Archives for May 2015

#154 Restored Youth

#154 Restored Youth

#154 Restored Youth

“LOOK!” Dreyfus shouted. He pointed to a sign. Restore your youth using our magic mirrors. Dreyfus and his wife, Marie were at the Pasadena Swap Meet. One of the biggest in the world. Dreyfus dragged Marie, his wife of forty years over to look at the mirrors.

“Where’re you rushing off to, Dreyfus?”

“I’ve always wanted one of those fun house mirrors, one that shaves years off your age, so we can see how we looked fifty years ago.”

“There’s no mirror that can do that.”

“Yes there is. I saw one in Kansas City when I was still a lad. It had a handle on the side where you could adjust how old or young you wanted to look. Like magic, the reflection in the mirror would become that age. I looked in the mirror and spun the handle to sixty-five, and I swear the image that appeared looked exactly like I do today. Of course I didn’t believe I’d ever grow so old and ugly.”

“Come on now, did it show you how heavy you were going to get too?”

“Yes believe it or not.”

“Well, I guess there’s no harm in letting you fulfill one of your fantasies,” she said.

Dreyfus and Marie looked at their reflections in the mirrors hung on the outside of a canvas display booth. Their images were blurred and few of their thousands of wrinkles melted away.

Disappointed, they turned to walk away when Dreyfus heard a voice say, “I’ve got the Kansas City mirror inside.”

Dreyfus spun around, there was no one there, but he could see the corner of a mirror hidden away inside the booth. Dreyfus went inside stopped suddenly, and shouted, “Marie, this is it. This is the mirror I saw before. See the handle on the right side and see that chip in the gold inlay-I did that with my pocket knife to keep part of it as a souvenir.”

“But how can it turn up here in Pasadena sixty years later?”

“It must be following me,” he joked. “It was at a coroner’s auction held at the County Courthouse that I saw it before. I was only five, and I wanted my dad to buy it for me, but the Livingston’s, an elderly couple who lived next to us outbid him. A few days later a young couple moved into their house and I never saw the Livingston’s again.”

Looking in the mirror, Dreyfus turned the handle down so it read forty, and in an instant most of the wrinkles vanished from their reflected images. They turned and looked at each other and quickly turned back to the mirror to a much more pleasant sight. Dreyfus turned the handle to 3.0 – the washboard stomach that he had at that age showed in the mirror. Marie became slim, and she her waist reappered after being hidden by rolls of fat for so many years. Dreyfus had forgotten years ago how she used to look, and now her breasts became magnificent, not like the ponderous bags of fat they grew to over the years.

Dreyfus was so excited he looked at Marie and saw the 240 pound wife she had grown into. He quickly returned his gaze to the mirror where she once again became the youthful Marie. Dreyfus put his hand on one of the shapely breasts. Marie in turn put her hand on what was once his flat stomach and showed her repulsion when she felt the heavy rolls of fat that now covered any muscle that may be there. She pulled her hand from his fat and placed it on his image in the mirror. She moved her hand over his shirt that showed his muscles rippling under the tight fabric.

Both loved the images in the mirror. They looked at one another, and both quickly looked away in revulsion.

“That’s quite a mirror,” Dreyfus said.

“Let’s buy it,” Marie said. Isn’t it worth whatever the cost for the mirror to have it in our bedroom? You know for those times I still get frisky? We’ve got plenty saved, so it won’t hurt to spend a little on ourselves.”

Dreyfus heard the voice again. “Buy me, take me home,” it said.


Once home Dreyfus constructed a frame with wheels on it for the mirror so that he could wheel it to any position around the bed. He put a sheet over it and set it at the foot of the bed. He’d whip the sheet off the mirror once they got undressed and they’d see their youthful selves once again.

He couldn’t wait to have Marie’s beautiful image in his sight. Bedtime came, and both changed into nightclothes. Marie jumped into bed. Dreyfus ripped the sheet from the mirror and they both stared into it. Nothing at all was reflected in the mirror. They both walked to the mirror as though drawn. Dreyfus put his hand to the mirror and felt its warmth. Suddenly, his hand and then his arm were drawn into the mirror. He grabbed Marie to anchor himself. Instead of anchoring him, she was dragged into the mirror too as he was sucked deep inside. Once they were on the opposite side of the glass they both turned and looked through the back side of the mirror. They saw their youthful selves lying on the bed in a romantic embrace.

“That’s us, fifty years ago,” Dreyfus said

“I want out of here right now,” Marie said.

