Friday, November 30, 2007

 

The two men were sitting on cardboard boxes, awash in a sea of the same. The halogen lamps above could not quite cut through the dank dust of the warehouse. The larger of the two men wore a heavy coat and knitted stocking cap. His knit gloves had the fingers cut out. He held a clipboard in his right hand and a pen in his left. He made tick marks as he talked.
"Ok, Derrick. What're we out of?"
"Well," said the smaller man, breathing on and rubbing together his hands for warmth, "We got no more 'them mushrooms."
"I don't see no mushrooms on the list." The big man bared his teeth for a moment.
"Not mushroom. You know. Them tree ear things that grow on the insides of the boxes?"
"Ain't no tree ears neither. Here, I'll put it under 'Fungus-comma-general.' What else. I seen empty boxes over th' East wing."
"Yeah, them boxes with the lifesize samurai fighter. We're out o' them."
"What? We just got them in!"
"Yeah, but they're popular. I can't help if folk like them. You want to tell folk what to buy? You tell them to buy remoras. We got crates of them down basement."
"Yeah? We got lots of sharks left over?"
"Nah, we been out o' sharks since Wednesday."
"Well. what good are sharks without remoras, I asks ya'. Some people don't know nothin from nothin." The big man made a note on his pad. "Folk don't like no remoras but they want sharks. All of it just comes down to image."
"Yup." The smaller man shrugged.
"What else we out of?" The big man flipped a page and tapped the end of his pen on the page, making tiny dots of ink.

by MisterNihil 7:51 PM

 

no more fungus, samurai sharks

by Fred 2:31 PM

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

 

if there's anybody out there

by Fred 10:06 AM

Sunday, May 27, 2007

 

How The Workers Are Enticed

by Anonymous 4:33 PM

Saturday, May 19, 2007

 

The Incredible Hulk suffers from bulimia

by Anonymous 2:54 PM

 

(off in my head)

What's that, Mr. Jacobs? Third quarter earnings? Yes, sorry. I wasn't paying attention. I must have been off in my head. I was imagining I was at the beach with my old ex-girlfriend Cyndy. She's the one who died because I was too much of a pussy to pull her out of a burning building. How's that? Yes, I'll get to the new memo folder covers in a moment. First I want to tell you about my ex-wife Jacquelyn and our son Tyler. He was stillborn. The doctors said it wasn't our fault, but I know better. Tyler died because God hates me. It's true. Jacquelyn killed herself less than a month after Tyler's death. She took a whole bottle of sleeping pills. I blame myself, of course. When I saw that CVS was having a sale on sleeping pills, I just had to stock up. Jackie's in a better place, I suppose. And I sleep like a baby, thanks to those pills. Not that I would know how a baby sleeps, seeing as how mine is dead.

Come again, sir? No, I don't know how the new hard drive got re-formatted. It certainly wasn't me. The only time I use my computer is to play solitaire. Or sometimes to open emails. My friend Bill sent me one last week. I didn't open it right away. I figured it was just another bunch of golf jokes. Bill cracks me up. How was I to know Bill was emailing me his suicide note? I could have saved him if I had opened it and sent him a text message on my Blackberry. Too late, I guess.

Anyway, I apologize, Mr. Jacobs. I'll get back on task real soon. What's that? What did you just say? I'm fired? Well, Mr. Jacobs, that's too bad. It's too bad I put mercury in the water cooler. And took the fuses out of the air handler. That's why the A/C doesn't work. Hot in here, right? Been drinking lots of water. Water with mercury in it.

You will all die.

by Anonymous 2:42 PM

 

off in my head

by Fred 1:23 PM

Monday, May 14, 2007

 

There are things to be said for it. They aren't very common things, but they will do.
You can't staple it to your finger. I mean, people try, but they don't succeed. It wiggles, in an odd sort of way, one which is really just a trick of the light. It's hard to convince oneself that the wiggling isn't real, though.
You can find it in many fine stores. Not stores near you, probably, but fine ones, nonetheless. Maybe, the reason they're so fine...
But I digress.
It lubricates. Anything. It repels water, and repulses parking maids. It does it all, but it does it in a very unpleasant way. You don't want details, but if you just have nothing to do this afternoon, check out our ad in Myrtle Beach Chronicles of Sex and Houseware. It's gross. There's pictures.
You can even cut a tin can with it! If you've got too many cans! And time! You Loser!

by MisterNihil 1:36 PM

 

Smile, You Shrimpy Pill!

by MisterNihil 12:58 PM

Saturday, May 05, 2007

 

Do you want me to love you or do you just want to be loved?

by Anonymous 3:13 PM

 

I was out of staples. I'd been in the office all weekend. We were gearing up for a huge PR blitz. The deal was to hand out free toasters to everyone who signed up for one of our fraudulent high interest credit cards. What they didn't know was that each toaster came equipped with a tiny hard drive which functioned as a data logger. We would spy on people, learn where they went, what TV shows they liked, how often they made love. Then we could use this information to sell them things.

