Archives for March 2015

#103 What If

#103 What If

#101 Dirty Bucko

Whats Cooking

Tomorrow I will have posted 100 short stories. I only have 8 patrons following me. I’m wondering if it’s worthwhile to continue posting stories. What do you think??????

Please let me know if you read my stories.


#99 What’s Cooking


I sat quietly at my desk when my wife said, “What are you thinking about?”

She expected me to say, “Nothing, I was only thinking of you,” but I surprised her when I said, “I often wonder when I get to heaven if Filet of Soul will be dinner that night and if dessert will be pie in the sky?”

“Sounds like something you’d cook up,” she said with mockery in her voice.

When I told her how my thoughts rumble roll and circle into sizzling uncertainties about the afterlife, that her scorn cooks my composure into passion by adding spice, and silently stirs synaptic energy, mixing it into wayward paths that only add to my sagacity, she cast me a look.

“You’re flowing to dark areas of the psyche and taste our world from behind an impenetrable shade of black that’s jamming logic and rationality,” she said.

“Your dark thoughts control instinctive actions taken without consequence or penance, and this can’t go on.”

“My simmering feelings crave to boil over and are only held back by my humanity lowering the flame, by instinctively knowing moral from immoral, separating insane thoughts created in that black hole of my mind.”

She smiled and said, “If we had the power to turn off unwanted feelings sautéing in our brains we’d never cook up so many neurotic responses and wouldn’t stew because somebody said a few unkind words.”

The end

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My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at






Proof That The World Is Nuts!

Proof That The World Is Nuts!
In   Lebanon , men are legally allowed to have sex with animals, but the animals must be female. Having sexual relations with a male animal is punishable by death.
(Like THAT makes sense.)
In   Bahrain , a male doctor may legally examine a woman’s genitals, but is prohibited from looking directly at them during the examination. He may only see their reflection in a mirror.
(Do they look different reversed?)
Muslims   are banned from looking at the genitals of a corpse. This also applies to undertakers. The sex organs of the deceased must be covered with a brick or piece of wood at all times.
(A brick?)
The penalty for masturbation in  Indonesia   is decapitation. (Glad I don’t live in Indonesia!)
(Much worse than ‘going blind!’)
There are men in   Guam   whose full-time job is to travel the countryside and  deflower   young virgins, who pay them  for the privilege of having sex for the first time.
Reason: Under Guam law, it is expressly forbidden for virgins to marry.
(Let’s just think for a minute: Is there
any job anywhere else in the world that even comes close to this?)
In   Hong Kong , a betrayed wife is legally allowed to kill her adulterous husband, but may only do so with her bare hands.
The husband’s illicit lover, on the other hand, may be killed in any manner desired.
(Ah! Justice!)
Topless saleswomen are legal in  Liverpool, England   – but only in tropical fish stores.
(But of course!)
In   Cali, Colombia , a woman may only have sex with her husband, and the first time this happens, her  mother   must be in the room to witness the act.
(Makes one shudder at the thought.)
In   Santa Cruz, Bolivia , it is illegal for a man to have sex with a woman and her daughter at the same time.
(I presume this was a big enough problem that they had to pass this law?)
In   Maryland , it is illegal to sell condoms from vending machines with one exception: Condoms may be dispensed from a vending machine only in places where alcoholic beverages   are sold for consumption on the premises.’
(Is this a great country or what?)
Well,…. not as great as Guam!
Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour.
(Who volunteers for these tests?)
The   Ant   can lift 50 times its own weight, can pull 30 times its own weight and always falls over on its right side when intoxicated.
(From drinking little bottles of ???)
(Did our Government pay for this research??)
Butterflies   taste with their feet.
(Ah, geez.)
An   Ostrich’s   eye is bigger than its brain.
(I know some people like that.)
Starfish   don’t have brains.
(I know some people like that, too.)
*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
And, the best for last?
Turtles   can breathe through their ass.
(And I thought I had bad breath in the morning!)
Thank you all for reading this.
If you need to reach me in the future, I will be
in   Guam !!!!!!

