with my hand weights, absorbing the symphony of smells, sounds and sights.
I look in windows full of people eating. So many restaurants, fast food outlets, bakeries, nail salons, and shops selling just about everything. Spanish fills the air. Music blared from creeping cars, shouts of recognition to pedestrians who reply in kind.
The smells of this urban safari sift into my nostrils. So much to record in my memory. The suburbs closed down hours ago. Keep your mountains and beaches. I prefer the paradise of vibrant interaction among the exotic tribes of this thoroughfare.
Of course, they think I'm undercover and keep their distance. Maybe it's how I aggressively swing my hand weights.

Soaked

A free outdoor Hoboken concert was cut short because of a threat of rain. We moaned and refused to believe it, though clouds had gathered. I said goodbye to a couple of friends and headed to my car, parked about seven blocks away. On Washington Street sidewalks were full of people walking and dining at outdoor tables. Ridiculous the music was cut short.
I walked one block up to Sixth St., turned left as a few sprinkles fell. Within ten steps  all hell broke loose. A torrent came down. I opened my umbrella and tried walking into a vicious wind. I made it two more blocks before finding shelter under the entrance to a closed business where I remained for a goood ten munites.
I did not panic. I recalled all I had been through in my life, including hair loss, and adopted a logical attitude. I am 175 pounds of rock hard muscle. No rain is going to cower me.
Eventually it slowed and I was able to get to my car and drive home. Yes, I was pretty wet and changed clothes. I could look myself in the mirror. In a possible crisis I had remained calm. Besides, my underwear was so wet, you couldn't tell if I'd peed myself.

Lip Service

Many pay lip service to creating an inclusive society. I must confess I am one of those people. But I am a hypocrite when it comes to insects sharing my condo. Kill lust overcomes me. I have cans of spray at the ready.
Last night while eating a cheese sandwich and sitting in my recliner, a fly invaded my personal space and almost landed on the bread. I took offense, though I know it was just being a fly. The inital spray stunned it and it wobbled around. A second shot almost put it out of commission. The third spray drowned it in white foam. Success.
Except, that shot landed on a copy of a short story I wrote, drenching it. I removed the fly with a paper towel and tossed it in the garbage.
Yes, I say all the right things about ecology, but I am nothing more than a cold blooded insect murderer. I had trouble sleeping last night. Dre amt something large was crawling on me.

Man Scaping

My smartest investment was Mandingo Man Scaping, which devised a sensor to measure length, width and density of foliage around a man's weed wacker. Just press the on button, point it and let the action begin.
My next favorite investment was the Alec Baldwin doll. Bring it to gatherings where people were not familiar with each other and were reticent to speak. Hit the on button and listen to the doll blowviate on every conceivable topic. If it doesn't shut off, put it in the closet and wait for the battery to run down.
I also invested in a naked Polish OOmpah band, which didn't do so well. Other smart investments included rum flavored coconuts, miniature packets of Spam, cholcolate covered watermelon pits, artichoke hearts shaped like flowers, and a mime centered podcast.
What can I say? I have the knack of picking winners.

RIP

Those who knew Joe before his sudden demise, offered comments after the funeral.

Bastard still owes me $20.
His fashion sense influenced the homeless.
He smelled funny.
He cheated at everything including his bowling score.
He forgot the punchline every single time.
I had three dates with him and still can't be certain he has a penis.
On Halloween he dressed as Colin Powell and ordered kids to salute him.
He tried to learn trombone, resulting in a citizen's arrest.
He went to nursing homes and performed magic before the residents locked him in a storage closet.
He believed all nuns were Soviet spies.
He was convinced toasters were demonized.
When he tried to learn signing, one deaf woman beat him senseless after he accidentally signed Want to see my hernia scar?

The Award

The final award to be given out went to Frank Asconi. He successfully performed the Heimlich Maneuver on Shaquille O'Neal, the 7'2, 350 pound former NBA star. Somehow he got his arms around the giant's waist and yanked repeatedly while Shaq choked.
Finally, the big man coughed up Paul Simon, who he mistook for an entree. Simon was shaken, but unhurt. Mr. Asconi in currently in intensive care, with two cracked ribs and dislocated shoulders. Simon, out of gratitude, sent Frank a signed copy of his new CD, Rymin' Simon Returns.
Shaq visited him in the hospital and leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Frank sobbed, completely overcome.

Searching for Sunday

I used to love having Sundays off when I worked. So many plans, so much out there for me to experience. The day flew by. Long drives with my camera.
But since my retirement things have changed. Now, every day is a Sunday. I got tired of moving around and getting involved. Now I use my free time to contemplate my life, to read, to isolate, to nap and not fret over missing something. Sometimes I just wander aimlessly.
Laundry is my excitement, especially the folding part. Also I spray kill lots of flies.
That's why I haven't returned your calls.

Exotic Dancer

I am not closing the door on being a Chippandale dancer. Yes, my age works against me. No hair, big ears. No ripped abdominal muscles. A rather insignificant butt. A third chest nipple.
But this is a time of inclusion. A woman will play 007. Really old people running for office. Kids getting paid millions for acing video games.
So I have back brace. So I'll look like a disjointed robot. Women may like that vulnerability. I will wax my body hair. use moisturizer and work my tail off learning the moves. I need someone to practice stuffing bills into my waistband. I'll supply the bills.