I went to the supply cabinet looking for staples. It was locked. Damn Rollins! He was in charge of supplies, the bastard. I hated him. He never worked on weekends. He always took an hour and a half lunch. At meetings he'd compliment the boss on her nails. That bitch was forever getting her nails done. I needed staples. I had to staple together 3000 more press kits or I'd have to spend all of Monday in the barrel. Believe me, you don't want to be forced to go to the barrel. That's worse than losing the Special Olympics.

I used my pocketknife to pry open the door. I fucked up the hinges and the hasp. I didn't care. I yanked on the door and it flew open. Rollins jumped out. He'd been hiding in there, waiting for me. He took out a staple gun and shot staples in my eyes, blinding me. The pain was incredible. Then Rollins threw me down on the table and stapled my ears to it. He pulled my arms down to my sides and stapled the webbing of my fingers to the table. He stapled my clothes to it so I couldn't get up.

Clack clack "AAAHHH!" That was the noise the stapler made, and the sound of my frantic screams. Rollins was totally silent. He was totally silent as he doused me in gasoline and lit me on fire. The boss lady would come in Monday to scrape up my ashes so they'd be trapped under her fake nails. Thus she would own my soul in the afterlife.

I hate my job.

by Anonymous 3:01 PM

Monday, April 30, 2007

 

Clack clack Aaaah!

by MisterNihil 1:19 PM

Thursday, April 26, 2007

 

I'll tell you a story. You won't like it. It will be about a boy who finds his little toy rattle, and isn't happy in the end, because he's all grown up, and the rattle is still the same damn rattle it used to be. He's older. It's older. He's more mature. It's a stupid rattle.

Oh?

You heard that one? Well, I got the old one about the man who stays the night in a haunted house, with his dog, I think. The dog is sitting by the fire, and there's a bloody head outside. Well, I kind of spoiled the punch line of that one.

Hmm?

"And it was a bloody head." That's the punch line. "And a head fell down the chimney, and it was a bloody head." The head sings to the dog, the dog sings to the head, and the head comes down the chimney. You know that one too? Yeah, it's either a classic, or one by Alvin Schwartz. I don't remember which. Either way, it's an old one, like I said.

You heard the one about the eagle and the mouse? No, I didn't think so. I heard that one just yesterday, sitting at the bus stop. It seems that this eagle was-

Seventh street.

None of your business. I can take the damn bus anywhere I want to. May I continue?

Fine. So, it seems that this eagle was flying over his kingdom, and he espied a mouse. The mouse was just sitting in a patch of grass, not moving, but the eagle caught sight of just his tail.

Hmm?

No, all eagles are kings. This one wasn't anything special. Every eagle is the king of his territory. That's why he can hunt what he pleases. Even human children who ask too many questions. Now, if I may continue?

Thank you. He caught sight of the mouse's tail. He flew in two large loops, which is what Eagles do when they want to think. He flew first to the left, looking to see if the mouse would move, and then to the right. The mouse didn't move. He shrieked his hellacious Eagle shriek, which makes even the least timid of mouses jump, then freeze. The mouse did not move.

The Eagle was puzzled. He could see the mouse's tail, but he couldn't make the mouse move. He flew down lower, keeping first his right, and then his left eye on the tail. The Eagle made smaller and smaller circles as he came slowly down, keeping his eyes on the tail all the time. He screamed again, his loudest scream, a scream which gave him a sense of pride no Eagle should be without, but which most Eagles only feel seldom, when they scream a truly terrifying scream. The mouse did not move. Only his tail stuck out of the grass. The Eagle, giving up, finally dove, grabbed the tail in his left talon, and flapped back toward the sky.

He was suddenly beset as a mouse leapt from a nearby rock. The Mouse landed on the Eagle's back and began to stab him with a tiny knife. This confused the Eagle, who did the only thing he could: He dropped the tail and dropped like a stone to the Earth. The mouse continued stabbing, and as the Eagle died, he saw that the mouse had a tiny tourniquet on his tail. The last thing that proud Eagle heard was the giddy laughter of this tiny dynamo of a mouse.