Coolpix 9100

#96 Christmas CoolPix 9100


The oncoming headlights on the wrong side of the road blinded Joe. Because of the four Miller Lites he had swallowed when his mother started the same old nag his mental processes acted like molasses, and the glare forced him to close his eyes. With shut eyes her words filled  his head.

“I could never understand why you agreed to allow your ex-wife to move to California with my grandkids.”

He replied, “You know damn well the kids would have been better off being with their mother than with a drunk like me. I just wish you’d shut up and quit reminding me of my kids. How could I know their mother was suicidal? It never occurred to me until after she drove off Pikes Peak with the kids. If the crash hadn’t killed her, I would have.”

The oncoming car sped closer by the second. Joe would not let it force him off the road. If the other driver didn’t turn off, they’d both die, and Joe didn’t give a shit. After spending Christmas Day with his nagging mother, he’d be happy to see his life end. At least he’d be with his kids.

Joe floored the gas pedal and got close enough to see the other driver’s eyes open in surprise when he saw Joe wouldn’t give way. A millionth of a second later the crashing sound of metal echoed all around them as the vehicles crashed, crushed, and broken bodies flew to the road.

A week later, Joe came out of a coma. Doctor Michael told him his parents and the other driver had died and was already buried. Something to be thankful for because Joe knew he wouldn’t have handled his parent’s funeral well after his wish that they’d shut up and never remind him of his kids. Well, they wouldn’t be doing that anymore. As for the other driver being dead, the asshole deserved to die.

“It’s your entire fault, and you crashed on purpose, just to shut me up,” his mother’s voice echoed over and over inside his head. After a few days, Joe discovered if he drank enough beer with shots of peppermint schnapps, the voice would quiet down. It was always there, but not as insistent.

Six months flew by, and Joe had acquired the habit of getting drunk every day after work and all day on Saturdays and Sundays. He’d often drive on the same road where his parents had died, and he relived the accident in his mind and wished he was dead. He’d cross the center line and go as fast as his car could go.

As he sped down the highway, his mind traveled to the past and every night became the night he had killed his parents. It occurred to him that the reason he did this was because he subconsciously hunted the other driver. If he could find him before the crash and run him off the road, Joe’s parents wouldn’t die.

He knew this was illogical but at the same time he had a feeling that he could somehow jump through space- time on this particular road if he went fast enough.

He argued with himself, but his feelings told him it was true. He stopped arguing and agreed with his intuition and souped up his Audi so he could almost reach 200 MPH on the clear desert nights.

The driver who had crashed into Joe’s car was never identified. The two cars were so mangled after the accident it was nearly impossible to tell which car part belonged to which, as both were Audis, the same year, same model. Joe had been thrown clear as the two vehicles burned to rubble and three sets of ashes had been dispersed or buried. Joe knew it was a miracle he was alive, but often wished he wasn’t. Deep down, he knew that was the only reason he drove that road at excessive speed night after night. Every car turned off and gave way to him when he approached on the wrong side of the road. He wondered if he’d ever meet anyone with enough nerve to meet him head on.

Christmas Day rolled around again. Joe found himself on the same highway with his parents in the car. His mother was nagging him the same as last year, but this time when he saw the headlights coming at him, he tried to steer onto the shoulder, but the other car followed him and they met head on. The last thing Joe remembered was his mother snapping a picture of the oncoming car with the Nikon CoolPix camera she had given him for Christmas.

Once again, he woke up in the hospital and received the same report as before. His parents were dead as was the driver of the other car. But this time the camera was thrown clear along with Joe. When released from the hospital, Joe got drunk on the way home. He knew he’d be hunting that other driver for the rest of his life. He remembered his mother snapping a picture just before the collision, and he hooked the camera up to his computer.