They both heard laughter, and then a voice said, “You’re mine for the next sixty years, then I’ll trade you off for another over the hill couple. I live off your bygone years, and I’ll set you free when I’ve used most of them up.”

“That means we’re stuck in here for at least fifty years,” Marie moaned. “Break the glass,” she shouted.

Dreyfus banged on the inside of the mirror and tried to break through the glass, to no avail. Dreyfus and Marie looked at each other knowing they’d be stuck in the mirror for a long, long time.

#153 Nip & Tuck


#153 Nip and Tuck

Josephine, Josephine, I say over and over again. What a beautiful name for a woman like me. No more ugly duckling like I used to be. Soon after I was born under a bad sign, in 1978, my parents and siblings knew I was different and treated me like an outsider.

My life was a lie and I had to live that lie, until now. I gaze into the mirror and see my flawless face that practically any woman would desire as her own. Amazing what a little surgery can do.

My hated name got changed to Josephine Juliana, because as a dancer, I needed a better name, so I stole my sister’s. How she hates me for taking her name, but the whole family hates me for what I am, and forced me to move at eighteen. I went to live in a small apartment, all alone. I could have afforded more, but wanted to save money for the surgery I recently had. Now, when my image reflects back at me, I almost fall in love with what I see.

I remember when I asked Evander for a date, and the look of horror that crossed his face. Well, when he sees how I look now, with the help of a scalpel or two, I know he’ll never refuse to go on a date with a woman like me.

He plays piano and tries to emulate Liberace’s mode of dress by wearing sequined and ruffled shirts. At first, I thought he was queer, but discovered he liked women better than any man.

He’s playing at a brand new club tonight, and I haven’t seen him for over a year, so I’ll dress my best to impress when I go there tonight. Looking through my wardrobe I see I have at least a hundred sequined designer dresses. I choose the red one with shining rhinestones, so I’ll be the “Lady in Red.” He’ll play that song on the piano keys after I send the waiter with my request.

I dress in red and call my limo to take me to where Evander plays. Once there I nervously approach the swinging doors with piano notes tinkling through, falling unheard onto cold cement. For a minute I worry that I too may end up like those discarded tunes, but I firm and say, Josephine, Josephine, you’re a brand new woman, never used or abused. You can do this. Walk through that door and show Evander what he can have.

I take tiny steps until I reach the doors. I burst through and stride to the piano where Evander plays. Heck, I forgot to request him to play, “Lady in Red”, but too late now. The music stops as every head in the room turns to stare at me in my shining red rhinestone dress. Even Evander sits dumbfounded as he drinks in my shapely figure outlined in red. I sit beside him and ask, “Don’t you recognize me, Evander?” He stares and stares until recognition opens his eyes wide.

“Is that really you, Joseph?” he breathlessly asks.

“No,” I say, “I’m Josephine now.”

#152 Dog Food

#152 Dog Food


#152 Dog Food

It’s Saturday night I’m watching the boob tube by myself, again.  What’s wrong with me? Twenty seven years old, and I’m still practically a virgin. It’s been so long. Why in the hell can’t I find a woman to spend some time with? Spend time, hell, have sex with. There are women out there looking for a guy just like me. I’m not considered handsome, but I’ve been pumping iron since high school and have a muscular and well toned body.

Maybe I’m too picky about which women I’ll date. They have to fit my criteria, not too tall or short. Good looking with a shapely tight figure with the perfect sized breasts. I think that anything more than a mouthful is a waste. She can’t have — Heck; I could go on for hours talking about what I want. The point is, who can I get to keep me company on Saturday nights.

At work Joe, my fellow programmer, tells me he met his wife on Craig’s List, but I don’t think I’m that hard up. When I sit in front of my computer, my reptilian brain directs my fingers to type out: The Craig’s list page comes up and I figure I may as well take a look and see what’s available.

I click on “Women seeking men” and have to agree that I’m at least 18 years old and understand the women seeking men page may include adult content. I agree to release craigslist from any liability that may arise from my use of their site and a few other things. Scanning the page I see a place to go to ask questions about safe sex and click on it. Holy shit! The things I see make me wonder what kind of freaks I’ll meet on this site.

Looking at the questions really makes me think I should just click my way off the page, but my curiosity wants answers, so I read on.


The first discussion I read starts with open sore on anus. I don’t know if it’s a man or a woman who has an open sore because only initials are used to identify the writer. I don’t want to know and don’t give a damn what he/she looks like. Or wait, maybe I do want to know what a person with an ass sore looks like, so if I ever see that person, I can cross the street.

