PIs’ apartments are worthless, but this was mine.
The thug inside had broken my seal on the door. The tape was like my services: cheap but effective. I felt less fear than the tape, though.
I relieved my holster of its lopsidedness.
The doorknob was cold. Soon, he would be.
Charlie Dunn is a college student studying abroad in Japan. He also wrote Full Count.
He peered over the edge of the bridge.
“Are you sure it won’t snap?”
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Hundreds of people bungie jump here every year.”
“Safely?”
“Stop worrying and jump!”
“Fine.” He jumped.
Her cellphone rang. “What happened!? He’s still alive!”
“Sorry, boss. I couldn’t do it.”
When he had finished digging, he lined the pit with plastic and ran a hose into it. He watched proudly as his makeshift swimming pool filled up.
He had always dreamed of being a lifeguard. All he needed now were some babes to save.
He put up signs and waited.
“Grandmother, what big eyes you have!” said Little Red Riding Hood.
“The better to see you with, my dear,” said Grandmother.
“And what a big nose you have!”
“The better to smell you with, my dear.”
“And what big teeth!”
“Fusspots,” muttered Grandmother. “I put in your grandfather’s dentures again.”
I gave my dad a pair of socks for Fathers’ Day. They were gray and had a mouse face on them with whiskers sticking out from the toes.
They were a gag gift, but he wore them all day.
I also paid to reattach his toe after the cat incident.
He appeared out of the shadows. “Money,” he demanded, his knife cutting down the need for explanatory conversation.
Panicking, I explained I had no job, no life, and definitely no money. He apologised for bothering me and left.
I punched the air happily. The air took it like a man.
This week’s guest story comes from Jamie Middleton. He declined to attach a tagline or description of himself, which leads me to believe that he is either celebrity, a secret agent, or both. Rock on, Jamie!
“I’ve become more powerful than you will ever be able to imagine!”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Can you imagine telepathy?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Telekinesis?”
“Yes.”
“What about telepyrokinesis?”
Ever since being struck by lightning at the anime convention, Todd had been getting on a lot of people’s nerves.
“Let’s go camping!”
“In the back yard?”
“In the forest!”
“Will there be cell reception?”
“I hope not!”
“What if I break my back and you need to call an ambulance?”
“Then I’ll euthanize you.”
“Will you use cyanide?”
“Whatever you prefer, hon.”
“Ok, deal.”
Unfortunately, he forgot the cyanide.
“I can play guitar and trombone!”
“Ah, shaddup. I’ve learned and forgotten how to play more instruments than you know exist!”
“Like what?”
“Like Icelandic, Zulu, Narau…”
“Those aren’t instruments; they’re languages.”
“Languages? I’ve learned and forgotten how to speak more languages than you know exist! Like sitar, zither, didgeridoo…”
“There’s something inherently comedic about hot dogs,” she mused.
“Maybe it’s their geometry,” he suggested.
“How do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, shrugging, “to put it bluntly, they’re phallic.”
“Hmm,” she said. “No, I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s because they aren’t really made from dogs at all.”