Category: random

It was difficult to tell if I was seeing things or if what I was seeing was real. He was a stalk of a man, thin in every respect of the word, and tall.

Around his middle was a large circular frame, draped in what appeared to be parachute silk. The frame was strapped to his meatless body with leather harnesses meant to keep the thing, whatever it was, from moving around.

After he finished buckling the harness in place, be proceeded across the parking lot. As he did, the Nevada winds, second only to Wyoming, picked up and began dragging him backwards, until he came off the ground.

I dialed 9-1-1 as he continued to scream and kick, flying away from the parking lot and over a nearby grocery store.

“Do you need fire, police or ambulance?”

“Ambulance, maybe fire,” I answered.

“Where is your emergency?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered, “He flew over a building and out of my line of sight.”

“Can you repeat that, please?”

As I did this, the operator responded, “Oh…never mind, we’re getting more calls about this, and here I thought you were pulling my leg.”

We both laughed as she disconnected our call.

until today,
my summer coat
without buttons,
our burn barrel fires
and a few hand-outs
have been enough
to survive this
pandemic.

then
an essential government
garbage truck
dumped,
crushed,
hauled
away the non-essential
man
like so much refuse,
that now,
even little red riding hood
admits life is darkest
from inside the wolf.

we’ve been inoculated,
but never cured.

With yet another 30-days mandated, government is monitoring us to see if we’re observing social distancing. Those not following the rules, could b…

We had built up a sizable bond-fire.
Everyone was laughing, talking and drinking.
Then a light from high in the sky flashed on.
It exposes the revelers in its massive illumination.
All activities cease, as faces turned skyward towards the accompanying heavy thumping.
A helicopter and several M-RAPS, whose doors bang shut with echoes.
“You’re not supposed to be out of your houses!”
An authoritative voice booms across a public address system.
In terror and fear, my neighbors scatter, each running for the safety of home.
Left alone, I quickly find myself at gun point, face-down in my own backyard.

New York Times best selling author: “People don’t start conversations using dirty words.”

Me: “Don’t know many Marines, do you?

Author: “No, I don’t. Do you want to offer an example?

Me: “The word ‘fuck,’ is an entire sentence if used properly.”

He immediately disconnected me from the online writing course that he is instructing.

Satan whispered in my ear, “You’re not strong enough to weather the storm.”

I shouted at him, “Get your ass six-feet back from me, motherfucker!”

Tippy wagged his tail as he zigged and zagged up the pathway. The black lab sniffed the ground and looked at the tall trees and short bushes as he made his way to the large and bright opening that promised a clearing ahead.

The pain in his hips was gone. And he could see clearly and hear all the forested sounds that came from around him.

Once he broke into the clearing he was surprised; dogs everywhere that he could see and they were all stopped, looking at him. Tippy was puzzled though, he’d been chased off and he’d been sniffed and he’d even been ignored, but now he found himself completely disregarded as each dog returned to whatever they had been doing before he arrived.

Slowly he made his way through the throng of mutts, well-breeded champions, house-pets and the abandoned. He could see straight ahead, an opening in a wall that led into a bright city, where the people were.

People, that’s what was missing: specifically his people. Where were they and exactly where was he. Tippy stood before the opening and looked in, where he could see both humans and dogs moving about.

Suddenly he was aware that he had company, a short and shaggy poodle that insisted on sniffing at his collar. She refused to leave him alone, even when he backed away from her.

“You belong to them,” the poodle said, “I can smell them.”

“Them?” Tippy questioned.

“Yes, my people,” she answered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. Let me explain. But first, my name is Susy.”

“Tippy,” he returned.

“I used to live with the same people you lived with.”

“Huh, I don’t remember you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I was before your time. They had to go away and couldn’t take me with them, so they gave me to the nice lady down stairs. She fed me hamburger and cheese.”

“So, I’m like a replacement?”

“No, nothing like that. Humans love us and they probably saw you and fell in love, like they did me.”

“Well, they gave me to the garbage man.”

“Did you have a good life?” Susy asked.

“He had two boys that took me hunting and fishing all the time, so yes.”

“See? So now you’re here and you, along with all of us, are waiting for which ever family or child we are supposed to spend eternity with to come up that trail, the same one you came up. Do you understand?”

Suddenly, the dogs stopped and looked down towards the opening in the woods and watched as a little child came up the trail and into the clearing. They waited in the quiet as what turned out to be a little girl made her way into the mass of dogs.

“Ah,” Susy said, “She never had a dog of her own and now we’ll get to see some real magic, because there are some dogs who never had a child of their own either. Watch, they’ll find each other in a minute or so.”

And like Susy said, a small tan and black mutt came bounding up to the child and as if they’d known one another for ever, they loved on each other; her petting and giggling, he licking and bouncing about her feet. Then they walked up the rest of the trail and entered the opening into the city.

“But how will I know which of me people to go with?” Tippy asked.

“Oh, you’ll know, it’s instinct, now come on, Tippy,” Susy said, “Let’s go find a place to lay down and rest.”

Together, and with each other to lean on, they found a quiet spot in the green grass, under a shade tree, then with muzzles between their paws, watched for their people to finally come home to them.

Gashole: A person who has no problem passing stinky-ones when ever and where ever they please.

Example:

“Jim farts all the time and boy do they stink.”

“Yeah, he’s quite the gashole.”

When and if I start writing for millennial’s only, instead of using ‘said’ or ‘asked,’ I’ll use ‘like’ or ‘all.’ And for ‘thank you,’ ‘no problem.’

Example:

“And Tom was all, ‘I don’t think so.’

And she was like, ‘What?’”

“It’s ‘thank you,’” Tom instructed, “Not ‘no problem.’”

We couldn’t find my son’s Grandpa’s false teeth anywhere. I even went outside and looked in the dog house jus’ in case Nipper took them to chew on.

“Nope, not in there,” I called out as I stepped in the front door.

My son was having great fun, thinking it was some sort of a new winter-time game. He raced from room to room searching under beds, in closets, through the book shelves and drawers he could reach.

Suddenly, he came racing out of the back room, the one used for mostly storage, screaming, crying, nearly hyperventilating. He was so shaken that he was practically in consolable.

Heading to that room, I went in, looking to see what had left him so upset.

“Damn it, Dad,” I shouted, realizing we had become victims of another of his practical jokes, “Not funny, old man!”

His dentures were in the mouth of my son’s favorite teddy bear. And as I reached for the stuffed bear, it quickly moved out of range and growled.

Then I heard those porcelain teeth clack violently together.