They Call Them the Funnies

Thomas laughed out loud, "Oh, that Garfield! You really don't like Mondays do you? Oh ho ho!"

Thomas's wife, Sally, looked over at him from across the breakfast table. "Are you seriously laughing at a Monday-joke in Garfield?"

"Well, I don't like Mondays, so I feel a connection with this comic as if we are star-crossed souls on a–"

"It's just the same Garfield comic that has been running for over twenty years only slightly different!"

"You just don't understand me!"

"Fine!" Silence reined the breakfast nook for a few moments.

"Oh, Marmaduke! You think you're people! Oh ho ho!"

The Space-Debates

"We turn now to politics," said B'jnktl the news-alien, "Since the Superior Space-Court ruled the use of compulsory-brain-implant-obedience-chip's illegal in campaigns, President Zoron Google-Bronx has had to wage a more traditional campaign against rivals Vithor Lovenstein and Jorgan Skithypot.

"A more traditional campaign means the presidential space-debates begin tonight. Now merely a formality, the debates are derived from ultra-ancient history when candidates would display their leading prowess in a submission-rules steel-cage wrestling match.

"Vithor Lovenstein had this to say:"

"Google-Bronx, I will break every bone in your body until you cry 'space-uncle!'"

B'jnktl added, "Of course, the traditional locker-room pre-debate banter."

~~~
More stories concerning Galactic Federation Politics

Moonlight Dancing

Two friends sat under a tree on a clear summer night. They gazed upon the innumerable stars and the stars gazed back. The moon, full and bright, cast a heavenly glow upon the grass and flowers of the clearing before them.

She stood and walked out onto the clearing. "What are you doing?" he asked, but no reply was given. She began dancing.

She danced in the moonlight, with the moonlight, silent and beautiful. If the night lasted forever, she would have danced forever. He wished the sun would never rise again, because in that moment he realized he loved her.

Chalk Rock

I stared in amazement as a seemingly normal rock was used to write on the ground as if it were chalk. "Chalk rock," the kid explained to me.

Later that day I had converted my younger brother to the wonders of "chalk rock," and we began searching for these hidden miracles of nature. A short search later we discovered rocks that left white marks in the driveway. Knowing that chalk can wash off, I proceeded to "chalk up" the family car, my brother following suit. My kindergarten mind had it all figured out.

Needless to say, my father was not impressed.

The Chronicles of Smarnia

"We know you have your choice of fantasy realms to escape to from the horrors of war-torn Britain, but I think you will find you cannot beat Smarnia," said the slightly overweight faun, Timnur, to the four children.

"We have your standard talking animals, mythological creatures, etcetera, etcetera." Timnur motioned to two seedy looking dwarfs on a cigarette break.

"We also have a deity-allegory-lion for moral lessons." He turned around motioning to a lion.

"'Sup?" said the deity-allegory-lion.

"What about a dental plan?" asked Linda.

"Oh, it's excellent, as long as you don't mind a woodpecker as dentist."

"We'll keep looking."

Wrongly Rendered

The judge received the verdict from the jury. He gave a sigh. What does that mean? Is it good or bad?

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have your honor."

"What say you?" Here it comes.

"We, the members of the jury, find the defendant guilty," a brief pause, "on all counts."

What? No!

"Mr. Landon, you are hereby sentenced–" No! "–to life in prison–" This can't be happening! "–without the possibility of parole."

"But I didn't do it!" The bailiffs carried me off in handcuffs. "I didn't do it! I'm innocent!"

I didn't do it…

Clearly Not Insanity

I'm not crazy. Just ask anyone–anyone besides my doctor. He doesn't know what he's talking about. The man living inside the wall told me. My doctor keeps telling me that I shouldn't be hearing these voices. Well, he should just tell the man in the wall to stop talking to me. I don't control him.

My food talks to me, and for a while I just could not bring myself to eat anything. Not because I thought it was still alive. That's silly. No, what the food said was extremely interesting. Nobody explains Nietzsche like a bowl of tomato soup.

The Clay Brothers and Cho-Cho, Too!

"We have you now 1956-teenage-singing-sensation 'The Clay Brothers,'" said the man with an incredibly forced Russian accent, "or should I say, 'undercover CIA operatives?'"

"Well this is a fine mess you've gotten us into now, Frankie," said Rickie.

"How was I supposed to know that one girl backstage was a commie spy?" retorted Frankie.

"The thick Russian accent for starters!" yelled Rickie.

"You will be, how you say, shutting up!" said the KGB agent. "Any last words before I dispose of you?"

"Yeah," said the Clay brothers, "Meet Cho-Cho!"

"Cho-Cho?"

Cho-Cho, the Clay Brothers' semi-literate orangutan and drummer, attacked from above.

One-Man Submarine

I crew a one-man submarine, serving some purpose for some higher authority that cannot tell me why I'm all alone. My job, as far as I can tell, is maintaining the submarine I work in, which I am keen to do since I live within said submarine.

Occasionally I will look through the periscope, and see other boats or islands filled with people, enjoying one another's company. Sometimes I picture myself among them, having a great time. Then I realize I've been dreaming. Why did this have to be a one-man submarine? It could have easily held two, maybe a few.

George the Self-Aware Zombie

"You ever get the feeling like all this 'feasting on the flesh of the living' may end up being detrimental to the stability of society as we know it?" George the self-aware zombie offered as general conversation to his fellow zombies as they munched on the remains of a CPA.

"Braaaaainsssss," came the standard zombie reply to any of George's inquiries.

George continued as if it was a legitimate answer to his question. "I just don't know if this gluttonous and decadent lifestyle we have for ourselves is sustainable. Eventually the living will become a scarcity."

"Brrrrrainnnss," replied the other zombies.

A Dangerous Business, Flying

You think that pilots shouldn't be allowed to carry firearms onto planes? Well, then you're either a pompous bureaucrat or deluded hippie. Spend one day in a pilot's shoes, and you'll be singing a different tune.

Just last week I piloted Flight 827: non-stop service from Minneapolis to Denver. We were attacked by cockpit ninjas. My co-pilot, Charlie, may he rest in peace, never had a chance. No firearm. I told the passengers we were experiencing turbulence. They never knew I was fighting off seven ninjas all while Charlie died in my arms.

It's a dangerous business flying a commercial aircraft.

The Impregnable Lead Man

Evil doers beware, for a new superhero protects the fair city of St. Louis.

Ordinary citizen and car mechanic, Antony Chumbo, was kidnapped by the mob and ordered to make them a really super-cool getaway car. While being held in a damp underground parking lot, Chumbo developed a severe case of a rare form of athlete's foot.

Using his skills as a car mechanic, Chumbo crafted for himself a suit of armor from miscellaneous car parts and power tools to stop the spread of the fungal outbreak, and teach those mobsters a lesson.

You can't stop the impregnable Lead Man!