Multi-talented

Jay was retired and bored. He sought something different. At an arts and crafts festival he saw an amazing performance by a man played harmonica while whittling a stick held between his knees.
Next day, Jay bought a harmonica and began practicing. He got a knife and wood at Home Depot.
He worked and worked and eventually was able to play a Dylan tune while whittling a swizzle stick.
He sat in front yard performing as neighbors watched in amazement.
Sadly, he developed hiccups and accidentally slashed an artery with his knife, bleeding out in minutes.
Life is so fragile. His swizzle sticks are now collectors items.

Greeting

Nice to see you is such a bland greeting. It conveys nothing. After a short conversation with someone you barely know, this is one thing you say with a smile. What does nice even mean? Under what context?
I had a nice colonoscopy. It feels nice to nuzzle my dog. Snowflakes are quite nice.
What about a quick hug? Whwn does that come into play?
Here's another one--catch you later.
That makes no sense if you go off in different directions with completely different plans. You may never see that person for months.
I missed you is still another phony statement. No one ever says that to me. If I say it to a woman a red flag pops up.
See you soon.
No you won't.

Clouds

God was bored with his clouds, so he brought in Estaban, a designer, to create more interesting ones. Humans were bored looking at the sky.
Estaban thought long and hard about this project. He didn't want to let The Lord down.
Finally he came up with a concept and pitched it to God, who was skeptical, but gave him the go ahead.
Estaban created clouds in the likeness of dead comedians, people the public loved.
Rodney Dangerfield, Don Rickles, W.C. Fields, Bob Hope, Jack Benny, Lucille Ball, Mary Tyler Moore, Mae West, Groucho Marx, Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello, the Three Stooges, Richard Pryor, Red Foxx, Moms Mabley, George Carlin, on and on.
TV weather reporters had to adjust. "Temperatures dropping, wind increasing, partly Henny Youngman, with a chance of showers."
Estaban pushed the envelope by creating a Bernie Sanders cloud, but that frightened kids. So he switched to George Burns, a wiser cloud covered with smoke.

A Story

Tell me a story, Daddy.
Okay, Sweetheart. Once upon a time there was a shirtless man who rode horses to show off his manly chest. In fact, he frequently took of his shirt for no reason. He ran his village with an iron fist, disposing of all suspected enemies in horrible ways. So fearsome was he, that other villages refused to trade with him. His people grew hungry and thirsty for vodka.
His response was to attack and conquer the other villages. The populace was distraught. Who would save them from the shirtless madman?
Word came that there was a powerful man from far across the orean, someone who led the strongest village ever. Yes, he woud be the one to come with his forces and save them. Their hopes soared.
But one day a photo appeared showing the savior shaking hands and smiling at the shirtless beast. Chagrin followed.Now their only hope was for the shirtless man to fall off his horse and land on his head.
What happened? This story is not quite finished, my dear. But don't worry. You are safe. It's just a story.

Sopranos

The final episode of the Sopranos left viewers asking, is that all? Suddenly the screen went dark. Nothing was resolved.
I refused to let it go. There must be clues somewhere as to what really happened. So I went to Holstein's ice cream shop in Bloomfield and sat right in that very booth. I looked over every inch, determined to find a clue. Then I crawled under the table with my flashlight and waved it back and forth.
In the far corner I saw it--a series of numbers and letters, which I scribbled down.
I brought the code to my friend Sebbie, a world class code breaker. Three days later he called me with the message.
I had to calm myself. This solved the mystery.
Here was the message: "Tony dies of feta cheese poisoning. David Chase."
I sobbed. I love Tony Soprano. I also love feta cheese. I was so torn.

Sociology

One time a college student asked to follow me around so she could study my daily habits. I like privacy, but she was cute so I said okay.
She accompanied me to my favorite coffee shop, where I sat and read the paper. Two hours later, I was still reading and she had dozed off. After I shook her awake, she suggested I do something interesting. So i took out my nose hair clipper and went to work.
The young lady grimaced and sheepishly told me she might be better off following someone else. I was hurt, but agreed. As she left, she asked if I could recommend someone. I thought a moment and gave her the contact information for my proctologist. She thanked me and left.
Truthfully, if you experience me doing or saying uninteresting things, it's just a ruse. I am actually dynamic, charismatic, colorful, witty and elegant.
I do, however, have coffee breath.

Abe

Abe was at the door. Joe knew he had to answer. Abe was a fellow writer who had certain ideas. Abe charged inside and paced the floor. Joe sat in his recliner, eyes closed.
Abe was obsessed with female fairy tale characters. Empowering them. Snow White, Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty.
He remade Anne of Green Gables into a mixed martial arts expert who beat up farm boys for fun. Joe was disgusted, but didn't like creating scenes.
The worse part was Abe's insistence they do play acting. Abe would be the bad guy and Joe the avenging female. Kick Ass Cinderella. Beat Down Snow White. Last week he forced Joe into a mermaid's outfit. He saw The Little Mermaid machine gunning drug smugglers on their boat.
Joe, Abe said, I conceived of a new take on Frozen. The sisters are government trained assassins.
I brought both costumes. Your choice--pink or violet?
Joe grimaced. Actually, the violet brought out the blue in his eyes.
Hand it over, he said.

