Last Words

I thought I’d continue my short stories. This story was inspired by the vagrants I saw making love in the back seat of a derelict car. Best three bucks I ever spent.

I’m going to witness this man’s last words. What if I forget them?

“Here,” he strained, “take this key. It opens a safe. Crucial evidence. Without it, we won’t be able to—,“ he sputtered out. I stood and studied the key. It was rusty, long, and with a skull at the butt. Wait, what judge? And what does the key open? “Please stay. There’s more.” Ah, here we go. “Take the key to my house. In my bedroom you’ll find a painting. Behind the painting is a treasure chest. Use the--.”

“Use the key?”

“Use the key on the--.”

“Use the key on the treasure chest? You have a treasure chest?”

“Yes.” His eyes rolled into his head and he gave out. I’d never seen a man die. I’d also never held an authentic skeleton key. What the hell did I get myself into? “The judge,” so he wasn’t dead, “he’s in this building in room 304. Take my card, do as I told you. It’s important.” His last words. What valor.

I stood again and realized how fragile life was and the impact some have on others. Even though he was a stranger, I felt immensely sad at his being eternally gone.

I began walking away to complete my mission when I felt his hand grab my pants. “Before you go, sir, please I beg of you.”

“What is it?”

“Remove the dildo from my ass.”

To be continued.

A Serious Sci-Fi Story

I have a couple friends who’ve begun to write stories. I figured it was about time I did the same. Folks, this is a very serious sci-fi love story.

The year was one billion AD and Mecha Christ 9000 had just captured moon base alpha-z.

“General, we’ve taken the moon base and received the unconditional surrender of the zombie robot overlord,” I told Mecha Christ 9000. I hadn’t started questioning Mecha Christ 9000’s motives until he asked us to attack moon base alpha-z. Our real enemies were the mutant dragon tamers who, for the past three months, had been stealing the sun. The zombie robots were just in the wrong place at the wrong time (between us and the sun, on moon base alpha-z in the year one billion AD).

I had nothing against the zombie robots. Hell, I had a few zombie robot friends in high school. What was I still doing participating in this godforsaken war? I could run away. It would be easy, but would you abandon the ninth incarnation of the mechanical savior himself?

This moral dilemma would drive most men insane, but my mind was always occupied. All I could think of was her, my love, the perfect woman. She was made of pure energy and waiting for me in the 7^th dimension. I told her I’d write, but it was nearly impossible after Mecha Christ 9000 had uploaded my brain waves onto the ultrainternet. I mean, how am I supposed to write when my arms are wires and my hands are keyboards? Sure, I could ultra-e-mail her, but she’s frowned upon the ultrainternet ever since it absorbed part of her consciousness. It was a crazy love story and she’s never liked talking about it.

I was about to go on break when: “General, we’re under attack. The Mutagons are flinging bits of the sun at our hull.”

To be continued.

Inspiration

Sometimes certain things trigger a flicker of creative energy within me.

It happens. For some it’s a line from a poem (In the room the women come and go / Talking of Michelangelo.) For others an image: Caravaggio, perhaps Ingres.

For others still maybe a scent, a nostalgic stir of events as an aroma wafts its way into your thoughts: maybe cotton candy and a carnival, or bourbon and a well-placed electrical cord across your ass.

I once wrote a love sonnet for a girlfriend. People asked if it was a poem, an image, or a scent that inspired me. I told them that it was that one time I was at the zoo when a rogue gorilla attempted to rape a slippery dolphin.

But really, creative energy can be extracted from anything. Things I’ve written in the past often liven up my thoughts, as does standing on my porch a bit drunk, watching the city lights and having a cigarette while pissing onto the barren lot next door.

Lately, though, I’ve been tapping my good friend’s description of his music: “riding a train along a coast on a cloudy day, a night time drive through new york city, a walk through desolate snowed out woods.” I love scenery and he does a good job of describing what his music evokes in someone. aíme, good stuff.

I’d like to say it’s what inspired this entry, but that was the work of my greatest muse, and she’s currently being processed by my liver.

Oh That Sasquatch

I was camping once, minding my own business. I was with a woman in a tent, pleasing her and whatnot.

I rose from her crotch to see a look of horror on her face. It was a look I’d grown accustomed to over the years. She was frozen with fear but was able to throw a glance to the side of the tent. I turned and was met by the red-eyed gaze of a curious sasquatch. I slipped out from within the tent and confronted the perverted beast.

“Friend?” He managed retardedly before I punched the fucker in the face.

April Fool's!

Top Pranks Inflicted on frank by

Friends:

“Yeah, frank, it’s chocolate cake. Eat it.”

“Yeah, frank, it’s lemonade. Drink it.”

“Yeah, frank, it's real Almond Roca. Eat it.”

“You have to understand it’s April Fool’s day. Here, have a cigar.”

"What am I going to do with this giant mallet? What am I going to do with this giant mallet?" Not bludgeon you is what I'm going to do, frank."

"Guess what, frank, today's your lucky day."

Women:

“Of course I’m over 18/not married/on birth control/female.”

Fictional Characters:

“Don’t worry, the star will make you invincible.”

“Welcome to Jurassic Park. You must try the Almond Roca, I made them myself.”

"I'll be back."

Parents:

“Que?”