Trick-or-Treat

"Trick-or-Treat!" the neighborhood kids said in anxious expectation.

"Gadzooks! Tiny accursed fiends from beyond the grave threatening me with malicious tomfoolery!" cried Sir Gregory (knight from the past somehow now in the present day). He drew his sword, "Away foul hellion! I shall not fall prey to your subterfuge!"

The children scattered as Sir Gregory swung madly.

"No, Sir Gregory!" Timothy ran to the door. "They're just kids. Just give them candy."

Sir Gregory pondered, "So this 'candy' as you call it has exorcistical properties to drive the demons out of the youth? Quite marvelous inventions of the future!"

Timothy sighed.

~~~
Other adventures of Sir Gregory of Cornwall in the present-day

Lytton's Bad Habit

The large black bag fell to the floor with a heavy KA-THUMP!

"There's another one for you," Lytton said with the indifference of a postal worker looking at a line of innumerable customers three minutes to quitting time.

Gilroy sighed and flung the bag over his shoulder, "Seventh this week."

"I can't help it," Lytton confessed, "It's their fault for tempting me!"

"Except they just breathe, and you're overcome by temptation."

"That's not true! You're breathing and I've only tried," Lytton counted on his fingers, "four times with you."

"Five."

"Just bury it, and stop judging me!" Lytton left the cemetery.

Really Scary Story

"Okay, I got one," Dane was about to participate in a well-honored tradition among children: telling a scary story while holding a flashlight under your face. "One dark and scary night, there was this kid—"

"Heard it!"

"Shut up, Kevin!"

Dane continued, "There was this kid who wanted to get on the internet but he couldn't."

The huddled group of kids fell silent in terror.

"The internet . . . was down!"

All the children screamed.

"Then he checked his phone. It was dead, and he had misplaced his charger!"

"But how did he check his text messages?" Sandy asked.

"He didn't!"

More screams.

Fleshed Out

The devastated urban landscape slowly fell apart. Like most of the inhabitants of earth, the structures of civilization were also slowly decomposing and devouring themselves until eventually it would be gone.

However, nature also has its unexpected quirks. While most of humanity had become mindless flesh-eating zombies, one zombie still maintained his self-awareness. His name was George.

"I think I've lost the taste for rotting flesh," George told his zombie-dog Frank (Frank was not self-aware). "I really don't care for it anymore, and sometimes I think I'm just gorging on human flesh to fit in, you know?"

Frank's tail wagged off.

~~~
More ordeals of George the self-aware zombie

The Return of the Vam-Bot-Pire

The evening fog pours into the room from the now open window. A figure enters, cold and mechanical.

The cold night air jolts Katherine awake. Seeing the boxy mechanical man in a black cape standing over her, she reaches for the stake on her nightstand and jams it into the beast's chest, but to no avail.

"I AM IMPERVIOUS TO STAKES, GARLIC, SUNLIGHT," the vam-bot-pire states, "TRULY, I AM THE PERFECT MONSTER."

Thinking quickly Katherine grabs a pitcher of water, also on her nightstand, and casts it onto the creature.

"WATER! MY ONE WEAKNESS! ALSO COMPUTER VIRUSES!" The vam-bot-pire shorts out.

Career Advice

"You could learn a thing or two from me, Anderson," Mr. McCaughey said.

"Yessir," Anderson squeaked.

"First thing: Don’t talk while I'm talking."

"Yes—" Anderson caught himself.

"You don't make it to the top without cracking a few eggs, Anderson." Mr. McCaughey paused. "Did you hear me? How can I know you're listening if you don’t say something?"

"Yessir. Crack some eggs, sir."

"Don't interrupt me, Anderson. Now, what I mean, of course, is destroy a few people's careers. It's a lot easier to move up the ranks when you decimate the competition."

"But isn't that unethical, sir?"

Mr. McCaughey laughed.

We Jumped

The first step is the biggest step, or so they say. I stood on the precipice of a grand adventure both figuratively and literally.

Only two minutes before I had been living a relatively boring and safe (I must stress "safe") life, then she raced into my hotel room, gunshots roaring behind her. She grabbed my hand and before I even had time to think we were on the side of the hotel looking seven stories down.

She was still holding my hand. "Trust me," she said.

Men in black knocked the door in and filed into my room.

We jumped.