Playground

This exhibit was located within a fenced area. Parents and kids could stand outside and peer in. Actor kids played marbles, flipped baseball cards, bounced a Spaldeen, played tag and hide and seek, lined up for Buck Buck, flew around on roller skates, grabbed the monkey bars, see saw, and slid down a slid. They soared to the sky on swings.
What is all this stuff, children asked their parents.
It's called playing, was the answer.
But where are their phones?
No phones. Just playing.
You did all this?
We sure did. And you know what? We were happy.

Gladness

We will begin our project in gladness. We will build an extraordinary gazebo, one for the ages. We will dance and sing around this edifice.
Three weeks later, we were at each other's throats. Our big mistake was bringing in an engineer from NY, Ken. No one understood his schematic. Eventually, the gazebo tilted, the roof leaked and a strange smell came from the materials. Dogs peed on it. Ken screamed at volunteers. Nothing was coming together and he was blaming us. The whole mess was an eyesore. We fired Ken.
The town was distraught. Gladness had disappeared.
Then someone pointed to the sky. A figure drifted down from the clouds, holding an open umbrella. He touched down, closed the umbrella and walked to us.He examined the ruined structure.
I see you have a problem, he said. Nothing is going to get done unless you get hopping. Follow my lead and I will help you build the most elegant gazebo in existence.
A child asked, who are you, sir?
I am a certified engineer.
But what is your name, sir?
My name, dear child, is Mariano Poppins.
Now let's get to work. Spit spot!!

Pitch Perfect

Rocky came up with hip hop/opera as a music genre. People scoffed. He was not deterred. He found Antonio on line at Opera Is Us. But no hip hop artists wanted anything to do with this. Their street cred would be destroyed.
 Rocky found an obscure website containing Austrian hip hop artists. Gregor came with 15 clogg dancers. In NY another problem surfaced. Gregor could only perform in Polish. Over dubbing attempts produced chaos. Plus, neith performer got along. They once fell to the floor wrestling. Rocky, inspired, recorded the grunts and obsenities right into the master tape.
Vince McMahon, President of WWF, decided to use it as their anthem. Sales skyrocketed. When he heard the recording in his car raio, famed producer Clive Davis had a stroke and crashed into an In and Out Burger, ironically Pavarotti's favorite establishment in this country. The clogg dancers are on a 25 city tour.

Mt. Everest

Here I am almost at the peak of Mt. Everest. Why have I stopped? Because there are 88 climbers ahead of me waiting to reach the summit. Instead of seeing a vast vista of awesome beauty, I'm staring at the butt of Maury Fishbein of Westchester, the guy in front of me.
I could be home have coffee and a bagel, he whines. We may as well be climbing Pike's Peak.
I was dissatisfied with my academic career, so I decided to challenge myself. I hired Reggie from discount Sherpas R Us and he quit on me 5000 feet ago. You get what you pay for.
I think we're moving.
Move your ass, Maury!

Differing Opinions

I say frack until the cows come home. Fracking makes us energy independent, not held hostage to all those cranky Middle Eastern dictatorships. Environmentalists warn of future problems. Our children will suffer down the line.
Who cares? I don't have kids. Let them fend for themselves as adults like the rest of us. Do they give a damn about me when I'm sucking up asbestos in some nursing home, lying there mumbling nonsense?
I want my gas price low, so I can cruise around aimlessly all day until dinner.
I differ with others on many topics. Who ordered a reboot of Full House? Why are 40 year old Backstreet Boys back together touring? Why are hipsters wearing Converse sneakers?

Stop picking on Nancy Pelosi, who could be your grandmother.

Blind Love

Maury looked at Millie, his wife.
What is that thing growing out of your neck?
I don't know. I'm glad after all these years, you still look at me.
Maybe it's a tumor.
Would you care, Maury?
Of course I would. Now it's pulsing and changing color. I hope our insurance covers this.
What should we do?
Emergency room. Let them run tests.
Oh dear, how can you love someone with a growth this big?
Love is blind, my dear. Hurry and get dressed. That thing is beginning to smell.
After all these years you still find me smell worth. I love you so much.
Jesus, what is that white stuff leaking out? This thing is challenging my devotion.
Maybe it's another breast.
I think it's aiming at me.

The Cough

Steve had a horrible cough that appeared out of nowhere. His career was threatened because he couldn't give presentations. He went to noted ENT surgeon Dr. Knausbaum, who ordered a series of tests.
He found Steve had two pairs of tonsils, one behind the other. He suggested surgery. Steve realized he had no choice.
He was given general anesthesia. When the doctor went in, within seconds he heard a fainat, but clear wailing. "My child! My Child! Please don't take my child!"
The larger tonsils swelled up and grew red, pulsing visibly.
The surgeon immediately ceased the operation. A mother's love reigns over any cough. Steve would have to live with this. A less ethical doctor might just snip away. Not me, he explained to the stunned team.
I will tell him, and if he coughs in my face, I won't be offended.