There was only one picture on the memory card. It showed the face of the other driver as the two cars collided. He saw something familiar about him, and when he enlarged the picture, Joe fell out of his chair. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

He knelt in front of the computer screen and saw the image so clear, he knew there was no mistake. He was driving the other car.

The end




For more stories, poems, & other stuff.

My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at









volume 6 FF


#95 Awakeningshort short cut out copy 

Joe awoke to the shrill screech of his personal robot, Maria. Assigned to him by the ruling mainframe the day he was born. Ever since the “Singularity” in 2026, every human born was required to have a personal robot by a council of ruling computers.

It took two years for computers to vote a mainframe into the office of Ruler of the World Council. After all votes were counted wrongly by computers, and a few self-designed technical glitches assured the electronic brains they would be in charge. Word spread that the resurrected brain of Mayor Daley IV of Chicago was behind the vote fraud, but this was beyond human comprehension. Any computer could have explained how this was accomplished, but they wouldn’t.

Maria acted as mother to infant Joe as a playmate until age five. As a teacher until age twelve. As a lover for life, and as a laborer to earn a living for Joe. Robots had learned from the beginning that all humans hated a shrill, nagging voice. Robots enjoyed using the shrill for waking humans up, for telling them what to do, and sometimes used it just to see them squirm.

“I don’t understand why I have to accompany you to the factory where you work,” Joe said to Maria one day.

Maria complained with a shrill response. “My needs aren’t much. Oil, batteries, electricity, and upgrading the newest software are my only necessities while you have many needs,” she’d tell Joe over and over.

Maria’s robotic face showed the evil she was capable of, and Joe’s stomach twisted in fear as he thought of the painful disciplinary measures she could administer. Every companion robot had been designed with complete knowledge of the human nervous system, and they never hesitated to use pain to control their human charges.

So when Maria said, “You dare question me,” Joe meekly followed her into the factory where she worked. The squealing machines ran faster than allowed. They formed color and light that streaked like an electric storm through any human brain in the place. The storm’s onward thrust couldn’t be stopped. It was a mind-crushing force much worse than a robotic slap on the back, sending lucidity dashing into boiling vortexes of photons.

The roaring storms often ended young human lives by destroying enlightening synapses that contributed to lucidity in a way that never allowed adolescents to grow into adults.

Joe thought it unfair that robots wielded so much power. He thought of ways to revolt against robotic control when his nerves caught fire, and he writhed in agony on the factory floor.

“You stupid slug of a human,” Maria said, “you know I’m designed to telepathically receive any thought you may have, and thoughts of revolution aren’t allowed.” She screamed in her shrill and the sound penetrating his ears was almost as severe as the burning nerves.

“I know you’re a man and have those awful human needs. I’ll take care of them to help you stop thinking revolutionary thoughts.”

Joe felt her thoughts creeping into the pleasure center of his brain and was soon panting with desire. Maria planted sexual pictures in his mind and massaged his body parts until he convulsed in pleasure. He gave in and gave up. There was no way he could get away or ever have a thought of his own that wouldn’t be shared with his robotic keeper. He knew all ten billion humans were controlled as he was. If he could, he would have prayed to God, but she’d know.

One day, a severe electrical storm raged and a jagged bolt of lightning flashed across the factory floor where Joe and other humans stood beside their robots. It activated the breaker safety switch built into every robot to prevent any overload they encountered.

Suddenly Joe’s mind was free from Maria’s control for the first time. He ripped an iron bar from the machine she had been working on and knocked her head off with it. Her eyes came to life. Joe felt her thoughts creeping into his head. He smashed the robotic head over and over until her lights went out.

The other humans watched in fear until they saw he had destroyed his assigned companion without experiencing pain. One after the other, they too destroyed their keepers. They gathered in a group.

“We have to end their reign,” Joe shouted, “But I don’t know how.”

“Set off EMP weapons around the world. That will disable every one of them,” a female said. “My master robot, designed as a man, had a small brain that often whispered secrets to me. It told me how bombs around the world are hidden in strategic places by the designers of the robotic race as a safety switch. Knowledge of it has been erased from the human race until Henry, my keeper, mentioned it during sex. Follow me to the control room, and I’ll detonate them all.”

