RockAss.net / fiction

April Fools Day

2008-04-11T18:58:00.000-07:00

Written in a hurry on the day before I am to be wed so it isn't edited and is a jumbled mess, but I like it. Enjoy...

It was April 1st, I thought I was being funny…
I walked into the corner store, where they know me well
I said, "Stick 'em up, this is a hold up!"
And before I could say "April Fools" the red and blue
Lights surrounded the places
Shadows lept every which way
Luckily I found an empty space on a shelf
I lay down in it and pretended I was product
My ruse worked for three days
For three days, I pretended I was made in Taiwan
And all I had to eat were Styrofoam peanuts
packed in with my neighbor The blender
Until, while doing inventory a young employee
Scanned me with the UPC scanner gun
I smiled and my teeth
gave a reading
Apparently, I was on sale

A childless housewife unable to pass up a bargain
Took me to her home, empty, as her husband
Spent all his time on the road getting happy ending massages
In motel rooms
Wishing
He had a conference or sales meeting to attend
She gave me a shower, made me a sandwich
And we made love in the backyard
I said I gotta go now,
she said no,
I own you
I reminded her of the emancipation proclamation
But she claimed it didn't apply to middle aged white guys
How do I pay my debt to you, I pleaded
More love in the back yard?
But apparently I hadn't been as thrilling a lover as I'd thought
She handed me some paper towels and windex
And set me to work on the windows

Her husband came home just then
WHAT ARE YOU DOING, them are my windows,
You're squeezing my paper towels
and his wife, she swooned
Oh baby, I love it when you're jealous
She was pulling his clothes off and making for the backyard

I took the opportunity to sneak out the front door
And put out my thumb
A beautiful young woman picked me up
She said hey baby, you wanna have a little fun
I was still shaken from my failure with the housewife
And I was anxious to get better
I said yeah, that sounds real nice
She said "there'll be a price."
I said "excuse me?", and I realized she was a whore
An old and honorable profession
How much I inquired
Ten dollars a go!
I only intended one time around but at that price
I might go twice
We climbed into the back seat
Oh Baby, Oh Baby, she cried
Ten, Oh Oh, Twenty, Yes Yes, Thirty
I said, hey hey, what's with the counting?
She said honey, I'm counting orgasms
You owe me ten for each one
Oh no, I realized, she counted by HERS NOT MINE!?
It was too late to stop now, so I tried to hurry
And I tried, not to do it too well
But it couldn't be helped and as I finally yelled out
"OH Holy Hell, I'm BROKE!"
She'd gotten over a thousand

I can't pay that I asked, so what do you do?
You callin' some crazy pimp on me?
I don't have a pimp.
I'm a small business owner she boasted
Good I said, A pimp is a dirty awful thing
Now excuse me while I skip out on my bill

I turned to look back and I saw her shedding a tear
She shed another
And I realized there were more powerful things
Than men in furry hats with gold teeth and a limp
"Alright, alright. I said, returning
and I swear them tears ran up her cheek
and jumped back into her eyes
waiting for the next sucker
Park right here I instructed her
I headed into the corner store

I said, "Stick 'em up, this is a hold up!"
And before I could say "I really need the money."
The red and blue lights were back.
I was smarter this time though.
I hid in the grocery aisle
And passed myself of as a box of cornflakes.

The Master and the Pilgrim

2007-05-13T21:10:00.000-07:00

"Oh exalted one, we present before you now a pilgrim who has been through the trial of endless desert, who has scaled the 1,000 steps of enlightenment, he has endured every test of faith, soul and body and has earned an audience with your holiness."

The master listened as the young man who stood before him was introduced. Despite all he'd been through, all he'd endured, he still showed a hint of nervousness, or was it because of all that he'd invested in this moment that his lip quivered ever so slightly and his forehead was dotted tiny beads of sweat. He was disciplined, had to give him that. His stance was perfectly steady, his gaze did not shift.

"Thank you brother." The master said excusing the devoted priest who'd excorted the young man this far. It was as many words as anyone had heard him speak. He led by listening as he sat upon his mat in deep contemplation for hours at a stretch.

Now, alone in the room with a pilgrim who had been watched by all over the last two years, since it was first noticed that he was making it through the ordeals more rapidly than any other in the history of the faith. That it seemed he would make it all the way was exciting beyond measure, but that he would do it without ever once having to repeat a trial inspired a sort of fanaticism amongst the throng of believers, usually not prone to such emotioan.

"So, you've made it through every ordeal?"

"Yes master."

"Uh… wow. Congratulations, that's… that's amazing."