The Pres

The entire cabinet sighed. The Secretary of the Interior said, We surrender, Mr. President. Whatever you say, we'll support."
The President smiled and nodded. "Reason will always win out. Thinking outside the box is what is needed. Using Alaska as a refuge for illegals is the way to go. Send the bastards up there, let them learn real skills like ice fishing, bear hunting and pipeline work. We need that oil."
He cleared his throat. "We'll get the kids warm clothing and mitts. Global warming my ass. When Burger King offers Veggie burgers, that's when we'll see it. Reminds me, I've got the munchies."

Lunch

Marty ran into Carol on his morning walk and they hugged. It had been so long. Let's have lunch and catch up, he suggested. Carol agreed. But where? I know a private spot where the food is excellent.
They had a terrific lunch and shared memories. Engorged, they promised to meet again soon.
Joe woke up and felt a dull pain on the top of his head. He reached up and touched a bump.
Damn spiders. I need to spray this whole house. People are going to ask about it. I'll have to wear a hat or they'll think I have lice or cooties. Believe me, I know the difference.
I hate insects.

Full Plate

Joe called Randy for lunch, but Randy said he had a full plate of activities. Joe sobbed something about his plate was never full. He didn't even have a plate or a hopper for ideas.
Don't be so dramatic, Joe, Randy said. Everyone has ideas and projects. I feel worthless, Joe moaned. I thought conversation with you would make my day.
You need a hobby like gardening or woodworking, his friend advised.
I do laundry twice a week. Does that count?
No. Take adult classes where they teach you scupture with glued toothpicks.
I tutored kids, Joe revealed. They locked me in a closet. The janitor rescued me.
There's a macrame shortage, Joe. Learn the craft.
You've given me inspiration, Randy. We should talk like this more often.
Sorry Joe. I'm crushed with work. Even this conversation has set me back eleven minutes.
Got to go.

Free Shipping

 I went onto Amazon and ordered writing supplies. A dozen metaphors. A box of alliteration. A can of foreshadowing. An entire prologue for a book I haven't written.
They screwed up my order and sent an entire case of ellipses. I found several misplaced modifiers and a set of quotation marks I had no use for. I called and complained and was offered free shipping on my next one.
I ordered a mail order bride named Tamika from the East Indies. Instead, they sent me Ernie, an accountant from Beth Page. He hogs the TV and demands to do my taxes. I am so fed up. Plus, I found a dangling participle at the bottom of his air holed box.
How is Amazon so successful?

Watch and Listen

I watch you and listen to your conversations. I am a behavioral analyst. The world is my office. Those people sitting over there, a group of writers focusing on their laptops. The guy on the end gently bites into his toast. He writes thrillers about mass murderers. The fellow next to his has chubby fingers and looks like a mixed marshall arts fighter. I'm betting he writes romantic poetry because he hates his image.
People have been driven mad by my constant analysis. So I have no family.
This what I do, seven days a week. I am well compensated by large corporations.
Wait. The woman writer with the cane is watching me.This is unexpected. She is one with me. An outsider. A watcher.
We should meet and compare studies.

Mouse

I think I have defeated the mouse. Glue traps, pellets, spray, poison boxes all failed. Barricading openings in the wall did not work. What worked is this red flashing light you plug into the wall. It emits a silent signal that evidently drives the rodent back into the wall.
The damn exterminators haven't shown up in weeks. Lot of good they did. Three quick sprays and have a nice day. Anyway, I feel empowered. I wish they had something you can plug into the wall that would keep away toxic people.
The late Doris Day was known for her concern over animals. You always saw her in photos holding a cute dog or cat, never a mouse. One hour after her death was announced, we had a complete blackout. I think they were connected.

Roulette

Norton lived for the excitement of roulette. Fortunes could rise and fall on a dime. That was his life story. One minute he's eating a grilled cheese sandwich. Then he's choking. He grabs the bottle of water from a stranger sitting across from him and drinks until his throat is clear.
He apologized, but the man seemed unfazed. It happens to everyone, he said.
Then he took out a book from his knapsack and offered it to Norton. It was his own book, a collection of flash fiction. Perhaps this book can change your life, he said.
Norton took the book and read it. He was so inspired, he decided to become a writer. Next day he brought his notebook to the coffee shop and started a short story. Three pages in, he took a bite of his chicken teriyaki sandwich, choked and keeled over before he could drink anything. His heirs kept that fragment and every anniversary of his death, they took it out and read it by candlelight.

Car Alarm

The damn car alarm would not shut off. Hour after hour. Right under my window. I couldn't even hear the TV. Why doesn't someone call the police?
One AM and still it blows. I saw cherry blossoms covering it. Could those feathery things be triggering it? Why doesn't the owner come and fix it?
I want to dial 1-800 Car Whisperer, but there is no such thing.
This is why people go quietly insane.
Finally, it stops and all is quiet. I don't have to go down there and leave a nasty note on the windshield. He might come after me with a machete. This is Hudson County.