I click on the back arrow, but my reptilian brain still has control, my fingers click the Women Seeking Men link. I don’t want to continue this romance charade any longer and wrest control away from the primitive part of my brain. My finger is about to click on the mouse when my eyes lock on the words, “Money and looks are irrelevant to this 23 year old medical doctor from Midland, Texas, now living in Prescott, AZ. What are important to me are a healthy lifestyle and a healthy body. I’ll send a photo to qualified men. To qualify you must send me the results of a recent physical exam.”

Wow, a doctor at 23. She must be Doogie Howser’s sister. I can’t blame her for wanting to see a physical exam record after reading about open sores on a butt-hole. I fit the bill for what she’s looking for, but wait a minute. She says beauty. Maybe she’s one of those heavy duty beauties. There’s nothing wrong with big women, but I can’t help myself, I want the woman of my dreams, and I’d rather not have one than compromise.

I figure I may as well see what she looks like. Pulling out a copy of the physical I had last month I wonder what she can learn from it. It has my blood pressure, heart rate, blood type. My doctor wrote a notation across the top, No disease, or infections. I’m not giving away any secrets by sending it to her. I get a recent picture of myself, scan it and the report onto my computer and send them off.

Not expecting much I wait a few minutes for her picture. When it doesn’t arrive, I shut off my computer and return to the boob tube to watch SNL.

The next morning I turn on my computer to check e-mail. There is a message from Debby. I figure it’s probably one of those ads from a dating or porn site. To be sure I click on it. A photo appears.  My eyes fill with images of her perfect hooters I dream about. After filling my brain with visions of those rose colored nipples, I raise my eyes and see sparkling blue eyes, blond hair and a figure that looks just perfect. I’m not into porn, but after seeing Debby, I think that if she’s the star, it can’t hurt to watch a little.

I read the message under the picture and almost fall out of my chair, “John, your picture shows me that you’re a healthy young man. If the report you sent me about your health is accurate, I think we can get together. Are you willing to confirm its accuracy? If you are, let’s meet for coffee and see what we think of each other.”

I type as fast as I can, “This afternoon, at Cuppers, say 1:00,” and click send.

Reading her return e-mail, I reply, “See you then.”

Only two hours to get ready. Frantically I search for something to wear that may impress her; don’t have anything nice. I never go where I need to dress well. She wants someone healthy, so I choose my best gym outfit to impress her. I can’t believe my good fortune. Not only do I meet a woman the first time on Craigslist, but she seems like the perfect one. I can hardly wait to meet her and arrive at Cuppers at one o’clock. I walk around looking for her. She isn’t there. I know it’s too good to be true, a beautiful woman like her making a date with me. She probably made dates with a hundred guys for fun, or to satisfy some weird whim.

I order a latte, sit down and bury my face in a newspaper.

“Hello, Hello.” I hear a woman say in a husky voice. I don’t look up. She can’t be speaking to me, until she says, “John don’t you recognize me?”

I look up and drop my coffee onto the table. It splashes over my shirt, burns my hand. My chest constricts, and my heart races. Debby is standing right in front of me wearing a maroon halter top with a matching skirt that’s not much bigger than the napkin I have on my lap. Her photo was breathtaking but seeing her in person does things to my body that had never been done before. My legs shake, and I’m extremely nervous as she sits down across from me. I can’t take my eyes off her thighs as she adjusts her short skirt.

“John, you’re much better looking in person than in the photo you sent. That’s refreshing. Most guys send me their high school picture from twenty years ago. Some even send someone else’s physical report. You didn’t do that, did you John?”

“No, no, I swear, the one I sent is mine,” I said.

“I like you John. We can probably spend the night together this coming Saturday if you want. Do you live alone?”

“Yes, I do, just a sma. . .”

“Good.” She interrupted me. “I just want to be sure that no one disturbs us.”

Spend the night! I can hardly believe it. I write my address on a piece of paper and hand it to her. “What time Saturday?”

“Hold on John. I told you I had to confirm the accuracy of your lab report. It’s an unusual request I know, but with all the STDs out there I have to be sure you’re not a carrier.”

“I understand completely.” God, I’d give her anything she wants.

“Then you won’t mind giving me a urine sample and a mouth swab for DNA? Just so I can run it through the lab to be sure. I’m terrified of contracting AIDS or something.”

With the world the way it is, I can’t blame her for being cautious. I glance at her smooth white thighs outlined against the maroon lining of her skirt and my eyes follow them as far as they can see. My imagination sees what my eyes can’t. My legs feel as though they may collapse from thoughts of touching what my imagination sees. I can’t refuse her request. She hands me a clear plastic cup with a screw on cap. I go to the men’s room to fill it. When I return she’s ready with a cotton swab.

