Ecstatically they haul our creaking wooden horse to the center of their city. The molten sun cooks our hidden wooden womb while spitting sweat blinds us.
My beating heart embraces the huge coming of death that will bring an end to this, the greatest war the world has ever seen.
Mike Cahill is the President of www.futureknowledge.biz. He borrowed the title of this story from Plato.
The former mayor sat pouting in the gutter. “He’s hoodwinked them all with his luscious, bushy beard!” he muttered. “I must uncover his secret! But how?”
“Did somebody say ‘Butt Howe’?” wheedled a large rat wearing a silk top hat. “At your service!”
“You can help me?”
“For a price.”
This story is a sequel to this story.
“I’m sinking in the quicksand! Toss me a vine!”
“There aren’t any long enough to reach!”
“What about that one? It’s, like, seven feet long!”
She leapt for the vine, but there were too many walnuts on the ground, and she tripped on them.
His last words: “Worst. Vacation. Ever.”
This story was based on the following tweetful of suggestions from @KingKool: “Too many walnuts! The worst vacation! Seven feet long! Rapidly sinking in quicksand! Etc.”
“But I really need to go!”
“I’m sorry sir, but it’s in the contract you signed when you bought your ticket: no stops ’til we get to Vegas.”
“You can’t even pull over for a minute to let me pee?!”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Then I’ma use the window!”
“Very good, sir.”
This story is dedicated to the Desert Bus For Hope charity fundraiser marathon, which is raising funds for Child’s Play.
“Welcome to my laboratory!” cried Dr. Frankensteve enthusiastically, throwing open the doors to reveal a chrome-and-plastic jungle of sophisticated technology.
“More like la-bore-atory,” deadpanned his nephew, Eagor.
“Yes, that’s what I said. Laboratory.”
“Right, but if you emphasize the ‘bore’ part…”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
The day after the day all the fruit disappeared, I broke into a grocery store in the middle of the night. It was a ghost town: the empty aisles were strewn with plastic bags lit by ghastly signs declaring, “We Still Have Vegetables!”
The Vitamin C pills were already gone.
“Aaaaah! A zombie!”
The room full of business executives burst into chaos as the fatcats scrambled for the exits.
“Wait!” called the zombie. “I’m not like those horror-movie zombies! I don’t want to hurt you!”
Everyone froze in astonishment. Then:
“Aaaaah! A talking zombie!”
The zombie sighed. “Theodore was right…”
They ran through the forest, fishing poles slapping against their back. They ran as fast as possible, each trying desperately to edge past the other. They looked around and, seeing a suitable tree, began to climb. They sat at the very top; laughing and smiling.
But the bears could climb.
J.M. Valentino likes to take time between being an international man of mystery and bagging the hot green alien chick to write. More of his work can be found at www.irregularreading.blogspot.com.
“Finally!” complained Fluffy the cat in the softly exasperated voice of a young mother. “The kittens are down for nap time. All they ever do is eat, sleep, and whine!”
Mittens, her husband, mewed appreciatively. “What should we do with our free time?”
“Grab a snack and get some shuteye.”
Martin was my worst friend. You know how some people say they have a “best” friend? Martin was the opposite of that. Like, if “BFF” means “Best Friends Forever”, then I’d call Martin my “WFFA”: Worst Friend For Always. That’s how much I didn’t like him.
Couldn’t really say why.