“It’s gonna rain today!” declared Old Oliver. “I smell it in the air!”
“It’s gonna rain today!” declared Senile Sam. “I feel it in my knees!”
“It’s gonna rain today!” declared Geriatric Jim. “I hear it in the wind!”
“It’s gonna rain today,” said Teenaged Tracy. “The television told me.”
The combatants circled warily. Darcy made an exploratory feint, but Rick didn’t bite. Darcy darted forward again, but Rick dodged the attack and tried for a quick pin. Darcy fought free, knocked Rick down, and made the winning pin.
“Rematch?” said Rick.
“One, two, three, four; I declare a thumb-a-war…”
“You know what I don’t understand? People who go to restaurants alone.”
“I go to restaurants alone.”
“I know. And I don’t understand you.”
“But you love me anyways, right?”
“Love is such a strong word…”
“Well I was going to tip you well tonight, but now…”
The waitress laughed.
“‘Let’s go to the beach,’ you said! ‘Let’s go for a walk on the sand with baby Timmy,’ you said! ‘Let’s dress like giant crabs and pretend to kidnap him and take him to a magical underwater utopia full of laughter and song,’ you said! ‘He’ll enjoy it,’ you said…”
Two minutes later, the car was on fire.
“That’ll teach him,” grinned Jeff, phone to ear again.
“He’s cryin’!” laughed Turk from the other end, “Bet he wishes he paid up now!”
“Not so cocky without his precious blue Civic, is he?”
“Green Civic, dude. Green. The blue one’s mine!”
MCM is the author of The Pig and the Box and TorrentBoy: Zombie World, as well as the creator of the animated series RollBots. He is working towards certification for his insanity.
Sheila blinked as she awoke. The clock said six o’clock. Why wasn’t she tired?
Her husband and two daughters rushed in. “Happy Mother’s Day!” they shouted. “We brought you supper in bed!”
“Supper?”
“It’s six PM. We wanted to be original,” said her husband, brandishing a bottle of sleeping pills.
Whirring, spinning, and hissing, Cyborg George advanced towards the unimpressed heifer, who stood at the fence chewing her cud.
“This ends NOW!” cried George, cocking the shotgun mounted on his arm. He raised his metallic arm high. “NOW!”
As if on cue, a bolt of lightning burst from the sky.
“Life must have really sucked before we harnessed wormholes for space travel, ended poverty, and discovered telepathy,” thought Dangar, sitting in his bedroom on the third moon of Beta Centauri.
“It did,” thought his grandfather, lightyears away on Repsilon Nine. “But it was even worse before we built the internet.”
“I don’t get it,” said Kyle. “They walk across tight-ropes and swing around on bars and ride motorcycles and stuff, but where’s the rest?”
“What do you mean, ‘the rest’?”
“You know, the boss fights. The item gathering. The plot. This is the boringest platformer ever.”
“…We’re at a circus.”
“Evan,” said Timothy Thicke, “do you think these crazy spy games will ever end? Will we ever be free to walk openly in the streets? Will I ever be able to start a family?”
Evan Edgelow thought for a minute. “Yes to the first two questions. No to the third.”