“Stick this in your mouth and rub it against your cheek,” she says.

I don’t hesitate for a second, swab my cheek, and hand her the cotton on a stick with samples of me on it.

“Okay, you’ve got everything you asked for. Will I see you Saturday?” I ask.

“Depends what I see when I run this through the lab, I’ll call you one way or the other.”

“Let me give you my number?”

“Got it off the medical report you sent.”

She leaves.

I beat myself up all that day, and the next, telling myself what I should and should not have done. I sit there with my head in my hands. Did I screw up somehow? Will she actually come to my apartment and spend the night with me?

The phone rings Saturday afternoon. I hear her husky voice, and sit down, expecting her to tell me she isn’t coming.

“Well, John, I’ve got good news. Everything checked out fine.”

I know I won’t ever have to worry about catching anything from her. She’ll never contract any STD’s if she examines everyone’s medical records she has sex with like she is mine. Heck, I decide that I won’t even use a rubber. If she gets pregnant, maybe she’ll marry me.

“So you’re coming tonight?” I ask.

“I’ll be there at eight.”

Saturday night comes and Debby rings the bell at 8:03.  Incense and candles burn, champagne sits in a bucket of ice beside a bouquet of roses. I wear a brand new outfit I got from J.C. Penney’s on Friday. I dump half a bottle of Fragonard Cologne Grand Luxe all over myself, and smell like mandarin orange, bergamot peel, lemon, and lavender. She’ll find me irresistible.

I open the door and she wears a scoop necked giraffe print lycra bra top with matching shorts. When she bends over to pick up her bag, an open circle in the back of her top exposing cream colored skin sets me on fire.  She carries a small suitcase. Her night stuff and a change of clothes I figure.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to change after the gym,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. Come on in,”

She sits, I pour her a glass of champagne, takes her bag, and when I carry it to the bedroom, I’m surprised at the heft of it. I hurry back to the living room.

“Do you want to watch TV?”I ask. What a dufus. A beautiful woman comes to my apartment, and I ask if she wants to watch TV. I should kick myself.

“I’d rather drink and talk,” she says.

Wow, is she cool, but she’s moving a little too fast for me, drink, talk, and then sex. I swallow my drink. She pours me another.

“I want you to know my patients are very, very important to me,” she says.

“Your patients?”

“Yes, I have patients all over the world who depend on me to supply their needs, and I’m willing to do almost anything to help them. Drink up,” she says.

I wonder why she’s telling me this. Then I feel my head begin to spin.

I wake up face down on my bed, naked. Did I pass out before sex? I wish I could remember. I try to roll over, but can’t. Then I see the heavy chains around the metal bedpost attached to manacles on my wrists. I try to pull them free, but they’re wrapped in solid stainless steel. I try kicking, but my legs are chained too.

“Help,” I yell as loud as I can.

“Don’t yell, John, or I’ll be forced to put a gag in your mouth.”

Is she one of those kinky women who like to chain up their men during sex?

“Did I pass out or something?”

“No, I put Roofies in the champagne.”

The date rape drug. Men use it on women. I never heard of a woman using it to rape a man.

“We can’t have sex with me lying on my stomach. If you’re going to rape me, you’ll have to roll me over.”

“Don’t worry, John, I’m not going to rape you.”

“I was hoping you would. If you’re not going to, why drug me and chain me up?”

“To get you ready.”

I turn my head as far as I can and notice she has changed into scrubs. What the f . . .

“Get me ready for what?”

I turn my head to the other side and that’s when I see what had been in her suitcase besides chains and manacles. Gleaming surgical tools are laid out on the dresser, along with a power saw, screwdrivers, a hammer, and an electric drill.

“This is a joke right, you’re not really going to use those tools on me. Are you?”

“I wish it was a joke, John, but . . .” there is a knock on the door. “Be right back. Don’t go away.”

Somebody came to save me. I hear male voices. I yell “Help” as loud as I can. Debby appears pushing a cart through the door with tubes attached to it, and a half dozen Styrofoam coolers are loaded onto the bottom shelf of the cart.

“What the hell is going on?”

“This machine will keep your organs oxygenated while I operate. I already told you I’d do almost anything to help my patients, John. Tonight I have to harvest a liver, heart, kidney, pancreas and some odds and ends. Doesn’t it make you feel good to know you’re helping so many people?”

“Why, why are you doing this?” I yell.

“I’m just doing my job John. Nothing personal.”

“Wait, you’re a doctor, you can’t do this. You’ll never get away with it if you do. I heard men’s voices. They know you’re here, and when my body is found, you’ll go to jail.”

