Childhood Pranks


By The Urban Spaceman

Two weeks into summer break and bored out of their minds, Tommy and D.J. rode their bikes two miles to the abandoned church in the countryside. They spent three days chiselling the image of a giant penis into an outer wall, and the rest of the summer giggling over their artistic accomplishment.

In 2717, following the aftermath of the Earth-Venus conflict, two anthropologists from Mars University won the prestigious Hawking Prize, and a substantial credit grant, for their discovery of an ancient fertility pilgrimage site and its importance in proving how primitive terrestrial humans were obsessed with phallic worship.

“Can I Help You?”


By Marsrick

“I’m looking for crystals.”

“We have some excellent chakra re-aligners. They also treat mange.”

“Is your shop affiliated with Cosmic Roy’s?”

“Not quite. We harvest our crystals while Sirius is in retrograde. Cosmic Roy can’t say that.”


“While you’re here, check out the salt lamps.”

“Do those work?”

“Sure do, and our salt is from the Ganges Mountains. You can taste the ions.”

“My cat has diabetes. Can’t I treat that with the crystals I have at home?”

“Our wares are specifically formulated for animals. I wouldn’t endanger my pet with products intended for humans.”

The Sketch Artist’s Rendition


By E.F. Olsson

The news finally broke in interrupting the television show. I was disappointed – not from the show and the bad actors, but because they took so long.

The anchor anxiously warned that the police were on a city-wide lookout for a man, a potential serial killer, and everyone should stay indoors. They gave a description and broadcasted the sketch artist’s rendition from the lone witness.

Once they returned back to normal broadcasting, I went out onto the porch, lit a cigarette, stared up at the moon and smiled at how uncannily accurate that drawing was.

Perhaps I should grow a beard.

Happy Birthday, Kid


By John Kraft

“What d’ya mean, ‘Bring bail money’?”

“I mean, in case things get ugly.”

“But it’s a birthday party for a 6-year-old.”

“Yeah? Remember last year’s party?”

“Good point. What about a gift? What should I bring?”

“If you’ve got a speed loader – bring it.”

“A speed loader – for a 6-year-old?”

“No. For yourself, just in case. For the kid? Give her a Starbucks card.”

“The kid drinks coffee?”

“No, but Mommy and Daddy do. The kid gets a cookie. Everybody’s happy – unless …”

“I’ll bring bail money and my speed loader.”

10 PM. BYOB. Be there!”



By jlcourtney

Eric tried to fall, but he always missed the ground.

From skates, “Are you hurt?” To chemistry, “Lay back, you mixed the wrong chemicals. Nurse should be here in a jiffy,” there was more attention in failing.

But, failure was damn hard.

Eric turned in papers late.

His Prof would ask, “Sabotaging yourself? You know the material.” And while Prof might frown, he’d still clap Eric on the shoulder. “Last freebie. Learn from it.”

Even the cops, “What were you doing with those bodies?” touted him as the area’s most successful serial killer.

Eric just wanted to get things wrong.

Another Whoops


By Paul Beckman

Stella left a grocery list and I left home without it—didn’t forget it—don’t always need her advice on fucking groceries. Got a good cart, wheeled it around, filled it to overflowing and have to admit I wasn’t looking forward to a set to with Stella re groceries. I left everything on the counter in the plastic bags and Stella came home from work asked me to pour her a Merlot and then reminded me we were leaving for vacation in two days and she only had tequila, nuts and Tootsie Pops on her list. Yeah—I returned everything.