Hmm?

No, it has a moral. The moral is this: be damn careful. Mice are sneaky, and some of them have knives. Also, some mice will cut off their tails to catch an eagle.

No, you can't have another. That's three stories. Now go to bed, and sweet dreams. Spread your sleepy wings and fly, but watch out for sneaky mice.

by MisterNihil 6:43 PM

 

30% Chance

by MisterNihil 6:42 PM

Thursday, March 29, 2007

 

I put on over on him. He put one over on me. Tit for tat, right? I mean, sort of.
I hid his keys for like half an hour. He was jumping around and yelling by the end of it, and I got scared. He said he'd kill me. I thought it was, y'know, metaphorical. I thought it was like the way you say, "I'll Kick Your Ass!" You don't mean that you will literally kick somebody's ass, but rather that you will hit and beat them until they are soundly licked. I say he took it harder than he had to. I mean, I didn't even hide his keys very well.

They were on the counter anyway. I dropped them into an empty coffee cup that was sitting right next to where they had been, and I turned the cup upside down. All he had to do was turn over the cup and there they were, safe and sound. I even dried the cup out with the hem of hem of my shirt, so no coffee would get on his keys.
Now, here I am in the trunk of his car. I can hear him digging out there. He knows I can hear it. He knows I know he's out there. He's fucking with me. Not like you'd be fucking with somebody, if you were, like, fucking them, but like, if you were fucking with their head. Like if you knew they were scared to die, and you had them tied in a trunk and were digging a hole out in the middle of nowhere. And if you were, it sounds like, giggling a little and kind of talking to yourself. If you'd hit them a couple'a times with a tire iron, and you were thinking, maybe, they though you were going to let them go in a minute, and the two of you would just agree that there would be no more key-hiding in the future. You know, that kind.

I guess it'd be OK, really, if that was all. I mean, sure, I hid his keys, and I probably deserve some kind of lesson, but I don't see why Linda's here. I mean, she didn't hide anybody's keys. Again, she's kind of an object lesson. He's always using Linda as an object lesson for me. Things could be worse. I could be gagged. At least I can still breathe OK. I'll probably get over this eventually, I just wish my wife wasn't here. It makes a fellow feel uncomfortable, not only not being able to get himself out of a tough jam, but being stuck in it with his wife. What's a guy to do?

Lay here and hope this is all a joke, really. That, and remember never to hide his buddy's keys any more.

by MisterNihil 6:30 PM

 

It's too bad my wife is here.

by Anonymous 5:40 PM

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

 

They despised each other in secret.

by Anonymous 11:07 AM

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

 

Oh yes, Professor Makebelieve, I would just love it if you could arrange a meeting between me and my future. That would be awesome, totally awesome as a matter of fact. Because, you know, I'm not competent enough to meet my own future. No, I've stumbled through life up to this point, subsisting on whatever scraps of food I can salvage from the trash heap. I sort of just stroll along feeling sorry for myself and angering the people I meet.

So by all means, tell me where my life will be in another five years. Hell, make it ten years. You see, I have a theory. It goes like this: Things will never change. I will never have a big house or a fancy car. I'll always have to scrape by. I'll always have to content myself with watching other people succeed. That's all there is for me. All I have to look forward to is a lifetime of coming in last. And let's not forget, nearly half of that lifetime is already past. You might as well kill me now.

Could I be wrong perhaps? Please prove me wrong. I need a reason to keep going. If you can't give me a decent future, maybe you could lie.

Please be a decent person and lie to me. Lies are all I have. Thank you.

by Anonymous 3:37 PM

 

May we introduce you to your future?

by Fred 9:47 AM

Friday, February 23, 2007

 

Where have all the funny papers gone?

by Anonymous 1:51 PM

Saturday, February 17, 2007

 

The price of violence

by Anonymous 8:40 AM

Friday, February 16, 2007

 

I was not using them anyway

by Anonymous 6:21 PM

 

(the future we forgot to have)

What happened? To us, I mean. There was an us, once.
They say life is what happens when you're busy making plans.
Well to Hell with that. I never listen to They.

There is a greater thing. What can I call it?
It was what killed us, the only us I ever knew.
Now there's just me, and I am sorry company.

We would have had a garden,
With roses, collards and summer squash.
Our children would have laughed
And slid through the years and shaken off the cruelty of living.

