“Huh. It was dead.”
“Told you. What do we do with it now?”
“Bring it to a scientist? That’s what you’re supposed to do with aliens, right?”
“Do you know any scientists? Any that survived, I mean.”
“Good point. Let’s just burn it, I guess.”
The invaders saw the smoke.
“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…”
“So can any of you tell me the answer to five times seven?” asked Miss Flannerty. “Don’t be shy!”
Billy and Bobby and Suzie played silently with their pencils.
“Kelly, do you know the answer?”
“No,” whispered Kelly.
“That’s ok!” said Miss Flannerty. “It’s the same as my age! Twenty-three!”
“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.”
James approached the plate nervously. The pitcher was dripping in the heat.
Previous attempts had excited the audience, but they were foul.
Four pitchers and ten full Counts later, James was crowned grand champion. He just barely made it home safe from the Royal Count’s Eating Contest before throwing up.
Charlie Dunn is a college student studying abroad in Japan. He wrote this story during his daily commute. (Ed. That’s the beauty of microfiction, eh?)
“Gennardy Tranctorblade, Julioust Dunyarctle, Crandulon Unctiferal, Yip Yip Doodle Tok, Fkaisl Ipsidav, Hourly Ablutions, Wreltstle Jujjax, and Michael.
“You have all been found guilty of Second-Degree Hookie (The Playing Thereof), and will be sentenced to mandatory summer school.
“Except Crandulon Unctiferal. He, like all repeat offenders, gets the firing squad.”
“Have you been to the moon?”
“Nope.”
“Have you been to the International Space Station?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Have you been to the Hubble telescope?”
“No! What do you think I am, some kind of astronaut?”
“Well your résumé says…”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I’ve been to all three of those.”
“Life is like pizza,” Giovanni once told me. “You can cover it with different toppings, but the core ingredients are the same. And no matter how you prepare it, some people enjoy eating it more than others.”
I thought he was so wise. Then I learned he was a cannibal.