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"Barney liked to cook and Doris liked to eat. In no other way were they compatible."
by PV
As twins they really looked a lot alike. Barney was more reserved in his panel and Doris was a little more flamboyant. In the cozy monastic community they blended in. Barney liked to cook and Doris liked to eat. In no other way were they compatible. You'd think that Doris being a transvestite would have made a difference. But they were just two close but isolated souls.
by PV
As twins they really looked a lot alike. Barney was more reserved in his panel and Doris was a little more flamboyant. In the cozy monastic community they blended in. Barney liked to cook and Doris liked to eat. In no other way were they compatible. You'd think that Doris being a transvestite would have made a difference. But they were just two close but isolated souls.
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"I couldn't get him to move," she said. "So I just left him there."
by TNT
"I couldn't get him to move," she said. "So I just left him there."
"Oh no!" I said. "He'll be with the Weebels again and you know what that means!"
"What do the Weebels do?" she asked.
"Whatever they can get away with! Strange things - indescribably anarchistic, disruptive weird things like painting exit signs on entrances, exit signs on freeway ramps going the wrong way, one way or up-hill. Or selling toothpaste to people without teeth claiming it will make their teeth grow back."
"And people buy that?"
"Oh yes! They are old and most of them have dementia."
"What about when they spray painted the back end of trucks with scenery and the highway so that people driving thought they were not behind a slow truck. Or they would make the rear end look like the grill headlights and bumpers so it looked like it was going backwards the wrong way on the wrong side! Very confusing!"
"Oh, what about the Easter chicks - they painted their butts with smiley faces!"
"Horrible," she said. "I suppose I'll have to go rescue him now."
"I would - if I were you!" I replied.
by TNT
"I couldn't get him to move," she said. "So I just left him there."
"Oh no!" I said. "He'll be with the Weebels again and you know what that means!"
"What do the Weebels do?" she asked.
"Whatever they can get away with! Strange things - indescribably anarchistic, disruptive weird things like painting exit signs on entrances, exit signs on freeway ramps going the wrong way, one way or up-hill. Or selling toothpaste to people without teeth claiming it will make their teeth grow back."
"And people buy that?"
"Oh yes! They are old and most of them have dementia."
"What about when they spray painted the back end of trucks with scenery and the highway so that people driving thought they were not behind a slow truck. Or they would make the rear end look like the grill headlights and bumpers so it looked like it was going backwards the wrong way on the wrong side! Very confusing!"
"Oh, what about the Easter chicks - they painted their butts with smiley faces!"
"Horrible," she said. "I suppose I'll have to go rescue him now."
"I would - if I were you!" I replied.
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"She began to hallucinate faces floating in her living room."
by RMAF
Miss Adda Post Tissue kept on saying to herself, next week I'll stop drinking the beer and smoking the pot. Next week I'll go on a diet. Next week I'll stop eating the big chunks of chocolate, deep fried potato chips and fried pig skins. But next week never came and old, bad habits die hard or they never die at all. We do, from them.
Finally, after years of disobeying all the healthy rules she knew to be true but defiantly ignored, she began to hallucinate freaky faces floating around above her in the living room.
Miss Adda Post Tissue kept on saying to herself, next week I'll stop drinking the beer and smoking the pot. Next week I'll go on a diet. Next week I'll stop eating the big chunks of chocolate, deep fried potato chips and fried pig skins. But next week never came and old, bad habits die hard or they never die at all. We do, from them.
Finally, after years of disobeying all the healthy rules she knew to be true but defiantly ignored, she began to hallucinate freaky faces floating around above her in the living room.
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She wandered from shop to shop, but nothing appealed to her
these days.
By CC
Lola Mae loved her independence. After Bart died, she stayed
on in the old homestead. Why, it had a shade tree and a patio for picnics – she
could enjoy those by herself just as well as with the old gasbag. But soon she
found out that things were not as easy on her own. One day the garbage can blew
over and rolled down the hill. Lola didn’t even try to bring it back. The door
fell off, and glass panes fell out of the windows. But heck, the roof was good.
Lola wasn’t going to worry.