For all of life is suffering. You knew it, even though you are no Buddhist.
Neither am I. Striving for Buddhahood has its benefits,
The greatest of which is nothing. But in the end
It is too much work.

Better to shrug off the hopelessness of our days.
Better to laugh as we roll the stone, as we watch it fall again,
Our Sisyphean secret orgasm.

To Hell with it all,
With gardens, children, suffering, and even Buddha.
There never was an us
And for that I would give thanks,
If anyone remained to accept them.

by Anonymous 6:12 PM

 

the future we forgot to have

by Fred 10:58 AM

Thursday, February 15, 2007

 

If God cared for us at all, he wouldn't let us die on this foresaken rock, so far from home and all we've ever loved. He wouldn't punish us for a simple mistake -- no, not even that, just a mechanical glitch that no one could have seen coming. Pressure was stable; the engines were at optimum levels; there was no cause for concern. It wasn't negligence but dumb, bad luck that blinded our craft. It was a faulty coupling deep inside that caused the engine to sputter, then stall and die. That is why we crashed. Our fate was sealed before we left port. But that alone can't be enough for God to let his chosen people die.

The engineers are not so sure -- they have always been a superstitious lot, and the shipboard priest has not done anything to help allay their fears. God is not mocked, she tells them, and we have not kept up our daily prayers, our supplications, our sacrificial offerings. Perhaps we do deserve to be stranded here; perhaps this is part of God's plan. Perhaps, but then so too must be our desire to leave, just as so too was our original mission. That, we know for certain, was God's work. Is that not why we went out to seek the stars? What sort of God would send us out just to die, his work yet undone?

Some of the crew have suggested we bring God's word to some of the inhabitants of this strange rock, but even if that were possible, where to begin? It swarms with life, a terrible chaos, and none of these species seem in the least intelligent. They are not the chosen. They are not God's people. Already, they have attacked one of our patrols, left two of my crewmen dead. Was it our gray skin that frightened them, or was it, more likely, that they are heathen and backward creatures?

If God cared for us at all, he would not let us die here.

by Fred 3:24 PM

 

If God cared for us at all

by Anonymous 2:42 PM

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

 

to your heart's desire

by Fred 12:02 PM

Friday, February 09, 2007

 

There is nothing wrong with your thermostat.

by Anonymous 7:36 PM

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

 

The Devil's job is to make it real.

by Anonymous 4:58 PM

 

I expected something different.

by Fred 12:07 PM

Sunday, February 04, 2007

 

You know I didn't mean it

by Anonymous 6:40 PM

Friday, February 02, 2007

 

Stop being such a coatrack

by Anonymous 3:18 PM

Thursday, February 01, 2007

 

How to make sure your children waste their youth

by Anonymous 6:41 PM

 

(that's just something he says)

"I will spare your life," the executioner said. I was relieved.
My life had flashed before my eyes. The emperor sat on his bejeweled throne, saying nothing, betraying no emotion. It was his decision, obviously. It was the emperor who was allowing me to live. Why had he spared me? I could not imagine. I had taken his daughter's virginity, burned down a third of his kingdom, hamstrung his horses and blackmailed his generals into having gay sex with each other. The generals had all subsequently killed themselves out of shame. I had poisoned the emperor's food and used my metaphysical powers to turn his rivers and lakes into boiling blood. I had eaten all his snack cakes. I had borrowed his car and brought it back with a scratch on the hood and an empty gas tank. I had used my money and connections to make "Achy Breaky Heart" a number one smash hit in the kingdom. I had hacked into the massive computer system that controlled all the movie theaters in the kingdom, and played "Ishtar" again and again until the people rioted. I had given every teenage girl in the kingdom a cell phone with unlimited minutes and "Madonna's Greatest Hits" ringtones. I had secretly replaced the coffee in the emperor's castle with Folger's Crystals, and installed Rosie O'Donnell as minister of finance. Given all that, it was nothing short of a miracle that the emperor was sparing my life. I lifted my arms in thanks just as the executioner split my head in half with his war hammer.
"But...you told me....you'd let me live..." I gasped.
The emperor patted his executioner on the shoulder and gave me a grin.
"That's just something he says."

by Anonymous 6:27 PM

 

That's just something he says.

by Fred 8:57 AM

Monday, January 29, 2007

 

Don't. Just don't.

by Fred 9:08 PM

Saturday, January 27, 2007

 

The ducks have eaten me again

by Anonymous 11:36 AM

 

(the oceans are... different)

