Saturday, October 31, 2015

Panic in the Pumpkin Patch

I got there late. The gang was already waiting. The sun had gone down. Once again we waited for The Great Pumpkin.
Sam and Tom told me to set up my folding chair elsewhere. I was bad luck, they claimed. Marsha was doing yoga moves to ease the tension. Ralph had set up his tripod so he could have photographic proof. Bill was brushing up on his French in case the pumpkin spoke only that. Wilma prayed.
I found a spot away from the others and tried to relax. Every year I looked forward to this night. Some doubted its existence. Fools.
Near midnight we heard something rustling in the woods heading towards us. We could see only the top of it, smooth and round in the moonlight. Closer and closer it came. My heart was a freight train.
Yes, I shouted, Oh Mighty Great Pumpkin!
Okay, who brought the coffee?
Damn it. Every year we make the same mistake. We told you ton wear a hat, Phil.
Did I mention Phil Collins was part of our group?

Philosophers Cafe

Marcus hesitated in front of The Philosophers Cafe. He wanted be join them so badly. He had grown a beard and let his hair lengthen into a ponytail. He carried an unlit pipe, wore rumpled pants, soft soled shoes, a beige blazer with elbow pads and a t-shirt that read I Think Therefor I Am.
He was as ready as he would ever be. He strode inside, took a seat and introduced himself as a professor of ethics and he made up a school in the mid west. He was visiting relatives here, he lied.
They were discussing Shanehopper's Theory of Encapsulated Experience. Somewhere in there Loomlow's hypothesis of an existing sixth toe entered the discourse.
Marcus sat quietly until there was a break in the debate. Then he cleared his throat and spoke.
"We can only know of the existence of our teeth by the presence of toothpaste and a toothbrush in our medicine cabinet."
Philosophers can be a combustible bunch.
Police found Marcus on the sidewalk covered in bites. His theory failed to stand up.

Scared

Nothing can scare me anymore. I've been through so much. Old age doesn't frighten me. Death and I have a daily conversation. I don't stress over deteriorating body parts and the future I do not even think about. I am Teflon.
Well, not completely. Trick or treaters make me anxious. What if my treats don't measure up? Not everyone lusts over chocolate and licorice. If just one disgruntled kid is standing there in his Hulk costume I'll simply shrug and slam the door. But if its a gang of hooligans that reject my treat, will there be violence?
Will they leap upon me and duct tape my mouth and use clothesline they carry for such purposes? Will they tattoo me against my will--large, ferocious animals across my stomach?
Will they steal my hand puppets?
I need to get hold of myself and consider options. Leave the lights and TV off all night.
Other than this little possibility, nothing scares me.

On the Coffee Table

A book by David Foster Wallace no one will ever read
A small abstract sculpture that makes you dizzy
A hand carved bowl containing smooth stones
A strped down tree branch glued to a stand
One adorable hand puppet
A hand painted tile not to be used as a coaster
A small bowl of q-tips in case guests show up
One centered peanut to make a statement about world hunger

Sunday, October 25, 2015

A Necessary Lie

Morgan lied to himself every day. He told himself he was the bad boy girls loved to date. He considered himself a hard living adventurer. His sexy beard stubble was actually long peach fuzz. His leather outfits hung loosely in the wrong places. He drove a Volvo.
Morgan worked as an HR person in a Venetian blinds outlet. His real calling was a mercenary, though he'd never fired a weapon.
Around women, he made sure to spit a lot, guzzle beer, rub his crotch and employ a wide, manly stance. Ladies thought it might be more effective if he didn't have a Tweetie Bird plastic icon on his key chain. Morgan knew deep down he was a man of action waiting to burst out.
He drove home, watched Big Bang Theory reruns, careful not to strain his back while pulling off his ten pound motorcycle boots.

Love in the Afternoon

Lennie was in love. He could hardly wait for three o'clock dismissal. He wrote her name in his notebook where no one could see it. Melissa. What a beautiful name. He wanted to say it aloud. Have a great day, Melissa. But he was tongue tied around her.
In three days he would turn eleven and he wished he could share this with her. He wanted to get her flowers, but his allowance wasn't enough.
As soon as the dismissal bell rang, he sprinted out of school. It was six blocks until he could see her and he tried to slow down and gather his thoughts. There had to be something he could say without embarrassing himself. It was Friday, which meant two days without seeing her.
When he reached her corner, there she was in her starched red uniform and stop sign. Such grace he couldn't imagine."Slow down, idiot" she yelled at a driver. He loved the musicality in her voice.
Okay, young man, you can cross. Lennie inwardly rejoiced. She called him young man. As he made his way almost to the other side, he whirled and said shakily, 'You look really nice.' But a bus passed at that moment, drowning out his words. She was facing the opposite direction and heard nothing.
Lennie got home, tossed his books on the end table and lay on his bed, sighing.
Two whole days without her.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