Still a Monster

Continued from "The Candyman" and "Cheering Up a Sulking Sulk."
~~~

Ever since his overdose on nuclear-infused anti-depressants, Doctor Bobby Bippus became the crazed bipolar monster known as the Incredible Sulk. With every change of mood came a change of color and devastating powers.

The Sulk turned a new hue never before seen: Yellow.

"FOR FIRST TIME SULK FEEL HAPPY!"

"Success!" cried General Oppenheimer. "Good work, Candyman."

"I can wrap rainbows in a sigh," said the Candyman.

Oppenheimer sighed, "I know! I know!"

"SULK SO HAPPY!" and with a flick of his wrist, the Sulk flipped over a city bus. "SO HAPPY!"

Oppenheimer slapped the Candyman upside the head, "This isn't better!"

~~~
More adventures of the Incredible Sulk

Cheering Up a Sulking Sulk

Continued from "The Candyman."
~~~

The Incredible Sulk smashed two cars together and then let out a heavyhearted sigh, "SULK FEEL LIKE SULK SMASH THINGS JUST BECAUSE THINGS THERE AND SMASHABLE." He was beginning to turn a hue of blue to reflect his changing mood.

"I know what can cheer you up," said a man who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"WHAT DOES CREEPY MUSTACHE MAN HAVE THAT CHEER SULK UP?"

"I take tomorrow, dip it in a dream, separate the sorrow, and collect up all the cream!"

The Sulk stood silent for a moment, "WHAT?"

"I'm the Candyman," the Candyman grumbled.

"CANDY?! SULK LOVE CANDY!"

To be continued . . .

~~~
More adventures of the Incredible Sulk

The Candyman

"We've tried taking out the Sulk with bombs and bullets, then we tried psychiatry, but that didn't work," General Oppenheimer explained to the gathering of military officials, "so now we've decided to kill the beast . . . with kindness! Say hello to the Candyman."

A good-natured man with a perpetual smile and creepy mustache approached, "Good evening, officers. Anyone care for a lollipop?"

Three hands rose.

General Oppenheimer continued, "He can take a sunrise, sprinkle it in dew, cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two."

"Who can?"

"The Candyman can. He mixes it with love and makes the world taste good."