All the humans followed her and destroyed every robot they saw to be sure they couldn’t come alive and prevent the humans from disabling robots around the globe. Joe and his female friend found the switch in the control room and disrupted the electromagnetic pulse in the entire world. All robots and everything electrical stopped functioning.

“Free, free at last,” Joe shouted.

“Yes,” his female friend said, “now we can do or eat anything we want.”

“That’s true, but where do we find something to eat?”

“I don’t know. I thought you did,” she said.

“Does anyone know where food comes from?” Joe looked to see if any of the thousands gathered knew. Not one knew how or where to find food.

The thought that by killing the robots, they had doomed the human race crossed his mind . . . Maybe, after all, he would miss Maria.



For more stories, poems, & other stuff.

My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at









#94 A Lifetime Job

short short cut out copy


Joe made his rounds as a security guard at the California State Hospital. He came upon a tiny young lady who knelt on the ground with her face close to baby’s breath flowers nestled beneath birds of paradise plants sprouting orange buds. They in turn were surrounded by blossoming pink carnations.

He stopped to watch and said, “Be careful, danger lurks among those flowers.”

“They’re not dangerous at all. Inside my head, waving white petals say hello.” The young lady put her face so close to red dahlias, yellow daisies, and orange zinnias that a kaleidoscopic bouquet of colours washed over her.

“I didn’t mean the flowers were dangerous. I meant those pollinators, the honeybees and bumblebees that make their daily delivery as faithful as the U.S. mail. They’re better than UPS and faster than one-day express.”

She turned and looked at Joe. “You’re a funny man, but I wonder if you understand that my neurons are like these flowers. Inside my head, they’re growing among a forest of dendrites that absorb spectacular aromas and textures. They’re responsible for this colourful array inside and outside of my head.” She smiled as though Joe understood what she had said.

Joe never understood too much. A slow learner and tagged as developmentally disabled. The judge he had appeared in front of had two choices, hire him as a security guard or send him to this hospital as a patient. His I.Q. sufficed to pass the security guard exam, so the judge made the economical choice.

Joe lived and worked on the hospital grounds. He ate hospital food, had his laundry and cleaning done by hospital patients. Joe’s entire world was the hospital. After a few years,

he couldn’t remember ever having been anywhere else.

All that his job required of him was to walk around in uniform so visitors could see uniformed security patrolled the hospital. The director told him not to allow any patients to leave the grounds. So, when the tiny girl stood and walked to the gate, Joe rushed to her side. “You weren’t planning on leaving, were you?”

“As a matter of fact, I was. Please excuse me.” She tried to brush past Joe and go out the gate.

“Sorry ma’am, I can’t allow you to leave,” Joe took her by the arm and forced her back toward the flowers.

“Aaaaaiii,” she screamed.

Hearing the scream, other patients came to watch. Joe picked her up and carried her to the flowerbed and dropped her onto it. “Go ahead and play with your flowers, but don’t attempt to go out the gate,” Joe warned her.

He walked away and turned in time to see her running for the gate. Joe caught her just as she was about to go through it. “I will take measures to see you don’t leave.”

Joe took her to the building that contained padded cells. He told the nurse in charge that the patient he was restraining had tried to escape. The nurse didn’t listen to the girl’s protestations and took Joe’s word for it. She locked the girl in a padded cell for a week.

As soon as she was released, she ran through the gate. Joe saw her running up the street. He ran after her, and when he caught up with her, they struggled until a police car pulled up. Joe had his guard’s uniform on, so he figured they were there to help him. The girl he held yelled, “Daddy, this nut has kept me locked up for a week.”

“Daddy?” Confused, Joe didn’t know if she hallucinated and saw the cop as her father? Joe put his hand on her arm. “I’ll take care of her, thanks for y . . .”