God's Off Day

God was having an off day when He or She created:
Tapioca- We already had pudding and yogurt. Overkill.
Gelatin-a sad knockoff of Jello, not to be tolerated.
Seltzer-Expensive fizz. At least ginger ale helps pregnant women with nausea. Seltzer sounds like a small German town in the mountains where they manufacture clogging shoes.
Adams Apple-Women don't have one and they function just fine. Why isn't it at least considered an erogenous zone.
Change Machines-You stick in a dollar and get noisy, dirty change. Nothing really changes. You're still a frustrated writer stuck in your 500 page history of tapioca.
Pausing While Speaking-Why did we get this ability? Pauses in the middle of a sentence drive everyone nuts and kill discussion.
Cross Country Races-Kids running through the woods for no apparent reason. Trophies? Please. The Grandkids won't care.
Bridges-If there were no bridges there would be no engineers. Need I say more?

My Writers

I arrive late and my writers are already at work, sixteen sitting around several tables shoved together. They hunch and click away, some scribbling violently.
They wear nice sweaters this crisp October morning. One stares at the ceiling, chewing and swallowing a snack. Another s posture needs improvement--he's a poet. One has a new hip and tilts to the side. One wears a Raggedy Anne sweatshirt. Another has lovely blonde hair in a ponytail.
The prompt is Let Them Eat Cheese. Not bad, but certainly not up to my standards.
This group desperately needs my leadership, that much is obvious.
As soon as I finish my coffee.

Sneaky Writer

Burt was a sneaky writer who carried a notebook everywhere. He jotted down observations and bits of conversation. An image inspired him--taffy, for example.
Burt hid in closets, cubbyholes, under stoops, lingering in dark stairwells, crawling under tables at events. He aspired to be a modern day Bob Woodward.
He hid under a couch during a private knitting circle. Someone saw his foot sticking out. Screaming ensued, followed by death by knitting needle.
Burt was buried in an unmarked grave, with only squirrels sneaking around searching for nuts. Such is the fate of most writers. Bloggers never sneak in society. We have very good memories and don't need notebooks.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Parade Etiquette

lStop waving your flag in front of me.
Stop waving your arm and hand in front of me.
Do not boost your kids up, blocking my view.
Don't lean over the barrier and stick your butt out.
If you leave your spot, that is now my spot.
Tall people to the rear. Unclean people against buildings.
If parade participants toss free t shirts or candy, do not push me out of the way.
If I get a t shirt and it is not my size do not expect me to just give it to you.
If you are a cop assigned to direct traffic do not give preference to men in suits or hot women.
I told you to STOP waving that flag!
Take your selfie away from me please.
Panhandlers should have their own section.
Bands needs to play more than one song repeated endlessly.
A maximum of four DPW trucks filled with family.
There is nothing interesting about fire engines.

Monday, October 12, 2015

Possessed

Bill knew something strange was happening when he removed drapes and began wearing them as a tunic. He was a lumberjack by trade. The only dancing he did was line dancing at the barn every Saturday night.
He was driven to go to the cosmetics department at a Walmart, where he purchased mascara, rouge,  eyeliner, conditioner and false eyelashes. A cultured voice in his head told him the must dance barefoot in the tunic and full makeup.
His fellow workers did not understand why he would whirl and leap and stretch in sub freezing temperature. He was told to shave his beard, but keep his long red hair. He guessed maybe this woman left this earth too soon and wanted closure through him.
A veteran librarian saw him dancing and exclaimed it was like watching a very large, muscular Martha Graham.
Martha who? Bill asked.

Escaping the Post Office

Thirty years carrying mail. Sadistic supervisors. Customers peeking between curtains trying to catch their mailman reading postcards or worse. Trucks without traction in the snow.
Tiny mail slots and broken mailboxes. Scanning everything. Falling behind schedule. Dumb co workers. Sweating and freezing and getting soaked.
Being way over qualified. Having your ideas ignored. Union reps lacking skills.
Retirement.
Now spending time with friends and writing. Escaping the morass.
They could of at least give us discounted stamps.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Stuffed Cabbage

I think the smell is coming from the stuffed cabbage room, Andrea said.
Inspector  Barlow asked why there was an entire room full of cabbage.
Before she could answer, Armando burst in, announcing the Mrs. is lying in the fertilizer bin.
Was she breathing, her half sister Margo asked.
The man flushed and admitted the stink forced him to retreat without checking.
Sir Whitely suggested they examine the stuffed cabbage room for clues.
I run this investigation, the Inspector barked. We will question all of the dinner guests, one by one, in the sitting room.
Sir, interrupted Browning the butler, there are no chairs in the sitting room.
How can people sit in the sitting room without chairs, asked Alistar, the defrocked minister with a drinking problem
The stench grew worse.
Martin, the host's husband, suddenly broke into sobs. I hadn't seen her since the appetizer and never reported it.
The Inspector eyed him suspiciously.
May I ask, sir, were you having marital problems?
The man broke down and admitted he was having an affair with Maggie the maid.
All that cabbage, mused Sir Whitely, can destroy a gastric system. Just saying.
Browning explained further. The sitting room chairs have been moved to the dining room to accomodate guests.
Elementary, muttered the Inspector, lighting his pipe. He took a deep breath and puffed fast. He was readying himself for the fertilizer.