Animal Love

Maury knew the cops were after him. He was breaking into seafood stores and freeing the lobsters. He couldn't deal with their plight. It didn't stop there. His apartment was home for crabs, snails and oysters.
They were quiet, unlike his former anteater, who honked for food. His place smelled less than sweet, but Maury could care less.
As the lobsters aged, he fitted them with adult diapers. His biggest challenge was getting the clams to open up and express some emotion. An obnoxious crawfish tried to mate with one of the crabs and ate a snail.
Sometimes Maury would get lucky at a bar and bring a woman home. These narrow minded women could not grasp his compassion for these beasts. It wasn't as though he were breeding skunks.
So he spent lots of time in his recliner petting several clams on his lap, whispering loving words.
Once, a lobster bit off one of his toes, but he had nine more. It's all good, he thought.

Tongues

Lena went to that new church and soon began speaking in tongues. Wally had no idea what she was saying. This isn't you, Lena, he shouted. She sprayed saliva and fell to the ground. Her eyes rolled up revealing white.
Was she seeing God or Satan or both? Finally the spiritual epileptic fit ended. She lay there exhausted. When her breathing calmed, Wally leaned over and asked what she was saying. Lena blinked several times, opened her mouth and croaked, I'd like some Altoids.

Bar Brawl

All hell broke loose. Drunks dropped trou and yodeled. Women clawed at the hot bartender. The bouncers threw each other out. The floor was wet and sticky, Rhesus monkeys hung from ceiling lights and defecated on passed out revelers. The paper towels were set on fire.
Police, EMS and firemen arrived. A priest stood outside and prayed. It took hours for order to be restored.
I'm begging you, Joe, choose another town for a reading and book signing. The firemen let all your books go up in flame as a precaution. Too little, too late.

Shower Curtains

Sliding glass shower doors are ridiculous. Soap scum accumulates to a point where you need a chisel to remove it. They are heavy and clumsy and add nothing to the bathroom decor. A visitor can see enough to distingish one's private parts. Somtimes they get stuck.
Shower curtains, on the other hand, are colorful and imaginative and can match your walls. How exciting is it to run them back and forth on the rod, bunching and separating hooks. Teach your kids. There are Bob Marley, Bernie Sanders, Gloria Steinem branded ones, complete with large photo.
The Al Sharpton Deluxe Shower Curtain sells for $49.99 at Kohls. Everybody has a brand.
It's all about bathroom prestige. I understand the Clintons are putting out a combination shower curtain/ Dollie set. Buy one, get one free.

Dent People

They sit in their cars for hours in lots just waiting, waiting for another driver to pull up next to them, open their door and gently tap the door to their car.
Then they jump out all angry and flustered, upset over the 'damage' to their vehicle, not noticable to the naked eye. They demand cash to pay for it. If you refuse, they threaten to call police or store security. Some might break into tears, claiming they just purchased the vehicle. Look at that scratch! What scratch?
Back and forth. You're tired and late, so you give him $20 and leave, shaking your head.
Next day, the bastard is parked in another lot, just sitting there, waiting for another inadvertent door tap. This constitutes their beer money. Such is capitalism.among the 99%

Step by Step

Roscoe dreamed he was Cyd Charisse dancing with Fred Astaire. He saw himself in fishnet stockings, high heels, doing leg extentions. He woke up thrilled and troubled. Why wasn't he the man?
Following nights had him dreaming of being Ginger Rogers, Ann Miller, DEbbie Reynolds and Chita Rivera.
When he dreamed of being Carmen Miranda it was time to get help.
DR. Anschluss listened quietly before giving his opinion. This was normal, he said. He, himself, often dreamed of being Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, and Rosalind Russell. I wake up refreshed and happy. Sometimes I'll don a garter belt.
Roscoe returned home satisfied. It was time for lessons and lip gloss.

Role Model

The country is looking for a role model. Our politicians, spiritual leaders and pundits fail us. We don't trust them.
Who do we turn to?
My choice is Matthew Mc Conaghy. He's got dimples, a great smile, a toned body, amazing hair. His later movies are excellent.
But what sets him apart are those Lincoln car commercials. Cool, in control, whispering to himself as he effortlessly guides the car around sharp turns. Overhead shots o him cruising down an open, flat highway to some very cool place. He has never gotten a flat, stalled out or gotten lost.
This man is cooler than Clooney, Pitt and DiCaprio. Is substance really important? Look at all the substance Steven Hawking had and what happened to him?
I used to think we could trust Mario Batali until the harrassment charges hit.
I do feel the people who hold down the giant balloons at the Macy's Parade are worth of respect, rope burn and all.

March Madness

Brackets-Betting-Point spreads-screaming crowds-cheerleaders-bellowing coaches-excted play by play.
Power moves, balletic spins, catapulted leaps, pounding bodies, long range shots, whistles, drums, chants.
Chest thumps, flexed biceps, thunder jams, tattoos, strange hair, players that look 30, others seem barely 15.
300 pound Charles Barkely, six games at once, four TV networks.
After the championship, arenas empty out.
We switch to baseball. Sit in our recliners sipping a beverage.
About the third inning we nap. Welcome to April.

