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.
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!”
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.
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.
By John Davis Frain
Did Hemingway start it? Who cares? It’s my favorite English assignment. Saves time. Easy grading. I pretend it’s legit.
Begin with my lazy student, always late for class.
For sale. Baby mittens. Never worn.
F for borderline plagiarism.
See what the shy kid tries to say.
Patty. Never fit. New choice. Patrick!
Explains a lot.
How about my biker chick, mad at the world.
Special delivery. Surprise! Happy Father’s Day.
Mental note: Don’t flirt with her. (Hey, six words!)
What about the scary new kid, front row?
Dear Dishonest Teacher: Karma’s a bitch.
Remember to sign his drop slip.
… I love waiting in line because it feels like working without having to actually work.
… I give my inner child permission to just set my monkey brain aside while I’m waiting in line.
… Actually who am I kidding? I hate lines as much as the next guy.
… In fact, screw that guy! (with his one-two-three-four … thirteen-, fourteen-fucking items in the Express Lane!)
By Sheila Morris
Sept 28, 1907
Luke and I love Washington and so happy we chose for our honeymoon – home seems so far away, I miss you – can’t wait to tell you everything!
Much love, Bess
Question: How do I upload the photo of the post card that goes with this?