Minions

I opened my underwear drawer and minions came bursting out, scrambling around the house, spewing unintelligible words. I tried to lock myself in the bathroom, but they poured out of the hamper.
When I finally confronted them and got some semblance of communication, I discovered they saw my bald head and big ears and thought I was Dr. Spock. Now they wanted wisdom to enhance their lives.
I thought a moment and came up with this: if you see someone choking in a restaurant, forget the Heimlich Maneuver, just climb into his pockets, as many as you can fit, and rub yourselves vigorously against his body. You can't choke while you are aroused. This is a fact.
The minions stared at me, took it in, and began bouncing all over. Some tried to get into my back pocket, but I fought them off. They love cocktail nuts.  Luckily I have two full cans. Who knows what hungry minions are capable of?

Coloring Book

Little Charlotte loved coloring giant lobsters. Pages and pages of angry lobsters.Green, yellow, orange and beige.
One day, Peter Pan was in the neighborhood holding fairy dust he swiped from Tinkerbell's apartment while she was in rehab.
He peeked in the window and saw Charlotte coloring away. He knew if he sprinkled the book the lobsters would come alive. And so he did.
Why did you make me beige, one hissed as they surrounded the girl. They gobbled up her crayons and began chasing her around the bedroom. Peter was aghast. Her mother heard the noise and charged through the door. The lobsters attacked her as Peter flew off to other adventures. Charlotte sat in the corner and cried.
You thought this would be a charming story you could read to your kids. You're on the wrong blog.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

The Mysterious Building

Brandon saw them lining up around the building every day while walking his dog. That place had been vacant for years. Six weeks ago the doors opened and lines formed. He thought maybe it was a medicinal marijuana clinic.
These were the oddest looking folks he'd ever seen. Features that didn't come together, long arms, hair sticking up in all directions, bulges where there shouldn't be, protruding teeth, awkward posture. Some honked and wheezed for no apparent reason.
Their clothes were ill fitting to say the least.
Brandon had to find out what was going on. He asked politely what the deal was.
Someone informed him they were casting for a movie based on the stories of Joe Del Priore, who wrote a series of books and self published. Big bucks if we get cast, one said.
Brandon had never heard of the guy. Curiosity satisfied, he walked off, honking and wheezing following him.

Family Negotiations

I lined them up in the living room. I had been putting this off because I hate confrontations. But things had gotten out of hand.
I shouldn't have to remind the four of you I picked you up off the gutter and gave you a home. It's not as luxurious as your former employer, Donald Trump, but it is comfortable. You have a roof over your heads  and a warm bed. Lately, all I'm getting is spurious complaints.
Let's go through them, shall we--and stay awake.
The reason you don't have toothbrushes is robots don't have teeth. I let you use my mouthwash out of the kindness of my heart.
If I want to leave my socks around, that is my prerogative.
You cannot just stop work to watch Jerry Springer.
Your sex life is your business, but try to keep it down. All that clanking is keeping me awake.
Who ate my cole slaw? Keep your paws out of my refrigerator.
Stop disparaging my wardrobe. Robert Hall suits still fit.
When I have guests, do not sit on their laps and ask for a hug.
This is what I get for being compassionate and treating you like family.
Wake up, Louis!

Oh, Granny

She came in through the bathroom window. I looked up and there was Granny climbing through once again. Not again, I said. Shut up and hide me, she cackled. I barely made it out of Francine's. Don't move as fast as I used to.
Tell me you didn't, Granny.
Did, didn't, it's all relative. just because I keep winning, they think I'm cheating. How do you cheat at poker? How about sticking me down in the basement behind the furnace. Not the closet. They nailed me there last time.
She stood a bit over five feet and weighed about 85 pounds.
Granny, they know where I live. They'll be here momentarily. This nonsense is driving down property values. Every friday night the same issue.
Don't argue with me, Sonny. I am who I am for 81 years and nothing's going to change.Just because I can deal fast doesn't mean a thing. Pennies, they're worried about pennies.
Bills were sticking out of her housecoat.
Quick, hide me under the sofa.
I did as told. Family is family.