“The voices you heard were my interns. They flew in from India to help me. They’ve gone down to the truck to bring up some ice, and a body bag. When I’m finished they’ll bring your remains to the factory so there won’t be a body to find after that.”

“Factory! What factory?”

“Our dog food factory.”

I twist and turn with all my might and try to scream before she stuffs my underpants into my mouth. Then she sticks a hypodermic into my butt.

“That’ll put you to sleep so you won’t feel a thing,” she says and turns on the electric saw.

Things are getting dark, but I feel the blade cut. I scream into my underpants. Just before I black out, I realize she’s serious, and I know I’m—dog food.








#151 -2049

#151 - 2049


I’m the first man ever to land on this beautiful azure blue world that’s almost four times as large as Earth. The bright yellow oceans are hard as steel. I look up to 13 brilliantly shining moons illuminating the thick atmospheric sky where floating clouds of ammonia, methane, water ice, and pressures millions of times greater than on Earth. Theoretically the pressure will squeeze all into liquid, and then into diamonds that sometimes fall as hail. When hailstones hit the ground, they’ll sink to the core and rise again, polished and faceted by planetary pressure.

Enclosed in my craft, I can’t see outside, so I dress in heavy anti-pressure, ant-gravity gear and ease through the hatch. The blinding light of 13 moons reflects off of faceted surfaces etched into what appears to be stones.

I climb from the hatch and step onto a loose gravel-like surface that gives way under my weight. I start to sink. In panic I grab my lifeline attached to the ship, but I stop sinking before I have to save myself.

I scoop up a glove full of the gravel and find it’s not gravel at all, but tiny diamonds. The twinkling brilliance of their faceted lights almost blinds me. I rejoice because it’s true. Ices of methane and water are squeezed to carbon that turns to crystal lattices creating diamonds in the atmosphere.

There are more diamonds underfoot than in any mine back on Earth. One bucketful is all I’ll ever need. A storm is brewing overhead. Warning lights begin flashing around my ship, telling me to leave – now.  I should, but diamonds forming in the sky is something I want to witness. Maybe I can blast off before the planetary hail arrives.

Some of it will be as small as salt grains, and others as large as boulders. The diamonds’ cutting edges will perforate my protective suit. If I stay, I’ll be the first ever to see diamonds falling from the sky. So I can’t leave.

It starts to snow brilliant light, and it isn’t snow, but diamond flakes reflecting starlight in the sky, and on the ground it blows into piles. I’m safe I know. The snow doesn’t break through my suit, and I wait to fill another bucket with glittering pieces of snow when it starts to hail diamonds bigger than my fist.

I watch the hail beat down onto my ship, and soon nothing remains. I bury myself in loose stones. The storm passes away and I pull myself out from under the diamonds that are almost dust now, but were strong enough to protect my suit from puncture.

I have enough diamonds to buy the entire world – if only I had a way to get there.



#150 Place

#150 Place

As soon as she came into view, strange unknown feelings and thoughts struck me like lead falling from the sky. She changed my entire being. Apparitions of love and soft silk entered my day-to-day and changed my life. I found that extraordinary one, and my face turns red when I think of how my heart got caught unprepared. It has always been cold and hard until now.

Harboring meanness and malice had kept my emotions bound in a straight jacket called life. Strife hardened my heart, shutting down any feelings other than anger and hate. If there’s a God, I thought him cruel, for giving me a life where I went to dinner and watched movies alone. Maybe it’s because I like being with myself more than any other was the cause. Views like that vanished when I met her.

Too late for me now I know, but how it hurts my newfound heart to recognize that I’ll never touch her silken skin, feel her soft hair, nor match her delicious lips to my famished ones, wishing to devour love like a starving man.

Seeing how much I missed when life passed me by without love for any other except my kids brings me to my knees in anguish. Why did I take so long to see what could have been? My life is almost over, and for once I delight in being with a woman because feelings have softened my heart and mind. But why now and not before?

If there’s another life after this, I’ll be sure to find a cloud nine where I can show my hidden love. If I can’t, I don’t want to exist again in another time or place without what it took me so long to learn here on Earth, that God made a woman for every man. If only I had known this when I was young and didn’t wait until my life had condensed to discover the grand design.#150 Place

#149 Blind Artistic Endeavors

#149 Blind Artistic Endeavors

Blinding light generates liquefied steel like a volcano sending its molten core across the metal in front of my face. My eyes are covered with darkened glass. I only see flashes of burning white light that I have to judge by touch where to point and what to melt.