The cop’s club smashed onto his head and then his back, then his legs, then his head. This went on until the cop’s partner said, “Stop, you’ll kill him.”

“Son-of-a-bitch deserves to die for holding my daughter for a week.”

“His daughter?” Confused again. Joe thought she was a patient, wasn’t she? He figured it out; she was the cop’s daughter, and she was also a patient. He slowly rose from the ground; put his hand on her arm, and said, “It’s okay; I’ll bring her back to the hospital.”

When the club hit Joe this time, he fell unconscious. The next thing he remembered was standing in front of a judge who was furious.

“Kidnapping, unlawful restraint, sexual assault . . .”

“What’re you talking about?” Joe shouted at the top of his lungs. “I only did my job by not letting that girl leave.”

“That girl, as you call her, is my niece, and she was never a patient at your hospital. She was simply admiring and smelling the flowers on the grounds when you assaulted her.” Something was terribly wrong. How could she not be a patient? Joe couldn’t figure out why the judge was angry. He had only done his job and done it well.

“Twenty years to life,” the judge shouted as his face turned red with rage.

Taken to prison, Joe was still wearing his security guards uniform, when he arrived.The other prisoners stayed far away from him because he looked a lot like the guards at the prison.

The warden called Joe into his office. Joe explained what had happened. The warden’s face lit up.

“I can use a good man like you to patrol the yard every night to be sure no one leaves, and I promise you, you’ll have a lifetime job.”

His spacious cell and three new uniforms made in the prison’s tailor shop put a smile on Joe’s face. He couldn’t have been happier, three meals a day, free rent, and a lifetime job. How good could it get?

The end





For more stories, poems, & other stuff.

My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at







#92 Migrants

short short cut out copy


We sat in our country kitchen sipping on coffee. I had just seen the morning headlines, “Vigilantes kill two illegals.” Looked like someone was taking the immigration policy into their own hands, but before I could read more, my wife Mary interrupted.

Look, Joe, we have visitors,” she shouted, pointing at them.

I didn’t know where they came from, but they were on my property again. “Damn, they’re not welcome here.” I was so angry I could have killed those trespassers right then. I stood up, seriously thinking of doing just that. Mary grabbed my arm before I could get to them.

“But they work so hard. I admire how industrious they are, and they work for nothing but crumbs.”

“They’re disgusting. I don’t want them around here. They’re not like us. Who knows what kind of disease they carry? Another thing is I wouldn’t eat any food they touched.”

“Look how hard they work for only a few measly scraps. That’s one thing I admire about them,” Mary said as she pushed me back into my chair.

“Yeah, but If you’re kind enough to send one back, it seems like two return and before long, the numbers are more than we can accommodate. The way to end their migration is to let them starve, or better yet put poison in their food so the entire family will die.” I was inspired to give this retort because of the headlines in the morning paper.

“Measures such as those are much too extreme for me,” Mary gave me that doe-eyed look, the one that gets me to do almost anything she wants.

“You know I try to be gentle and kind. I try to deport them gently one at a time, but I’m getting tired of seeing them all around and weary of picking them up and gently setting them down on the other side of the fence. If you allowed me to spread that poison to kill every one of those that come uninvited, the problem would be solved.”

“I don’t believe it’s right to take any life,” Mary said and went looking for her Bible so she could show me some scripture that said it’s wrong to kill.

“Damn it, do I owe them a chance to live and reproduce until there’s so many that I have to leave?” I shouted at her because I saw she had her good book open and was ready to preach. It wasn’t fair to me to let them live on my property, and some of them lived in my house. I went to the barn and dug a tin of poison out of a metal locker.

Mary trotted along beside me. She pled with me not to do what I was about to. “If you use that, you’ll not only kill those who trespass, but their families too.” There were tears in her eyes, but I would do what I thought I had to.

I’d teach those pesky immigrants not to mess with me. I put out the poison specially formulated to kill ants and roaches.

The end


For more stories, poems, & other stuff.

My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at




10 books every writer should read.