"Look at that," Glorvon said. "The oceans are different. Don't they seem a little bigger than they were last week?"
"It matters not," replied Flaxitron, tweaking knobs on the control panel of their surveillance pod.
"We shall enslave the humans, deeper oceans or not."
"Still, though," Glorvon said, "it seems a little odd, don't you think?"
"You bore me with your incessant observations, Glorvon."
"Well, excuse me for being born, Mister Serious. I was just making small talk."
"Ours is not the making of talk that is small. The purpose of our mission is to gather information on the inferior human race, that we might better infiltrate and destroy them from within."
"You know, I've been thinking about that. Maybe we could make friends with them instead."
"Friends?"
"Sure. It seems like we could conquer them more effectively by gaining their trust. We've got the podcam up and running."
"Podcam?"
"Yeah, you know, the one my Dad got me for my 347th Synthesis Day. We could make a video for youtube or something."
"A most excellent idea, Glorvon," said Flaxitron. "Look into your podcam now, young Glorvon. You shall begin taping at my command."
"Really? Wow, this is going to be great!"
Glorvon turned towards the podcam, mounted on the dashboard of their control panel. As soon as he did, Flaxitron took out his death ray and vaporized Glorvon's tentacled head.
"Fraternization with the enemy shall not be tolerated," Flaxitron grunted.

by Anonymous 11:24 AM

Friday, January 26, 2007

 

"The oceans are...different."

by Fred 9:32 AM

Thursday, January 25, 2007

 

I want to go home.

by Fred 2:58 PM

Friday, January 19, 2007

 

(if anybody asks)

Tell them I'm sick. Because I am sick. The stories are eating away and fighting inside of me again. I can't sleep. I can't talk to anyone. It takes all my energy to put on another pot of coffee and take a shower. The stories won't leave me be. There's the one about the privileged white kid who falls in love with the beautiful woman from Nigeria. They get close but she keeps telling him she isn't ready for sex. Finally it comes out that her family had her circumcised. Half her clitoris is gone and sex is nothing but torture for her. She cries because she thinks her man is going to leave. Instead he tells her how much he loves her, and they'll never be apart. See? This is the kind of story I'm talking about. Then there's one based on a dream I had when I was six. My family has a pet rat. He grew too big for the house and we put him in the sewer. Every Friday we go visit Ratty, feeding him table scraps through the sewer grate. Then one day a sinister man tells my father he's behind on sewer rent. Ratty gets evicted and we never see him again. Are you with me? Heartbreaking, yet ridiculous. I bet I've got a million of them. I can't get them all down. I spend most of my time trying not to suffocate on them. This is what I'm faced with every day. So if anybody asks, tell them I'm bedridden. Tell them I've left town. Tell them the mob finally got me. Tell them I found out I'm just a cartoon character. Tell them anything, but don't let them know I've shut myself away trying to unload all these stories before the hernia cracks my spine in two.

by Anonymous 7:42 PM

 

if anybody asks

by Fred 6:20 PM

Thursday, January 18, 2007

 

(sometimes no matter how hard you try)

You still get run over by a log truck every day. Things come apart. You stand in line. You fill out all the forms and pay your taxes. You teach your kids the value of a buck. You rotate your tires and keep your bearings lubricated. You even cover your hand tools with a sheen of vacuum pump oil. You do all that, and you do it every day for your whole life, and what happens? You get audited. Your kid gets hooked on angel dust. Your tires blow out and the circus leaves town for good. It happened to me one time. I had gotten the lead in a play. It was my big break. I was going to be famous. Then came the day of the big premiere, and I got wet. Some joker dropped a water balloon on me. You know what happens when I get wet? I turn into a car, just like on that old TV show. So, I drove myself to the theater, but of course I couldn't get through the door. Jesus H. Christ on a corn dog stick. I'd be better off playing the lottery. Want some gum?

by Anonymous 10:07 PM

 

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try...

by Fred 5:27 PM

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

 

when perfect is not good enough

by Anonymous 5:16 AM

Friday, January 12, 2007

 

(don't quit yet)

My fingers turned yellow and so did my teeth.
Don't quit yet the girl said.
I ran out of money.
Don't quit yet girl.
I lost my breath and labored up stairs.
Don't quit yet.
I started a fire. I stained my new couch.
Don't quit girl.
My friends and family shook their heads.
Don't quit.
But I can't even meet their eyes I told her.
Don't quit yet.
But I'm beautiful. I'm a Princess. I should never be unhappy. I should love myself, not you.
Don't quit yet the girl said.
I can't even do yoga or ride my bike. Everything's dark even my eyes now.
Don't quit yet.
That's all she ever said.
Don't.
Fuck you. Stop saying that. Go and die. Leave me be.
I quit. She's still here. I'm not friends with her though.