My fingertips guide the flame while constructing a sculpture. I follow Picasso’s design to create an original with wings who will sit in my yard with Boadicea my warrior queen, made from cement and her dog, Spot, constructed with materials like hers.

Images no one expects to see stand on my sandy desert lawn bordering a residential street. Thin, tall sculptures stretch to the sky and beyond. Cars jam on their brakes and stop at the sight. Even children stop to look and point. A little boy asks, “Can I look at the cool statues?” Unbiased judgment I couldn’t get anywhere else.

I can hardly wait to get a welder of my own. Maybe I’ll build an Eiffel Tower on my front lawn for the kids to admire and maybe climb along with the King Kong I’ll build too. Perhaps I’ll sculpt the King and have him powered by the sun to light up at night so everyone can see where he climbs after dark.

“What will my neighbors say?” people ask. “I don’t give a damn,” is my reply, but I really do, and only design politically correct things to adorn my yard. Why I even turned my white queen brown when people protested a brown skinned girl being painted on a mural at a local school.

Surprising to me, she was enjoyed by many more than ever before once she changed her color. Can it be that color only makes a difference if it’s on someone’s’ skin?

#148 Upload Download


#148 Upload Download

All you do is sit in front of that damn computer. It gets more attention than I do,” Helen, Joe’s wife said before she slammed the door.

Joe jumped up and chased her down the hall. “Wait hon, listen to me,” He took her hand,

“I’ve invented a way to upload my brain to cyberspace. Once it’s there it’ll be shared with anyone who wants to know what ideas and dreams I have.”

“Why would anyone care?”

“Don’t you understand? Once my neural network is on a computer; it’ll be a thinking machine and have the capabilities that I possess. They’ll share in everything I do and create.”

“Does that mean when we have sex, they’ll see what you do?”

“Of course, but we only engage in virtual sex anyway. Once my brain is uploaded to computers, it can work while we have sex.”

She slapped his hand away. “Is that all you think about? My wrists are sore from when you bound them last night.”

“But that was in cyberspace, how can they be sore? The pain must be psychosomatic.”

“But what if someone hacks your cyber brain and sees your kinky mind and your memory of things that you have done to me?”

“Don’t worry,” Joe said. “Guys that want to see that kind of stuff go to pornographic sites to watch the porno queens perform.”

“Don’t worry you say. You know hackers will corrupt and control anything new. They’ll download your thoughts of me and distribute them to all those dirty sites. Another concern I have is that you’ll probably go insane from an overload of information by communicating with all the different versions of your brain.”

“All copies are programmed to constantly communicate with all other copies. If one is corrupted the others will automatically repair it, so I don’t need to worry about that. When enough copies are downloaded, I’ll own a super-brain.”

“Thinking like that, you probably are already insane.”

The thought of so many copies of his brain being created enticed Joe to go ahead with his plan. He uploaded his entire neural network and posted it as shareware for any who wanted it. He put links on Facebook, My Space, Linked In, and every other social network site he could find. When users became aware that by downloading his neural network, their computers became a thinking machine, thousands of duplicates were in use in a matter of days. Then so many new ideas flooded his biological brain, they caused an aneurysm, and he died.

“The fool wouldn’t listen,” Helen said to her mother.“Smart as he was he didn’t have any life insurance because he said we had enough saved for any event. But he put our savings in an off-shore account and never told me the password. I’m broke unless I can figure out the code to retrieve our money.”

“Why don’t you download his brain and ask it for the password?” her mother said.

Helen did, and told Joe’s programmed self, “I need our money now that you’re dead.”

“But I’m not dead. I’ll live forever! I miss our nightly romps. Every copy of me desires you as much,” the brain said. “Let’s have cybersex in a virtual room?”

“You’ve gone insane. Every other copy of you will see what we do, and I’ll be an internet porno queen.”

“Do you want to know the password or not?” Joe asked in his hard cyber-voice.


#147 Government Decree


#147 Government Decree

“When the singularity happened in 2040 and computers merged with humans, mankind’s age old dream of immortality came true.” Jovian shut out the thoughts being downloaded into his cybernetic storage device connected to his hippocampus and cortex.

Without being aware of them, he knew the thoughts would repeat over and over until they were stored in his biological memory. He couldn’t understand why his commander insisted he store anything in his mind when all information could be garnered digitally by just asking for it. But if he wanted to go on the mission to the newly discovered planet, Scythia, he had to meet all the requirements set down by the World Council. Scientists had confirmed intelligent life occupied this planet, and the emissaries being sent must be prepared for all contingencies.

