Archive for the ‘My Short Stories’ Category
Xavier wasn’t the smartest kid to call Maplewood High School his own. To tell you the truth, he was practically the only 18-year-old to not have graduated in the little town of Kumina.
One day, while walking home from smoking dope downtown, Xavier witnessed a brutal hobo beating in the park. One hobo was even clever enough to take off his nasty hobo hat and was now using it to take bets on his buddy’s fight. Xavier rushed over to place a bet of his own, but had no cash due to the dub he had purchased earlier. “I’ll pay in weed man, I’ll pay in weed!!!” exclaimed Xavier as he frantically searched for his purchase. The bookie took his ‘dirty money’ and Xavier was in!
The bums fought viciously for close to five rounds, nearing six. The one that had the shark-tooth necklace seemed to have given up. Good thing Xavier bet on the other hobo! Forty bucks, seven bums, two hours later, Xavier looked back on his day as an overall success and cracked a smile. “Life is good, man. Plain and fucking simple.”
Hi. My name is Sam. I carry my vacuum everywhere I go. His name is Beaner. Beaner has these wicked little claws that come out from under him whenever I find one a’ those pesky Snow-Mamas in my yard. Beaner gets the job done right, too. No prisoners, ohhhh no.
Like this one time, a Snow-Mama and her child had made refuge in the east corner of my front yard. I think that damn neighbor kid Henry might have made ‘em. Bastard. Anyways, I fired up ol’ Beaner and dismembered that Snow-Mama.
Her child was awfully cute though, so I had my way with her. Repeatedly. In my yard. In the middle of December. She kept screaming, “Stop! Get away!, but I think that was just because when I switched to doggy-style, she caught a glimpse of her mother’s puddle on the ground. She’ll get over it though. They always do.
Hi my name is Sam. And I rape Snow-Babies.
Okay, so oh my gosh. Santa was walking down a road and all of a sudden he sees Mr. Happy Face and Mr. Happy Face says, “Hey Santa wanna play a game?” Santa says, “What kinda game?” Mr. Happy Face says, “Dinner….yea, dinner.” Santa says, “Holy shit, run!” So fat fuck Santa started to run. Mr. Happy Face says, “You can run fat fuck, but you can’t hide!” Santa says, “Fuck you bitch!”
So Mr. Happy Face and Santa were running for hours but finally Santa had to slow down so Mr. Happy Face caught up and caught him and ate him for dinner. Santa was no longer.
Then the saving Rudolph came and started kicking ass and saved Santa from Mr. Happy Face. Too bad for Mr. Happy Face, cuz Santa was already dead. That sucks. Christ Christ Jesus.
Freddy was always the coolest kid in the class.
Umbrellas were nothing to him.
Crazy Freddy would never have anything to do with those crazy things.
Kids would never question his strange hostility towards them, but were always left wondering.
You always knew when Freddy had arrived at school.
Other than the long trails of water on the floor, Freddy would have an orchestra of dark-skinned white people playing tubas behind him.
Umbrellas not included.
One foggy Friday night, walking home from my performance with the Rolling Stones (we were in NYC that night), I heard a noise to my left, somewhere beneath the twisted twigs and branches of this old maple tree. It was really dark, and I couldn’t see anything, so using my wicked awesome telekinesis skills, I contortioned the streetlamp (imagine the Pixar lamp) so it would face the maple tree. As I did, Kermit the Frog leaped out at me from behind, a bottle of chloroform in one hand and a balled up handkerchief in the other. He knocked me out cold almost instantly. The last thing I remember was the evil smile on Mrs. Piggy’s wrinkly face, and her snorting violently as she slowly emerged from under that maple tree.
When I finally regained consciousness, I found myself strapped down with miles and miles of bungee cord pinning me to this 500 foot red rocket. Twisting my head around, I managed to catch a glimpse of the name of this gigantic monster that now held my life in its hands…..or bungee cords. “Squatting Turtle”. Great, I thought to myself. Death is going to find my charred remains somewhere up in outer space attached to a red rocket called “Squatting Turtle”. Lovely.
Still very much confused on this whole situation, I tried to make some sense out of it. However, I couldn’t understand why this crazy little frog along with his pig-of-a-sidekick, had buckled himself in right next to me. Seeing the absurd expression on my face, he half-smiled at me and exclaimed out of the side of his mouth, “We’re gonna go visit Mars, my friend!” Before I could ask why in the aych-e-double hockey sticks I was the chosen companion on this insane mission, the rocket’s double piston engines gave an ear-shattering screech and began to slowly propel upward into the darkness.
Highly opposing this whole “space” idea, I yet again used my wicked awesome telekinesis skills to loosen the bungee cords tightened uncomfortably around my wrists, making sure that these 2 lunatics on the sides of me were still glued to this reddish beast. After about 7-8 seconds, I fell from the rocket into an acre of soft cozy cotton trees below. Dusting these cotton balls off the ripped cuffs of my favorite jeans, I glanced up to see Kermit and Mrs. Piggy staring down at me, disappointment and regret lingering on their faces. The only thing I thought to do was wave goodbye. And so I did. Farewell my crazy friends, farewell.
There once was a 502 pound bear named Yogi Bareass. (Everybody called him Bareass for short, cuz he usually waddled around naked. ’Twas all good though cuz his rolls covered everything that needed to be covered.)
One bright morning in December, Yogi woke up from his bed and ran outside because ‘wow’ it was snowing. Once he got outside, he noticed he was nippin’, but this was no ordinary nippin’. Yogi’s nipples (all 4 of them; he had a double nip on each side) had frozen solid and turned white.
Yogi was freaking out and couldn’t stop touching them. So he decided to go visit his old friend Hershey. She was a 2,000 pound cow. Yogi arrived at Hershey’s pasture about 3.5 hours later, even though she lived like 2 houses down. (His thighs were chaffing, so he had to stop to rub lotion on them along the way.) When he told her about his problem, she was like, “I think I can help. Bend down here so I can take a lick. Errr…look.” When Yogi bent over, Hershey licked all his frozen nipples and turned them all back to normal again. Amen.