Exterminator

I fell hard for Adolpho the exterminator, she told me. He was tall and strapping with dark eyes. I wss 18 and sick of silly boys. When he came to our home on a mouse issue I couldn't take me eyes off him. Afterward, I slipped him my number. Days passed. I only knew his smile indicated he thought me a foolish girl. I was crushed.
Then the phone rang. It was him, asking me to lunch. I was shaking with excitement.
He was so charming, yet forceful. He showed me a book full of photos of dead roaches, over 300 in all, confirmed kills. It placed him 31st on the list of exterminators in the state. He had ambitions to be in the top ten. How could you not love a man like that?
So what happened?
He was killed in a fire.
I'm sorry.
I mourned for a long time. Then gradually, I went on with my life. I'm dating a toe fungus specialist.
How romantic.
Yes, I agree. Love is strange.

Trust

Alonzo, you have caused me a great deal of aggravation. Why should I trust you?
We did well for a time with bitcoin, Steve.
Until the bottom dropped out. And what of my dog? I asked you to watch it for a weekend. It almost choked on a squeaky toy.
Dogs love them.
Not mine. He thought it was food. And that car you sold me. There was a body in the trunk.
My cousin Sal has a bad temper.
You glue gunned my hairpiece to my scalp. I can't get it off.
You said it kept slipping off.
What about you and my wife?
I was teaching her a golf swing.
Rubbing up against her. Besides, Nora only has one arm.
Details, details. Look Steve, it seems you do not trust me. A freindship cannot exist without trust. I'm afraid we must part ways. I hope you find other friends.
Trust me, I will. Give me back my glue gun I loaned you.
Actually I loaned it to my cousin Sal. I didn't ask his intentions.

Dust

Dusting is possibly the dumbest activity imaginable. Twenty seconds after you've dusted, the dust just settles right back down again. Shaking a dust mop out the window is just as stupid. Half of it blows right back in and the rest waits until you open the window again to rush back in.
Dust was here long before mankind and will be here long after humans are extinct. It is an integral part of our natural habitat and we should respect that. Dust can be our friend if we let it.
Of course, if dust accumulates on certain body parts, that is a serious issue and should be addressed.

Tortoise

A giant tortoise thought to be extinct was found on a remote island. Scientists took it to some sort of animal preserve. Imagine this beast trying to fit in. Could it float? Would it sink a rock? Is it horny?
What would be its come on lines to a normal sized turtle? Come here often? The sun glinting off your shell is lovely. Who does your nails? Not blinking is so sexy. You smell like the sea. Ever done it with a frog? How about a threesome?
Maybe this giant just wants to nap.
Somewhere, a walrus with lust in its eyes, one who feels age is just a number, will make its move.

Mimes

Amalgamated Mimes Inc. held a aconference. No one spoke. Nothing was accomplished.
Largebowls of olives dotted the table. Soon, the mimes were swallowing olives and spitting pits at each other as a form of communication.
Observers assumed the pits were a symbol.
Two hours later, the entire room was covered in pits.
Ten minutes after they left, a writers group entered for their meeting. Most were angry and disgusted at the mess. Some wanted to beat the mines with bamboo sticks. Cooler heads prevailed. Joe saw apotential blockbuster. Silence of the Pits. In the movie, Joe Pesci would play head pit.

Juggler

Lou's juggling career was going down the tubes. His bookings had fallen off since the day he was juggling kittens at a kid's birthday party and somehow missed connections. The kitten eventually regained consciousness, but not before the kids were traumatized.
Now he sat in a coffee shop and stared at his egg in a mug. It hit him. He would juggle food. Not the usual apples and oranges, but dangerous food and plants. Cactus, artichokes, pineapples, food and plants that might leave him cut and bloodied.
He would wear a white suit that accentuated blood stains and perform in middle schools. Kids, food, blood. That's the answer. Lou bent and kissed his egg in a mug as his waitress passed. It's not what you think, he said. I thought that was sexy, she answered and smiled. Lou saw an opening and began juggling the salt and pepper shakers. The excitement in her eyes was proof. He would get lucky tonight.

You First

Sophie and Steve, age twelve, faced each other. You first, Steve said. She sighed, reached down and removed a sneaker. Steve did the same. She removed a ribbon from her hair. That doesn't count, he said. I say it does, she replied.
He frowned and removed his belt. Sophie removed one sock. So did Steve. She took off a bracelet, making Steve angry. At this rate we'll never get naked, he complained. Lower your voice, she whispered. We're supposed to be doing homework.
Steve grunted and removed both his t-shirt and undershirt. I haven't seen your other foot, she said. It's the same as the first one, he hissed. Don't hiss at me, she hissed.
Take something off, he ordered. Wait, she said, what is that on your chest? A wart, he answered. Disgusting, she whined. Like you're perfect, Sophie? That is an ingrown toenail. What else are you hiding?
Whose idea was this? she asked. Both of us decided. Well, Steve, I changed my mind. You can't do that. A girl can change her mind.
Steve paced, thinking. Can I just have a peek? Sophie considered this. Only if I get a peek at yours.
So they each peeked at the others. They screeched, DISGUSTING!
Everything all right up there, Sophie's mom called.