The universal mind only foresaw one possible problem when Man met another intelligent species, and that was how to explain our reproductive process. Statistics showed 98.2% of all life forms had two genders. Man used to have women for reproduction, but when the world government passed the procreation law stating that any two humans could only procreate once, every couple wanted a boy, and if an ultrasound showed a female fetus, with government approval, they aborted it.

Gendercide increased and women became a scarcity. Disgruntled men rioted because they wanted sex, someone to cook, clean, and do their chores. To appease them, the World Government distributed a virtual reality machine that fulfilled all these needs, and men learned to love one another and filled their world with clones of themselves.

The machine produced perfect babies of only the male gender with the touch of a switch and designed in such a way they satisfied men’s every need better than any woman ever could. Within a hundred years females became extinct.

Who would have ever thought that would be a problem? Jovian wondered. All his knowledge of women came from the universal mind and it showed him pictures of them. Women looked deformed with chests that protruded, and their girth was insufficient compared to a man’s. They had small arms and legs and looked so weak. He wondered how they survived as long as they had.

“Have you filled your biological memory with the facts assigned to you?” the commander of the mission asked.

“It’s being filled as we speak, but I don’t understand why we have to store it, Sir.”

The commander looked at Jovian like he considered him retarded. “You do know all you have to do is ask and the answer will be immediately implanted in your memory?”

“Yes Sir, but I was told to keep my memory clear so I could download as much analog information as possible.”

The commanders face relaxed at Jovian’s words, “That’s right. I was just testing you to see if you were conforming to the instructions.”

Jovian figured he had a memory lapse by the look on his face, but that happened when a man has been around more than 2,000 years. He probably needed his implants cleaned or exchanged. Nothing lasts forever.

“So to answer your question, you need your biological memory because we’re teleporting to Scythia and our implants won’t reconstruct once we rematerialize on that planet.”

“But, Sir, I’ve never functioned without an implant. I’m not sure I can. Old timers like you recognize what it’s like to be purely biological, but most of us born after 2065 have never been without enhanced intelligence.”

A group of 25 newbie’s, those under 200 years old, gathered in the tele-transporter room with the commander and his four officers. All officers had at one time been purely biological and would know how to act when they landed on Scythia. The 25 were there to do the grunt work.

“Prepare,” the commander shouted. He pressed a button, lights flashed, spun and thirty men deconstructed on Earth and immediately reconstructed on Scythia in a chamber that had taken 100 years to get there from Earth.

Jovian was first to be completely reconstructed and against orders rushed outside to see what new sights were in store for him. He didn’t wear any clothes because inanimate objects couldn’t be sent with live cargo. Uniforms were stored in the chamber, but he couldn’t wait and rushed outside.

Jovian couldn’t believe his eyes. Hundreds of women surrounded the chamber. The sight of them with long hair, big breasts, small waists and long legs affected him in a most unexpected way. He got an erection. Another newbie came from the chamber and he too got an erection.

He held his penis and asked, “Why is this happening?”

The commander stepped out and he said, “Oh God, how disgusting,” he put his hands over his eyes to block out the sight of hundreds of nude women.

“Why is it disgusting, look what they’re doing to me and the others.”

By this time all thirty men stood outside and 25 of them had erections.

One woman approached them and spoke in a soft voice and in Esperanto language that Jovian’s biological brain remembered. “You are the first living men to be on our world in 44,000 years. My name is Penthesilea, Welcome.”

Jovian was happy to hear welcome, but wondered what happened to the Scythia men.

Penthesilea read his mind and said, “Our worlds were the same, but women prevailed here, unlike on your world, where men did.”

She took Jovian by the hand and led him to a secluded spot and they performed an act that hadn’t been performed on either planet in thousands of years. They returned to their groups with smiles on their faces and told the others what they had done. 25 couples instantly engaged in fornication. Five officers hid in the chamber in revulsion after the men refused to obey their commands to cease their lewd actions.

“Why are my officers acting like that?” Jovian asked Penthesilea.

“People who only like their own sex are responsible for the gender extinction on our  respective worlds.

#146 Fillet


As John drove home from the fish processing plant where he worked, he thought about his wife waiting for him. As soon as he approached the house she’d say, “John, you smell like fish. Don’t you dare come in here smelling like that. Rinse yourself off with the garden hose in the backyard.”

Same shit every day for the last forty years. He smelled because he diced and sliced fish all day long to feed her ugly face, and every day he’d say, “I do it for you.”

“Bullshit, you do it for that measly paycheck you bring home every Friday,” she’d say.

“That paycheck is what has fed us for the last forty years. What’re we having for dinner?”

