‘Would passengers for Flight 0077A to Buenos Aires, departing at sixteen thirty-five, please make their way to gate…’
Mr. Zimmerman checked his boarding pass.
I guess they mean me.
Continue reading “Mr. Zimmerman Flies To Buenos Aires (Economy Class) by Adam West”
They call him Stumpy. Not his mum, she calls him by his real name, Ryan, but the others call him Stumpy. Nobody remembers where the name came from. It’s not as if he’s particularly short and he has all his limbs intact. The name seems to have grown around him and there it is.
His limbs are intact but his mind, well his mind is a different thing. If the kids who teased him had possessed a modicum of intelligence it could have been that they realised his brain is stumped but that’s probably a bridge too far for them.
Shit, this is crazy, insane, absurd, Goddamn it, just kidding Lord, I don’t want to get on your bad side too, but how did I get myself so fucking screwed up — Awww, my director says it’s time for me to put this show on the road. It is now and forever. God, help me please.
“Hello, my name is Zuma. I’m your host for tonight’s event. I will be conducting the interview that much of the world has been eagerly awaiting and many others have been vehemently opposing. Let me recap what has been going on for the last nine months, as if there’s anyone in the known universe unaware of these remarkable events.”
Yeah, an event I’m now dreading even though earlier I fought tooth and nail to make it a reality. We all should know by now that this is not going to end well. God help you all. Me, I have my exit strategy.
Continue reading “Interview with Lucifer by Frederick K. Foote – Adult Content”
There was an old woman and a nurse in a room. The old woman sat in a chair holding a cane. There was a tray in front of her with a plate nearly full. The nurse bent over and wiped her face with a napkin. The nurse believed when old women talked about their lives it’s a sign they’re about to die. Miss Macintosh started doing that, and it was making the nurse anxious.
“How about you eat some of your peas?” coaxed the nurse.
4.3..
Beef, potatoes, gravy, fork and knife to the left, glass to the right. The volume set to eleven and the table lamp lit, not the standalone lamp.
4.6..
Switched detergent!!!
4.8..
Bianca’s visit was cancelled so I had to throw away the pies. Also if I’m being honest to myself I don’t like pies.
4.9..
A raccoon family found the pies. The two trash cans were open and garbage all over our driveway when he left for work. I need to learn! How can I be so stupid!? My shirt’s ruined now of course. A shower will clean my face, but my shirt is ruined. The gray-brownish liquid. It’s in my hair! I need a shower.
Glen sat in the corner booth of the Hollywood Diner and stared out one of the windows that separated the gray and red walls. He was delighted with the cool autumn day. It was one of those dark and gray days he loved being in the city despite the light drizzle that had been falling most of the morning. He held a cup of coffee to his lips and took pleasure in the richness and the warmth. On the cigarette-burned, graffiti-scarred table next to a half-eaten pastrami on rye his drawing pad was opened and waiting.
In [Academia] the only homage they pay to virtue is hypocrisy.
–– Lord Byron
Full Professor Seymour Wilkes had planned to vote against the tenure of assistant professor Bixby in any case. While he admitted to himself that she was amply qualified for the distinction based on her excellent record of publications and teaching evaluations, he simply didn’t like her––mainly he disapproved of her appearance. To him, her short skirts and modestly tattooed forearm were the deal breakers. She just doesn’t look respectable. Looks too much like some of our students, and she acts like she prefers their company to ours.
Continue reading “Senior Faculty Act on Roselle Bixby’s Tenure by Michael C. Keith”
Old Jefferson John Williams never really done nothin’ to deserve his story told, but Doc Elroy and the Preacher prodded me to write a little piece on him. I, myself, never done nothin’ to deserve to write about nobody, but Doc helped me with spelling and smoothed out some of the grammar a bit, without changing much of the words. Anyhow, what I wrote was printed up in some out-of-town paper and I have a copy of it. I still don’t understand why I was asked to write about Jeff John, or why it was printed. But I don’t care, ‘cause what I did was right.
A greeter stood in the driveway wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, a set of Halloween cat ears atop his head, and had pulled a ladies negligee over his clothing. “A smile, that’s what I like to see. That’s why I do this. What a weirdo you say. But you’re smiling. Everything priced over a dollar today half off.”
Roy clutched the handles of the dog-eared backpack slung over his shoulder. “This is my father’s house.”
So here I sit, awaiting the judge’s decision. Draft dodging’s a major crime for anyone, but these days, the court seems hell-bent on punishing the women. Equality – right? It’s a real titty-twister that the sexual revolution came full circle. How can you argue?
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