Viewing blog entries in category: Humor
<Two sets of HANDPRINTS wind along a beach. The sky is dark with clouds. Camera cut to a MAN, early 40's, staring at the sea. The wind ruffles his hair>
VOICEOVER: "It just doesn't seem to be as easy as it used to, does it?"
<A an attractive WOMAN, smartly dressed, sits on a sofa, petting a CAT. Her attention seems elsewhere>
VOICEOVER: "You never needed to think about it before."
<A CHILD, at the top of a playground slide. Looking surprised, the CHILD sneezes>
VOICEOVER: "Why did things have to change?"
<A golden retriever DOG settles down on a rug in front of an empty fireplace. Its expression seems wistful>
VOICEOVER: "It doesn't have to be this way. Glybertol can help."
<The FAMILY, on the sofa together, happy, watch the fire crackling warmly in the grate. The CAT and DOG briefly sniff each others noses. DAD ruffles the CHILD'S hair, then the MAN and WOMAN turn to the camera>
IN UNISON: "Thanks Glybertol!"
<CLOSEUP on the CAT, who begins to groom the DOG'S ear>
VOICEOVER: "Ask your doctor if Glybertol is right for you"
WHITE TEXT flashes rapidly over the screen: Glybertol™ is for prescription use only and may not be right for you. Consult with your doctor for possible interactions with other medications. Glybertol™ is not recommended for children between the ages of five and eight, people with allergies, people suffering from depression, nausea, headaches, or skin conditions such as eczema. Glybertol™ should not be taken by expectant or nursing fathers, professional seamstresses, military personnel below the rank of E-4, or reality show contestants. Possible side effects include, but are not limited to, depression, nausea, headaches, and skin conditions such as eczema. If you are a father and you conceive while taking Glybertol™, please consult with your doctor and/or an entertainment lawyer from the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, or your country's national equivalent. Glybertol™ is not presently approved for use outside of the United States of America and its territories, but can be obtained legally without prescription in Canada, Luxembourg, and the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Glybertol™ does not endorse or condone medical tourism. For more information, consult with your local board-certified moxibustionist.
…and when he returned from the mountain, he discovered that his manager had relieved him of the burden of his wealth. Taking only a robe and begging bowl, Jikan retired to the unseen places of New York City to meditate on this gift of simplicity. There his story should have ended, riches to rags, but for the intervention of 69cockthumper69, who uploaded “4MAZ1NG JEW1SH SUBW4Y M0NK S0UND 0N!!!!!111” to YouTube in the fall of 2006. The 72 second clip of his Hebrew rendition of the Heart Sutra was like pure rain falling on the parched spirit of a nation shocked by terrorism, weary of war, and disenchanted by the endless scandals of the Christian churches. What we now know as the Great Wave of Juddhaism had begun.
“...and our deepest sympathies go out to all the casualties aboard the USS Mattis. However, despite the identity of its hijack- sorry, sole occupant, the Fast Orbital Shuttle Gravity's Rainbow, Baby was a civilian craft under government contract from Hormel-SpaceX. As a result, the service refuses acknowledge the validity of the use of the callsign 'Space Force One.'”Kinzvlle likes this.
TMW you're walking home from dinner with your wife and there's a group of young gaijin outside the local market enjoying a few (!) drinks and one of them shouts at you "Oh my god, is that my dad?!?"
Well, true, I take my styling cues more from Leonard Cohen and/or Mad Men than from Jay Kay or P. Diddy, but considering that the young man shouting at me looked to be in his early 20s and I'm in my late 40s, I wondered what sort of point he was trying to make. I suppose if he could give me a list of his mother's tattoos and favored coital vocalizations we could tell for sure, but, well, yeah kid, I look old enough to be your dad because I'm old enough to be your dad.
Doesn't bother me, does it bother you?
If you aren't familiar with the movie The Polar Express, this isn't going to make a heck of a lot of sense to you. Merry Christmas!
It was a tough run, but we made it, we finally made it. With five minutes to spare, but time runs funny up here.
The boss promised me that this would be my final run, take one last load of Unbelievers up North and I'd be out, with a new identity and a fat bank account. Half a mile more and I'd be done.
As the train passed slowly through the city, the kids yammered on about elves. Elves and the Big Guy, all they ever thought they wanted to see.
They didn't know.
I felt bad about what was going to happen to them, but that was the price of Unbelief. I knew all about that, I'd paid it myself. To look at me, I was in my fifties, but on the calendar, I wasn't even seventeen. Heck, by Easter these kids will be in their early thirties. How else do you think the Man in Red can make all those presents every year?
"Ellllvesss!" For a moment I hoped that the kid had just seen some of the loaders. Older workers looked a bit like elves; decades of hard labor and a diet of nothing but reindeer meat and hot cocoa did funny things to the body. Elves, on the other hand, were bad news. I'd seen one once; it had gotten in through the sewers when I was about forty. They finally captured it, but at a cost. At the next roll call we all had to watch as it literally shredded seven of the flightless culls before being hosed down with napalm. And that was after it had been de-fanged. That demonstration had ended any talk of escape.
For obvious reasons, Mrs. C (yeah, she handled the dirty work. Surprised?) always gassed the sleigh loaders last, but these weren't redshirts, these were Elves, real Elves, a mob of them boiling up one of the side streets. Must have breached the Wall. I heard a reassuring thump from overhead, and knew that my partner had seen them too. "You: four-eyes!" I barked.
"My name's not four-eyes, it's --"
"Don't care. You know who Ma Deuce is?"
His eyes lit up behind his glasses. "Yes, sir! The M2 Browning fifty caliber machine gun is a heavy --"
"Thought you would. Ghost is setting one up on the roof. Now get on up there, he'll tell you what to do. Pigtails! You're pretty smart, think you're smart enough to work a flamethrower?" She stared, uncomprehending. "It's like one of those super soaky squirt guns, but it shoots fire. There's one in the last car. Get to the platform on the back and hose down anything that gets close." She gaped again. "For the love of Mike, GO!"
Who else? The kid from Edbrooke was already toast, curled up on the floor in a puddle of his own piss, but where was the other one, the troublemaker?
Smart kid, he was right behind me. "Listen, young man," I said, taking one of the M4 carbines down from the concealed overhead rack, "we're in some serious jelly, but we've got to protect this train. This," showing him the gun, "kills Elves. Help is on the way, and if we're lucky, we'll live to see it."
Of course, if the Elves didn't get him, the little Unbeliever would spend the rest of his year-long life in the Workshop, but the least I could do was give him the chance of a painless death. "If not, don't try to be a hero, boy. Those things out there will make you wish you'd never heard of Christmas. If they get on board, save the last one," I ejected a single round and dropped it into the pocket of his robe, "for yourself."
Me? I locked myself in the cleaning closet. Didn't get out of the Workshop and into the Conductor job through self-sacrifice now, did I?
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