Complexity

 I am sick of strangers trying to find out more about me. Stop the solicitations. Where I get my spiffy wardrobe is my business. Probing questions will get you nowhere. I value privacy. Being mysterious is next to godliness.
I have layers and layers of complexity. I go deep. Even if you got me drunk you will get nothing out of me. If you really knew me you might regret it. Mind your own business. More knowledge means more responsibility. Right now, your only responsibility to me is to make sure I get my medication and have a good supply of adult diapers on hand.
That is all you need to know.

Spots

People told me a spot on my kitchen cabinet meant new cabinets. Nonsense, I thought. I grabbed my $1.99 all purpose cleaner and a couple of sprays later the spot was history.
I'm good dealing with spots. Walls, ceilings, furniture, floor, I'm all over anything spotty. Stains on clothing are a separate issue. My nemesis. Bleach helps minimally. I scrub and scrub to no avail. If somene points to my stain, I tell them I put it there purposely. A fashion statement.
At the Botanical Gardens I use an extension tube on my spray can to eliminate spots from turtle shells. Not to mention spots on flowers that annoy me.
When I see a bald man I have to determine whether the spots are freckles or dirt. Most times I attack with the spray. Usually I'm right. I've only been arrested five times for miscalculating. This is how I met my friend Carl. We sprayed each other's skulls, wiped them down, then went for coffee.

Road Trip

Dr. Feinman, gastroenterologist, Lost his office after a developer bought the building. Desperate, he approached people in the street, asking if they might want a colonoscopy in their own home. That strategy failed. He then used all his savings to buy a camper, which would serve as home and office.
He took route 80 West and his first stop was Paterson. On the side of his camper were the words, Your Colon is My Business.
When he returned from lunch, he found an angry crowd surrounding his camper, accusing him of perversion. Somehow, he pulled out his medical license and explained he was offering $49.99 colonoscopies with anesthesia. Suddenly, people tried to force their way to the front of the line. That was a small price to pay for being unconscious for any length of time in Paterson.

Elephant in the Room

Bernice, President of The Friends of the Library, called for attention. We must address the elephant in the room. Who will be sacrificed to the budget council so the library can avoid a cut in funds, which would result in librarians being laid off, fewer book acquisitions, and clogged toilets. As always, we will hold a secret ballot to determine which of us will be the human sacrifice.
In the corner, seated alone, was an elderly man called Flash Fiction Joe. He said little. There were rumors he had cooties. As you might expect, he was selected as the sacrifice. When notified, he didn't change expression. He knew his work would live on long after his demise.
He also knew he had two months to lose ten pounds. It might be a naked sacrifice and he wished to die with a flat stomach.

Cheese Loyalty

For many years I was loyal to American cheese, both white and yellow. Oh, at times I cheated with Swiss or provolone. Guilt drove me back to American.
Then one day at the supermarket, I was feeling restless and bored with myself. I decided to break out of my comfort zone. I grabbed a pack of pepper jack cheese.
It took several days for me to get up enough courage to make a sandwich using that type. I still had one slice of American left and considered throwing it on top of the other. But that would be cowardice. I was ready for new vistas.
Without mustard, I lay three slices onto 12 grain bread. I stared at it. No sandwich spread. I wanted to experience the full flavor. I took a bite and the rest is history.
I simply cannot go back to American. I mean, have you TASTED pepper jack?

Velvet Rope

Sol and Joe saw it in the papers. A celebritory event being held for Robert Goldstein, the write who they helped in their writing group. His memoir, Big Tony and Me, was selling millions. The two men felt they should attend and congratulate him.
When they got there, they found a security guard at the restaurant would not let them into the VIP section, which was roped off. All sorts of celebrities paraded past them. They tried to get his attention, but he was busy being hugged by Charlize Theron.
At one point, Goldstein had to use the facilities. As he approached the rope, Sol and Joe greeted him warmly. He squinted and shook his head. Never saw these guys in my life, he lied to the security person. He then brushed past them.
Sol and Joe were asked to leave, which they did. They walked away, mumbling curses. We were there at the beginning, Sol said. Joe sighed and nodded. At least we got to smell Charlize.

The Watchman

Ernie's job was to make sure the lobsters didn't escape from the tank. He had to keep a sharp eye. Oh, they were sneaky. They would climb atop each other until the top one could climb over the edge. On several occasions Ernie had to chase after them as they sought escape.
Sometimes he tried to make eye contact. He would dance and sing for them, showing compassion. But he was warned not to get too close to any of them. The next day another shipment would replace the previous lobsters.
He had been a watchman for soft shell crabs, who were surprisingly social. He gave them hand signals and they responded by flipping over onto their backs.
There were rumors he might be placed on snail duty. Ernie dreaded the possibility. Snail were aloof. They won't make eye contact. He thinks they actually have an inferiority complex.