To be continued . . .

~~~

More adventures of the Incredible Sulk

Heart Problems

"Tina is still there," Hank said, "lingering in the crevices of my heart."

"That's plaque," Hank's doctor said.

"You don't understand, Doc," Hank explained, "Even though she's gone, I'm still in love with her."

"No, you don't understand. We're talking about significant blockage here."

"I can still feel her clutching onto my left hand, my whole left arm, actually."

"That's angina. You're having a heart attack."

"You're finally understanding, Doc! She's attacking my heart. It's so powerful I can hardly breathe. I think I may faint." And that's exactly what Hank did.

A quadruple bypass later Tina stopped ailing Hank's heart.

Changing a Light Bulb

"Ouch! Sarah? Can you come in here?"

"What's the matter, Henry?"

"I'm trying to change this light bulb," Henry explained, "but every time I try to unscrew it, it burns my hands."

"That's strange, maybe I can—Ow! Did you try waiting for it to cool down?"

"I've been waiting for a couple hours now. It's still hot!"

"Let's get Bill in here. He'll know what to do."

"Are you serious?" Bill asked once he had arrived.

Henry and Sarah nodded.

"The light bulb is ON! Why do you even need to change it?!"

"Oooooooooh!" Henry and Sarah said in unison.

Traveling Salesman

The doormat read "UNWECLOME." It was obviously hand-woven judging by the quality of materials and the obvious misspelling.

The traveling salesman gig hadn't worked out too well for Joe. He sighed as he knocked on the door.

"No solicitors!" came a muffled yell from behind the door.

"May I speak with the man of the house?" Joe said.

"I said, no solicitors!"

"If I may have a moment of your time, sir, I think you would be interested in this commemorative encyclopedia set. You know the things that have become obsolete since the internet?"

"I despise the internet! I'll take twelve!"

Turning Eighteen

It started as a glimmer, but quickly grew into a bright light that filled the room. Then suddenly, POOF! A fairy not unlike a Disney representation appeared in Nathan's room.

"I am the Adulthood Fairy. You turn eighteen years old at midnight, and I must sprinkle Magic Responsibility Dust on you," she said.

"Why?" Nathan asked.

"It's an arbitrary system of trustworthiness," the fairy explained, "One minute you're not old enough to buy tobacco products, and the next you are."

"But I don't smoke."

"You can also now buy canned air and NyQuil. Eighteen is a big responsibility!"

"Wonderful," Nathan sighed.

Fortune

Fortune did not smile upon poor Fortune who had the unfortunate fate of having been named Fortune.

Fortune's parents had figured that they were not very likely to amass a fortune in terms of wealth or power, so they settled for the next best thing: They would have a fortune of mirth at the misfortune of their son Fortune.

Fortune seldom comes twice in life, so Fortune's fortune unfortunately was his name, Fortune. He had nothing to his name, which everyone found hilariously ironic except for Fortune himself.

Fortunes come and fortunes go, and so too was the fate of Fortune.

Makes Sense to a Teenager

The clock radio reads 10:22 as Jake turns on to Summerset Drive. Rachel lives on the sixth house on the right.

Jake inserts a homemade CD into the player, turns up the volume, and rolls down the power windows. Despite the fact the sun has long ago set, he dons his sunglasses. He slowly creeps along the suburban street, car blasting a song of teenage rebellion and immature love. If this wouldn't impress Rachel, then nothing would.

In his mind she runs out of the house and professes her hidden affection for him. In reality an angry neighbor curses him out.

Climate Change

Behold my works, for I am man. I am the master of the earth and skies, for I have proclaimed it. Behold my power and tremble.

I push upon the glacier, and it moves slowly across the continent. I am responsible.

With my lungs I blow winds into the sky and produce the mighty hurricanes. I am responsible.

I rub my hands together and produce heat. Ten thousand miles away the Antarctic shelf collapses. I am responsible.

I pay someone else to do the opposite of what I do. My guilt is assuaged. I remain the God of my own mind.

My Autobiography

"Eric, you are such a great guy," she says.

"Do you really mean it?" I ask.

"Not anymore!" she yells. "Why are you always like this? Why can't you just be confident enough to accept what I tell you?"

"My previous experiences with women have taught me that even though they say I'm a great guy, they dump me at the first moment of weakness," I try to explain.

"Just shut up!" she turns and walks away.

I learn to live without her approval, regain my confidence, and meet someone else.

Return to the beginning of the story and repeat. Forever.

Fwd:WOMEN IN CHINA DO NOT GET BREAST CANCER - PLEASE READ

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Love Poem First Draft

Roses are red,
Or sometimes white.
In fact I think I've seen them
In many colors despite
The fact that the most traditional variation of rose is depicted as red.
But with that being said,
Let me get on with this poem instead.
Now, what was I talking about?

Roses are red.
Violets are blue,
Though that seems silly to me.
How about you?
Violets should be violet.
At least that's what I think.
But where was I? Oh, yes!

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Daisies are yellow.
How 'bout a smooch?

Brian grumbled and held down the backspace button.

~~~
Brian's attempt at poetry from "Writing Is Hard"

One Sentence Story Collection XII

He didn't know the meaning of the word "defeat" because it wasn't in his dictionary: Learn My ABC's.

The cereal box read 'fortified with iron,' so it should not have come as a surprise that it destroyed Timothy's teeth.

From the bowels of the earth spewed forth thousands upon thousands of gentle green grasses.

The story was only one sentence and left a bitter feeling of lachrymosity and suicidal despondency (as all the rest).

Wishful Awarding

"The Space-Nobel Committee, named after Alfred Space-Nobel, inventor of the hyper-death-stick, has named this standard star-orbit-revolution-unit's winner of the Space-Nobel Peace Prize," said news-alien B'jnktl, "and it's Galactic Federation President Vithor Lovenstein. We turn to Snorri Sturluson, chair of the Space-Nobel Committee."

"Thunk yuoo fur hefeeng me-a."

"Mr. Sturluson, by every measure, President Lovenstein has yet to have any meaningful impact on anything."

"Ve-a everded Lufensteeen fur hees ixtreurdeenery iffffurts to strengzeen intergelecteec deeplumecy und cuupereshun betveen peuples."

"Even though there has been no substantive change between his policies and his predecessor, Google-Bronx?"