~~~
And a special bonus sketch of Lead Man!

Art Imitates Life

I sat at my computer pounding my face into the keyboard.

"It just won't come! The words, they will not come!" I muttered to myself in between face-to-keyboard poundings.

For the past several days, each 101 word short story I wrote came very easily and was done within thirty minutes. But I had been sitting here for over 2 hours, and I still did not have anything.

"Where do the words come from?" I asked to no one.

Then it hit me. My particular situation had all the drama and intrigue of a 101 word short story. I finished another story.

Jack the Lion Tamer

Jack the lion tamer had become bored with his job. "There's just not enough excitement in lion taming," he would say.

This would generally come as a shock to the listener. "How can lion taming lack excitement with nothing but a whip and a chair to separate you from certain death?"

"Yes, well," Jack would say, "it has somehow lost its pizzazz."

Jack's show had also lost its pizzazz, and the 2:30 crowd became disgruntled and bum-rushed the stage, provoking the lions to attack.

Jack could not remember the last time he was so excited. Then he was mauled to death.

Man's Inhumanity

Going for a different tone than in my first two short stories.
~~~

Thunder rolled through the valley as the procession marched toward the clearing. In the lead, a small girl, held high for all to see, crying.

In the midst of the clearing was laid a sacrificial pier, reaching upward to the crackling heavens. A virgin sacrifice must be made, or so was thought. Silently, the mob gathered round. The girl, now struggling but in vain, is tied to the center stake.

A fire lit, burning, blazing. The monstrous deed was done.

Rain begins to pour down from the heavens. The people perceive it as a blessing, when the skies are really weeping.

Inspired by Haylea

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Winston Rutherford III, the wealthiest landowner in all of Hertfordshire, as well as completely unattached, should have fit this universal truth quite splendidly.

It was not that he was unopposed to the idea of marriage at all. It is just really hard to be taken seriously when you claim there is a little green floating man following you around that only you can see. Most women feel they can do better than Mr. Rutherford and the Great Gazoo.

President Google-Bronx

"Four more standard star-orbit-revolution-units! Four more standard star-orbit-revolution-units!" cried the masses supporting Galactic Federation president, Zoron Google-Bronx.

President Google-Bronx took the holographic podium transmitting from an undisclosed alternate dimension. "My fellow Federationists, I accept your nomination! With your help, we will continue the change we began four standard star-orbit-revolution-units ago!" Cheers rose like an exploding supernova from the convention floor.

"But just to make sure, I am engaging the compulsory-brain-implant-obedience-chip." The cheers immediately ceased and were replaced by the collective hum of the chips. Google-Bronx's hologram transmission ended, and the delegates silently left the convention in single-file.

Long live President Google-Bronx!