by Anonymous 6:12 PM

 

don't quit yet

by Fred 12:48 PM

Thursday, January 11, 2007

 

The machine that would not burn

by Anonymous 5:18 AM

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

 

freeze-dried android

by Fred 12:00 PM

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

 

At first he thought she'd understand.

by Fred 12:00 PM

Monday, January 08, 2007

 

The Most Outrageous Opening Line

by Anonymous 5:29 AM

 

(when they accepted her application)


She very nearly flooded her underpants with delight. She screamed and jumped up and down on the rickety wooden deck attached to her apartment building.
"What's up girl?" her friend Gloria shouted from below. "You win the lottery or something?"
"No!" she shouted back. "The Starbucks coffee company just bought the rights to my name for $250,000!"
"That's great!" Gloria replied. "Now you can get that boob job and go back to modeling school. Oh, Wendy, I'm so proud of you."
As if on cue, a massive figure appeared in the blue sky. It was the mermaid from the Starbucks logo. She wasn't smiling and inviting customers to enjoy delicious coffee. She was shooting bolts of lightning from her mouth.
"YOUR NAME IS STARBUCKS VENTI LATTE! NOT WENDY!" the mermaid proclaimed in a voice that shook the cars in the parking lot.

by Anonymous 5:20 AM

Sunday, January 07, 2007

 

When they accepted her application

by Fred 10:02 PM

Saturday, January 06, 2007

 

This was the defining moment.

by Fred 10:01 PM

Friday, January 05, 2007

 

I walked alone through oceans of broken sand and skeletal trees. The swamp reflected centuries of forbidden currency. It echoed through my head and shattered the memories I once had of you. We were younger then, and beautiful. Our skin was radiant and we feared nothing. We could not have known that our trek to the jungle would be the knife that sliced our shared arteries. We could not have foretold the future, and even if we could we would have ignored all the evidence. We were brazen and our heads were hard as petrified rifles. We took orders from nobody. Then we woke up and saw that we had gotten older. Our frozen moments had become glaciers and were moving so slowly as to be negligible. We took the train and you got off at your stop, leaving me to ponder my existence and fend for myself amongst the wild beasts lurking in the wilderness. Today I ate my Frosted Flakes and wept, for Tony the Tiger brought back our shared past. "They're great!" you always used to tell me. And I believed you. No matter what happened, how many of our friends fell and never got up again, I was sure there would be a prize at the bottom of the box. But there are no prizes here, only tigers, darkness, and solitary bones.

by Anonymous 11:15 PM

 

finish with tigers

by Fred 8:38 PM

Thursday, January 04, 2007

 

"Look," said Julia. "Already your skin is flaking off and your eyes have turned the color of copper. I told you this was a bad idea."
"No it's not," Raymond answered. "I am going to set a World's Record for Most Vinyl Records Eaten In One Sitting. I can do it with you or without you."
"You can't do anything without me. You can't even move. You polished off our last Rachmaninoff LP."
"Are you serious?"
"As a heart attack. I am not enabling you, Ray. I am not going to the thrift store to pick up another load of Peter, Paul and Mary, Charley Pride, Neil Sedaka and Steve Jones post Sex Pistols records."
"Please, baby," Ray pleaded. He threw up, an unnatural and sickening mass of grayish vomit. "Think about the future. Think about our children."
"Children? We'll never have children. You'll probably go impotent if you don't die first. And I think your skin is never going back to its natural color."
"Julia! I need this. We both need this."
"No, we don't. I'm leaving. I can't stand to see you poison yourself. I'm sorry, Ray, but it's not as if I didn't warn you."
He was too weak to plead with her. He heard her footsteps on the carpet, the door opening, then slamming. His stomach heaved and churned. Black blood poured from his nose. He needed to clear his head with some good mood music.
"Damn, it's too bad I ate my last David Bromberg record," Ray thought idly as the darkness closed in, letting him know he was blind now.

by Anonymous 9:27 PM

 

It's not as if I didn't warn you

by Fred 7:50 PM

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

 

If I have learned anything

by Fred 2:09 PM

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

 

If I remember this correctly

by Fred 2:40 PM

Monday, January 01, 2007

 

If I could have just one thing

by Fred 7:53 PM