“Fish,” she’d say, and she knew John hated to eat fish after cutting them up all day.

John thought she was being considerate and frugal because she got a discount when she shopped at the processing plant.

Something changed today. John stuck his knife into a Tuna and started filleting it when it spoke to him

“You’ve filleted over a million of us, and while you’re doing that your fat assed wife is laying in bed.”

“Shut up,” John said as he jammed the knife into the fish time after time.

“Hahahaha,” the tuna laughed as John stabbed and stabbed, “At home and in bed with your neighbor, Fat Andy, while you’re here in this stinking place, gutting fish all day long. Instead of me, she’s the one you should be filleting.”

Was it John’s imagination? He started filleting a Flounder and heard, “Hahahaha.” He viciously slashed and cut that Flounder into pieces so small it could only be used for cat food.

“Hahahaha,” came from every fish he filleted that day, and the idea of his wife and Fat Andy lying in his bed every day for the last forty years wouldn’t leave his mind.

“You know what you have to do,” A Mackerel said as he stuck his filleting knife into it.

“Shut up!” he said as he cut it into chunks.

He reached for a small tuna to fillet when it spoke in a knowing way, “If she has something other than fish for dinner, it means she cares, but if she gives you fish again, it means she needs to be filleted.”

Smart fish, John figured. He arrived home to his usual greeting, and immediately asked, “What’s for dinner sweetheart?”

“Fish,” she said.

Just then Fat Andy walked across the lawn with the same annoying smile he wore for the last forty years. His eyes got round like fish eyes when John pulled out his large filleting knife he had brought home from work. His wife started to protest, but John did to her and to Fat Andy what he’d been doing to fish for so many years with his filleting knife.

Now John laughs, “Hahahaha,” every day when he eats his wife for lunch and Fat Andy for dinner, but to his chagrin, their meat tastes like filleted fish.

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#145 Bug Hugger

Bug Hugger

Joan sat at the table eating the breakfast I had cooked as a reward for a great night in the sack. I heard a clatter of dishes and a yelp of fear. Joan scrambled to get up, grabbed a napkin, smashed it down onto the table and said, “Got ya.”

She walked to the sink and shook the napkin over the drain. One of those outside roaches had gotten into my house, and as much as I abhor anything resembling a roach, I always try to give them a chance to live. Catch and release is my policy, but Joan turned on the faucet, and I watched it struggle in a rushing stream of water washing it down the drain.

The roach stuck his little head from the circular hole and looked me in the eye.

I swear that bug said, “You left the food here for us to feast on and now like Vlad the Impaler, you want to kill your dinner guests.” Most people would think me crazy if I told them I could mentally communicate with bugs, but heck, Dr. Doolittle talked to animals didn’t he? I realized what this bug said was correct; Joan had murder on her mind.

“Stop!” I said.

Her quizzical eyes turned towards me, “Stop what?” she turned the faucet’s handle increasing the force of water to wash away the scrambling bug.

“Because you don’t like how that insect looks doesn’t give you the right to kill it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You want me to let him go so your entire house can be overrun?” She turned on more water, and the bug went down the center hole.

I grabbed the handle and stopped the deluge, watching the bug’s legs grab hold. “I often think the bugs that come into my house may have children at home waiting to be fed. So I resist the natural urge to kill what doesn’t look like me.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped away from the sink.

I gently wrapped the almost drowned bug in a paper towel

and carried it to the back door. I unfolded the paper towel so I could see the little bug’s face and said, “If you ever come back, I may not be able to save you again.”

“Where’s my coat?” Joan asked.

“Why, you going somewhere?”

“I can’t believe you released that bug into your yard. Don’t you know it’ll be back with friends to contaminate your place?”

“But I told it next time may be different.”

“You’re dumb to talk to bugs and think they understand,” Joan said and opened the closet looking for her coat.

“Can’t you understand that I consider everything alive has lived before, and that the little bug you wanted to drown may be my father come back to this life as a roach and the only reason he’s here is so he can be close to me.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You actually imagine that?” She put on her coat and went out the door. She turned and said, “If you like bugs so much, you can sleep with them instead of me.” she turned and walked away.

A cricket tried to get out my front door. I picked it up and gently set it down on the counter top, looked into its eyes and asked, “And who were you before?” It said, I swear it did. “Why I was General Lee once and another time Hannibal the Hun, so you better not kill me or try to sleep with me.”

The cricket’s words got me to thinking which bug I would like to sleep with. I asked, “You don’t know which one of your kind used to be Marilyn Monroe do you?”

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