Homecoming

The astronauts returned to Earth after decades in space and were greeted as heroes. After the celebrations were over, the head of NASA ordered them to his office.
I must inform you of certain changes while you were gone to ease your adaptation into society. They were all ears.
The Cubs won a World Series. The Red Sox won four.
A family called Kardasian made millions in something called reality TV.
Bruce Jenner is now a woman.
Bill Cosby is in jail. Harvey Weinstein is headed there.
Rith Bader Ginzberg is a rock star.
Coffee machines are worshipped.
There are now free range chickens.
Cameras and movies don't use film.
Frank Sinatra and Elizabeth Taylor are dead.
Netflicks, Amazon, driverless cars, and bots are taking over.
Laptops have replaced friendship. Unions are gone.
Donald Trump is President.
Millions of bees have vanished. People blame Trump.
Silence.
Can I have some water, someone said.

Twitches

Bill's serious head twtich cost him women, friends and jobs, He desperately needed help. While browsing Amazon's self help books, he came across a writer with a long list of books with strange titles. The author photo on the back mesmerized him. It seemed to say, but my book and your twitches vanish.
So he ordered one. When it came, he ripped off the package and began reading. Within seconds his twitching stopped. He leaped in joy. He dicided to attend the Easter parade in NYC. On the subway, he continued reading.
The other riders saw the writer's photo on the back and began twitching as one. Bill noticed this when he reached his stop. Buy the book, he shouted. It will heal you. As soon as he left, all twitching stopped.
Great literature can be magical, but also contain evil in every paragraph.

Shake It Up

Things are stagnant, Marion told her husband, Eddie.Why, he said. I feel like we're in a rut, she replied. We've become predictable. Let's make love right here in the kitchen on the floor.
Now? I'm reading the paper.
Get up and drop trou, fella.
She lay on the kitchen floor and pullred up her dress. And do not channel Dick Cheney.
But that's my go to seducer. That means you can't do Sandra Bullock.
I'm going to be Amy Schumer.
I can't perform if you're her. I need Scarlett Johansson.
I'll do her, but you must come up with someone special.
Eddie mounted her, knowing the pressure was on. He closed his eyes and took a breath.
Alright, alright, alright, he repeated in a drawl.
Oh, Eddie. You did Mathew. If only you had beard stubble.

Connections

Jeremy could not understand why he failed to truly connect with others. He thought he was pleasant and accommodating. Certainly polite. Yet people ignored him. Even the other members of his bowling team seldom addressed him.
He sat in his living room feeling isolated and unappreciated. He stared at his furniture and sighed. Perhaps this was his fate--alone in a crowd.
Dinner time came and he heated up a bowl of stew and poured some Diet Pepsi into a large cup. He opened a trap door to his basement, flicked on the light and slowly descended.
In the middle of the floor, Mallory sat tied to a chair. Jeremy put down the food and removed her gag. He ruffled her hair and she spit at him, but he dodged it.
Come on, Mal. I bring you dinner and this is how you respond? Open wide. This is nutrition. Must maintain your strength.I brought you Pepsi.
Mallory swallowed and burped. Jeremy reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Tums. He held one up in front of her.
The least you could do is give me a smile.

Young People

Young people complain about everything under the sun. Clothes that don't fit, diets that don't work, traffic jams, bad smells, tech breakdowns, impossible bosses and co-workers, nosy parents, friends that don't answer texts, bad haircuts, etc.
Me? I'm retired. My parents are deceased. I live alone with low expectations. I hum during traffic jams and sleep on public transportation. My clothes are loose and comfortable, my haircuts last three minutes.
Some years ago I decided there would be less stress in my life if I took crap. That's what I've been doing--taking crap from everyone. I never defend myself. I just nod and walk away. As long as I can hit the gym and remember important stuff, I'm fine.
Pass the mustard, please. Okay, don't. I'll get it myself. Have a great day.

Stuff

Lupita asked Rolando, where's your stuff? He shrugged. I loaned it to Tom for his work on Human #404. She bristled, we are supposed to explore on Human #321. If you have your stuff, he responded, we don't need mine.
Lupita punched him. What if mine doesn't function? Explain that to Steven. He'll be all over us. Might even throw down a suspension.
Look, he said, Tom is new at this. They probably gave him sub par stuff.
Well, let's get started.She removed her follicle detector from a bag. She adjusted a few switches and pressed some buttons. They traversed #321's scalp seeking hair follicles. What good were lice without hair?
Tom was getting frustrated on #404. Not a single follicle. But he did discover a giant carbuncle above the left ear. A lot of good that did him. No, that was a target for mosquito surveillance.

Screening Process

Hugo had money, but no friends. So he decided to screen applicants for his inner circle.
Barney the bear was too folksy. Alice was too nervous from her trip to Wonderland. Dorothy was delusional with strange dreams of a place called Oz. Little Red Riding hood was way too juvenile. Wimpy Kid was too wimpy, Bugs Bunny sprayed too much saliva. Winnie the Pooh hugged him a little too long. Tony Soprano scared him. The Little Mermaid splashed all over. Googy was too goofy.
Dilbert was someone he felt comfortable with a nd Lucy was bossy, but he liked bossy.
Now he needed a wife. Only one woman fit the bill. Elvira, Queen of the Night. He craved women in black with lots of eye makeup.