“Sorry, unfinished business and all that,” Michael’s ghost said with transparent feet propped up on the coffee table. He was watching Toddlers & Tiaras on TLC.

“This is also part of my unfinished business. I need to finish this marathon.”

“It sounds less like unfinished business, and more like you’re just too lazy to move on,” Robert growled. “Just at least let me vacuum your room. The neighbors are starting to talk about the smell.”

“Dude, do you want me to stay haunting this apartment for the rest of your mortal life, or do you want to help give my spirit peace?”

Robert sighed, “I want to give you peace.”

“Good,” Michael said, “Start by bringing me a piece of pie.” Michael’s spirit scratched his ethereal rear end and hawked an ecto-plasmic loogie.

It’s 12:54 AM and I should be working;
Instead my mind keeps drifting off to
Other things I could be doing with my time

It’s 1:03 AM and I should be doing something;
Instead I’m watching clips on YouTube
Of skits featuring the Interrupter
From Late Night with Conan O’Brien.

It’s 5:42 AM and I should really stop watching Conan clips;
Instead I have become psychologically dependent
On blurry snippets transferred digitally from VHS tapes.

It’s 9:16 AM and I should be at work;
Instead I’m asleep.

The axe said nothing.

“You won’t defend yourself?” said the lumberjack. “How can you? My logic is unassailable.”

The axe said nothing.

“You cannot cut my meat like a knife, and you cannot warm my house in the winter, either,” said the lumberjack. “Can you do anything at all?”

Jim and Ted swiveled around in their chairs in unison with puzzled faces.

“This is an office, Gerald,” Jim said. “There’s only paper in the trash.”

“It’s not exactly unsanitary,” Ted added.

“Is it in the trash? Is trash filthy?” They were more statements than questions. “Is this a farm or an office?”

Ted sighed, “It’s an office.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Gerald snarled.

How did it get this bad? He asked himself in his darkened room. It should have ended differently.

“Time for the inauguration,” an aide slipped in and said, and then with an added flourish, “Mister President.”

Jack sighed. This is going to be a long four years.

Sam pondered over his sheet of paper with the words “BUCKET LIST” at the top underlined twice for emphasis. He tapped his pencil in frustration.

“What do you want to accomplish with your life, Sam? You only have a limited amount of time on this planet.”

Sam penciled a bullet point and scribbled “write a Bucket List.”

“Without a purpose, life is aimless and meaningless,” Theresa was in her own world now.

Sam crossed out his only item. “Done,” he said. “I have now lived life to the fullest.”

I remember seeing it walking down the path. I remember seeing it returning up that same path as the day was ending. The ocean was a deep purple. The sky was pink.

It has been nearly twenty-five years since I last beheld the Pacific with my own eyes. Someday I will again.

Half a century ago the path among the trees was lined with lights and attractions. Now it was like a shrine to simpler times, a grove dedicated to a distant past, a graveyard of happiness.

The skeletal remains of The Red Cyclone still remained, though most of it was rusted and rotten. We walked along the tracks as far as we could go. In the crisp morning air, among the mists clinging to the damp ground, ghosts from 1964 still were weeping for lives cut disastrously short.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Heather said with lips pursed, head bobbing, and finger pointed to the sky. “I do what I want, and no man will tell me otherwise.” Heather proceeded into the street, the palm of her hand outstretched toward the rude man. “I do what I want,” she repeated.

Heather was hit by an oncoming city bus.

Moral of the story: Always follow high authority figures, like crossing guards. It could save your life.

“I ordered the Avant Garde Macaroni at fifty bucks a bowl, and you gave me Kraft Macaroni and Cheese™!”

The waiter chuckled, “I assure you, sir, that is not Kraft. This macaroni was made with the finest ingredients money can buy.”

The patron hesitantly tasted the pasta in front of him again just to make sure he was not mistaken somehow. “It tastes like cardboard and powered cheese!”

“Of course it does! Do you know how hard it is to make fresh ingredients taste like cardboard and powered cheese? The chef is a genius!”

Two children holding tadpole nets walk down what used to be the center of the river, looking for one of the few remaining puddles that still contains aquatic life.