"Thet's reeght. He-a joost mekes us feel guud."

~~~
More stories concerning Galactic Federation Politics

Writing Is Hard

"What are you doing up?" Jack rubbed his eyes.

"Just trying the get some writing done," Brian did not look up from his laptop.

"Oh? I didn't know you wrote stuff."

"I didn't," Brian said, "Not until now, anyway."

Jack sat down and rubbed his eyes again, "Sorry, I'm still a little groggy. You just started writing?"

"I met someone," Brian finally looked up from his computer, "Oh, you should see her, Jack. She's so beautiful and smart and funny and—she's just amazing."

"Please don't tell me—"

"I'm writing a poem for her!"

Jack groaned.

"I'm stuck at: 'Roses are.'"

Jeremy and Hannah

"What's your problem, Jeremy?" Hannah says with ever-increasing exasperation.

"I just feel like I'm trapped," Jeremy says, "I have no way out, you know? No. You wouldn't know. You never know."

"That's because you never give me a chance," Hannah's eyes well up on queue.

"Oh, don't you try to trap me, too!" Jeremy yells. "I need an advocate right now, and you are so not being my advocate right now."

Hannah tries to get a word in, but Jeremy continues.

"Helpmeet! You're supposed to be a helpmeet! Helpmeet? That's a word, right? I'm pretty sure it's a word. Helpmeet. Helpmeet?"

Cory

Cory plopped his face into the bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats before him and left it there. About fifteen seconds later air bubbles popped the surface of the milk.

"Oh, stop it, Cory!" his mother said with a disapproving sigh.

"Bla bloob bwab wab," said from his cereal.

"What?"

Cory lifted his head. Two soggy wheat biscuits with light frosting hung from his face as a stream of milk trickled from his chin. "I said, 'I need more sleep.'"

"Well you should have thought of that before you neglected your Science Fair project until the day before it was due."

Cory whimpered.

The Case of the Gypsy Amulet

I draped my overcoat over my zombified friend, Shamrock O'Malley, and we quickly stole away to my residence, stopping only twice to recover various pieces that fell away from his rotting frame.

"It occurs to me," he said after we had reclined in my study (and I had draped a towel over his chair), "my resurrection stems from a magical amulet that I won off a gypsy woman in a game of chance."

"So we find the gypsy to restore your flesh anew," I said.

"That's absurd, Walton! No, we need something more potent than an itinerant gypsy magic for this!"

~~~
More cases from the files of Shamrock O'Malley

The Superhero Registration Bureau

"Name?"

"Tamia Sciurus."

"I meant your superhero name."

"Oh, sorry. It's my first time to the Superhero Registration Bureau."

"Obviously."

"I'm the Flying Squirrel."

"So, you glide around with cloth between your arms and legs like those cute little flying squirrels?"

"No. I tried that, but there aren't a lot of updrafts in St. Louis to justify a gliding system. I use a jet pack now."

"So, let me get this straight: You dress up like a squirrel and use a jet pack to fly?"

"Is that too strange?"

"You kidding? That's the closest to normal that we've gotten all year!"

One Sentence Story Collection XI

Time had dulled the pain, but it still cut just as deep.

The floss only forced the wedged strawberry seed deeper into the gap between my molars.

The city slowly sprawled out like a spreading cancer across the landscape.

I saw your face in a photograph and spent the whole night wondering.

The Case of Zombie O'Malley

"I say, my dear Walton, what are you doing?"

The voice was familiar, though a bit more gravelly than I remembered. I turned around to find a half-decomposed Irishman whom I recognized as my deceased colleague, Shamrock O'Malley. "My goodness, what has happened to you, Shamrock?" I blurted out.

"Isn't it obvious, Walton? I have risen from the dead through unnatural (most likely magical) means."

"B-but that's impossible!"

"How long have you been with me, Walton, and you still don't—" Shamrock's jawbone detached from his skull. He sighed and reattached it, "Quite an inconvenience being of the living dead."

I shuddered.

~~~
More cases from the files of Shamrock O'Malley

Aerial Delusions

Frank nursed his last cigarette with care, took another look at the scene, and then shook his head.

"What do we got here—woah!" Anderson said as he crossed the police tape.

"His name was Charlie," Frank said taking another draw, "Twenty-seven years old. Had an unhealthy obsession with superheroes."

"That would explain the Superman costume. So he jumped?"

"Thought he could fly."

"When will these kids ever learn?"

"Not any time soon. These guys grow up not knowing what's real and what's not. I blame the liberals."

"Sad," Anderson shook his head, "Up for IHOP after this?"

"You know it!"

Existential Quandary

"What is our reason for being here?" Fred asked.

"Well," Lenora tapped her chin as she pondered an answer, "that's a good question. Many philosophers throughout the ages have attempted to answer that question. Is life simply a mistake and we have to define our own purpose in life, or are we the handiwork of some omnipotent being? Those are just two out of hundreds of possibilities. Men and women of great intellects have spent entire lives trying to answer that simple question."

"No. I meant: What is our reason for being here at the grocery store?"

"Oh. We need milk."