What Lola like to do was shop. She went to town in the old truck almost every day. She wandered from shop to shop, but nothing appealed to her these days. The novelty had worn off most everything. Then the truck broke down in town, and she decided not to repair it. She needed the exercise, the sunshine, to live with the basics for awhile. She bought eggs, milk and bread and walked 5 miles home. She was so tired that she fell right to sleep. The next day she got up and discovered she had forgotten the butter. She walked back to town for the butter, and the next day she found her milk was sour, so she walked back to town to exchange it.
After a month of long walks, Lola was looking pretty good. A long haul trucker named Bryson Hull was hauling a load to Target in Chicago and offered her a ride home. She and Bryson hit it off. She decided to go with him to Chicago. They got married a month later and lived happily ever after, especially after they sold the old homestead to a developer of luxury properties.
What Lola like to do was shop. She went to town in the old truck almost every day. She wandered from shop to shop, but nothing appealed to her these days. The novelty had worn off most everything. Then the truck broke down in town, and she decided not to repair it. She needed the exercise, the sunshine, to live with the basics for awhile. She bought eggs, milk and bread and walked 5 miles home. She was so tired that she fell right to sleep. The next day she got up and discovered she had forgotten the butter. She walked back to town for the butter, and the next day she found her milk was sour, so she walked back to town to exchange it.
After a month of long walks, Lola was looking pretty good. A long haul trucker named Bryson Hull was hauling a load to Target in Chicago and offered her a ride home. She and Bryson hit it off. She decided to go with him to Chicago. They got married a month later and lived happily ever after, especially after they sold the old homestead to a developer of luxury properties.
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“Let’s not get upset about the delay,” he told her.
“There’s probably a good reason for it.”
by RC
They stood atop the citadel—Gerard and Mary Lou—and
waited for Umberto, who was very late for their important meeting. “I heard that the plain is crawling with
those disgusting creatures!” Mary Lou said with a shudder. Maybe he got into
the thick of it. Maybe—“
Girard shrugged. “Let’s not get upset about the delay,”
he told her. “There’s probably a good reason for it.” But, Girard couldn’t help
thinking about the last time he had crossed the valley floor. They were
everywhere, just as Mary Lou had said, and he had had to tip-toe very
judiciously through the places where they were thick, and then run at
break-neck speed where there was a clearing.
What had started the migratory journey, no one knew, but
the three were meeting to discuss what could be done about it, and Umberto was
late. He was half afraid that the citadel was not as secure as previously
believed from the quickly moving beasts—despite the fact that they had boarded
up all the windows. At that moment, he heard something below them. The heavy
door which led into the nave of the old monastery had opened and closed.
“It’s Umberto!” Mary Lou squealed with anticipation. They
had always been much too close, Gerard thought. Sure enough, after a couple of
minutes, Umberto came trudging up the stairs, panting heavily.
The first thing he said was “I have solved the problem!”
He had a woven basket in his hand, which he carefully set down on the table.
“Our solution,” he said with a grandiose voice, “is baked frogs.”
“Baked frogs?!” Mary Lou and Gerard said simultaneously.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Gerard added.
“It’s simple really,” Umberto replied with a grin. “I am
late because I stopped to look up a recipe in a French cook book. The plague
can serve us well. We can collect them in baskets like this, bake them in pies,
and sell them to tourists. We’ll make a fortune!”
“I don’t want to look at them, much less touch them,” Mary
Lou said, with a scowl. “That’s no solution.”
“All you have to do is print up the fliers,”
Umberto said. “Gerard can bake them, and I will do the selling.” He looked
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by GS
Next Time
Nothing unusual ever happened in Nebraska, so when a loud explosion went off Wilbur sat up in bed and strained to listen through the thick darkness in the room. It had not been very close, but close enough to merit examination. The lights still worked, so Wilbur was reassured somewhat. He got dressed and went outside to see what was up. A few miles away toward the capitol dome the were bright lights and sirens.
Several neighbors were congregating at the corner to trade rumors so Wilbur went to listen since he had none to offer. Two youngsters insisted an alien spaceship had crashed but could offer no proof. No one believed them.
A few weeks later all had become clear. There HAD been a spaceship, and it had disgorged giant harmless spiders which were now so commonplace in the city that no one even looked at them anymore while they walked to work.
Next time, Wilbur decided, he wouldn't even get out of bed to look.
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