A man with a bucket full of fish-food rides his bike from one puddle to the next, distributing the store-bought pellets as he sees fit. “Just trying to do my part,” he says as he passes.

But today Arthur was going to change all of that. Today he would dismantle his life and mantle it back again.

Arthur started with mind exercises to combobulate his brain. Then he ironed his clothes and sheveled his hair and left for work a new man. With resolute determination he greeted everyone with a gruntled “Hello.” By the end of the day he was optimistic, feeling jected.

Think for Yourself – October 8, 2010

The Unwitting Badgey Artist- Part 2 – September 3, 2009

Haylea glanced over to the delicately framed picture of Sam with Jill’s face crudely cut out surrounded by a thousand intricately placed candles. “Yyyyyyes.” She said hesitantly.

“Why did you build a shrine to my boyfriend?” Jill asked.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. He’s a cool guy.” Haylea folded her arms and raised her eyebrows in defiance.

“The big deal is he’s my boyfriend. Also, how did you set this up so fast? I was only gone like twenty seconds.”

“I had it set up a while ago. It’s been underneath the large sheet on my side of the room.”

Jill blinked with confusion. “You had a sheet covering over the shrine?”

“Yeah, for about the past week,” Haylea said.

“I’m not very observant, I guess…”

Haylea pursed her lips. “No. No you’re not.”

“Okay,” Jill said closing the door behind her, “Have fun with your shrine.”

“Kay.”

A few seconds later Jill reentered the room finding Haylea wearing a ceremonial mask (Sam’s face with eye-holes cut out). “Still forgot my keys.” Jill picked them up and hurried back out. “Bye.”

“What’s the haul for this evening, gentlemen?” Cigar embers gave Mason’s face a demonic red glow.

“Twenty-seven wedding rings, thirty fillings, two gold teeth, five watches, twenty-two slightly used tuxedos in various sizes . . .” Giraldo monotonously rattled off the list.

Mason grinned, chewing slightly on his almost nonexistent cigar. “Excellent.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it’s worth all the effort of digging up graves,” Malarkey, one of the new guys, grumbled as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

A large meaty hand latched onto Malarkey’s throat. Mason’s eyes twitched, “Do you know how much they get you on tuxedo rentals nowadays? It’s highway robbery!”

“Okay, okay,” Malarkey gasped, “Sorry I said anything.”

“I detest robbery,” Mason continued, “It’s disgusting what people will do nowadays for just a few more bucks.”

My collection of short stories and illustrations, Momentary Lapses into Sanity, is now available to purchase on Amazon. This book contains 125 short stories, over 70 illustrations, and FIVE Tyrannosaurus rexes! That’s FOUR more than Jurassic Park! And I haven’t even mentioned the time travel, aliens, romance, a cookie-loving rhinoceros, and so much more!

Melissa, an apprentice with dreams of her own small café still dancing in her head, had memorized this speech and mouthed the words as Rupert continued. “Anyone can fry an egg! Only the very best can bake a pastry just right.”

Over the course of seven months, Melissa found Rupert’s statements enlightening, then dull, then stale, then horrendous, then aggravating, then hilarious. Now she found them endearing.

Memories of Kali came crashing into Hal’s mind like ocean waves. Constant, undaunting, endless. Steadily peeling away the layers of sand hiding his soul.

Hal stared at the name etched in sand, and wondered how long it had been since she last thought of him. He lied to himself saying this would be the last time he would think of her.

“You make me sick,” I say. He mouths the same words mockingly.

“Where do you get off?” I ask as he continues to mock me, “You used to be somebody. Now you’re just– ugh, I can’t stand it.” I turn away from the mirror. He probably does the same.

“You know what your problem is?” I’m sure he’s still mouthing my words behind my back. “You’ve changed. I just don’t know you anymore!” I storm from the bathroom.

I knew I shouldn’t have shaved.

Because it’s time, my son,
Time to walk on the water,
Time to live the impossibly possible,
Time to live abundantly in confidence,
Time to live as you were always meant to,
Time to love as you have already been loved:
Completely.