Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Here There Everywhere

Joey says he’s being hunted by a therewolf. 

I tell him to stop being a smartass.  The “were” in werewolf means “man.”   Same root as “virile.”  Joey’s a dork.

No, says Joey, it’s not like that.  It’s not a wolf that turns into a man or anything.

I tell him that doesn’t excuse the pun.

No, says Joey, it’s not a man at all.  It’s a wolf, and it’s there.  It’s always just there.  Watching.

I turn around, and there it is.  It’s there.  Watching us.

I can’t sleep.  All I can think is: what happens when it’s seen enough?

Thursday, July 18, 2013

On Saturday Night

I left God in the hospital waiting room, and mostly I was honest when I told myself it was politeness.

Satan was reaching through the slot on the vending machine.  I stood over him, arms akimbo.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Came for a visit,” he said, rolling one eye up at me.

“God doesn’t need your shi-stuff,” I scolded.

“Cheer him up,” said Satan, waving a joint and a handful of porn.

“What the fu-heck is wrong with you?  Jesus!”  I froze. “Shit.”

“Blasphemy!”  Satan’s eyes gleamed, and he grasped my arm.  It burned.  “Owe me a Coke.”

Thursday, July 4, 2013


The explosions were starting again.  Every year, the same thing.  The lights in the sky, the flashes of color, the clouds of smoke, the distant pounding as of cyclopean feet.

“Gompers is such a scaredy-cat.  You’re a sixty-pound dog, Gompers!  Get out from underneath the chair.  Honestly.  They never hurt you, do they?”

“Does he get like this during thunderstorms?”

“No.  Only fireworks.”

Under the chaise-lounge, Vvvrikx Ararar, general and final survivor of the proud Gargibar battle fleet, currently in deep cover as a companion animal on an alien planet, closed his eyes and whimpered as the memories overcame him.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Masking Tape

When they finally got the awful textured wallpaper off, they discovered the door.  It had been painted over a dozen times.  The paint was so thick that you could barely see the outline of the frame.

“Where do you think it even goes?” he asked, working with the chisel.  “I thought this was basically dirt through here.”

“I don’t like it,” she said.  “The realtor didn’t mention it.”

“She probably didn’t know.”  The chisel slipped.  “Hey.”


“It’s painted over.”

She blinked at him.  “Um, yes.  I know.  I was here?”

“No, I mean it’s painted over from the inside...”