The disciplined and intense young man stood perfectly still. He was not asked a question and so, he did not offer a response.

"Um, okay… listen, the thing is, it's great that you got here, that you made it, we all applaud you. I look forward to finding you a great place within the ministry and I think its safe to say, you'll be well compensated for your… your um… your ministry."

The two men sat in intense silence. The young man began to wonder if this was another test, another ordeal. He stood, still and stared straight ahead. He would pass it.

"Uh, that's it. Thanks. Look, I'm not playing or speaking in riddles or anything, we're cool here. Let's see if we can't find you a prayer mat eh? I'll call Brother Kelly back in," and as the master took a deep breath, prepared to holler for his most faithful dedicated follower to return the young man spoke.

"I need to know. What does it all mean? I went through all of those ordeals, the night of one hundred odors, the week of truly awful films, and I still don't get it. I'm sorry, but I just, I just don't feel any closer to understanding what it all means; Why I'm here, why I exist, why here exists."

"Oh, that, yeah, well... um... Meaning is meaningless in the eyes of a goat. He just wants to eat your sweater."

"What?!"

"Okay, look kid, I'm gonna level with you. It's really quite easy. It doesn't mean jack. It's all biological imperative."

"I don't understand?"

"Biological imperitive. It's about progeny living on, a bit of you living on. It's what the plants are all about, the ants too, the birds, and us. We just want to make something that carries on."

"So thats your great wisdom? Jjust have a bunch of babies!"

"No, no, no. Kid you're getting all worked up. Listen, it might be your babies, or it might be your ideas, the influence you peddle. The books, art, music, poetry, technology, whatever your thing is man. You want to make it and you want it to live on."

"That's awful."

"No it's not."

"It is."

"No, really it's not."

"Look, if that's what its all about, then why be moral. Why not rape and kill and plunder? As long as it's for the good of me and mine it's all good yeah?"

"It would seem that way wouldn't it?"

The young man looked particluarly distressed and dissappointed.

The master continued hastily, "But no, it's not really that way... because, you see... Well for instance, lets say you write a book. You're book won't be read anymore if the neighbors you piss off are burning down our libraries right? You're kids won't fair to well if the planet can't support life, will they? A more peaceful and healthy planet is the most selfish thing we can hope for, for me and mine, you and your's, them and there's. In the long term doing whats best for us all has its rewards."

The two men stood, staring at each other, one smiling, one not as a breeze carried the scent of burning Pop Tarts from another room. At last the pilgrim spoke.

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

"Well then why the two dozen nights of itchy beddings or the three hours of cable News viewing. I suffered through "The ordeals" so that you could tell me, biological imperative?"

"No. I didn't need to tell you biological imperative any more than I needed to tell the newts. You were already livin' it. Look, we never meant for you to get through all that crap. That stuff was there to not kill you, while making you stronger, and keeping you praying and paying. Fact is you're either smart enough to get that being a dick is bad news or your not and we weren't going to do much to help you, but hopefully we keep some of the dicks busy for awhile."

"You believe in some kind of pre-ordainment or something? You don't believe that people can learn?"

"Well… not quite. Let me put it this way kid. A higher level intelligence has not yet really proven itself to be a biologically successful trait. Of course I, much like the average dodo bird, think that my traits are the ones that should live on, and so I do the best for me and mine as you say, but the truth is there are a-lot of dumb people out there and they're pretty good at taking care of the biological imperative, at least in the short run. We'll see. Just do what you can, and we'll see, eventually."

And now the master, whose name is actually Ron, noticed his guest clenching his jaw and fist, tears forming in his eyes. Maybe he'd overestimated this pilgrim.

"Hey, look buddy, we're going to give you a good position here and there'll be plenty of time for more study. Maybe I'm wrong. Shit, maybe there is something to be found. You'll have plenty of time to find it."

It seemed it was too late for these words. The tears came, the shoulders hunched. "It's meaningless. It's all scam. I should tell everyone. I'd love to see you off your damn mat, standing in the unemployment line." And then the silence was back. The two men sat, neither uttering so much as a word for an excruciating fifteen minutes.

At last, the young pilgrim spoke in a calm, peaceful voice, "So... this position in the ministry… is there a good retirement plan? And what about flex time?"

Jesus Christ Ceo ©

2007-02-09T08:19:00.000-08:00

The Second Coming© hasn't had quite the impact one might've expected. In fact the largest affect it's had is on our shopping habits, you know, convenience and lower prices and all. A few folks have gotten rich, if they were smart enough and had the resources to buy stock, and more folks, like myself had to make some adjustments as certain small businesses were gobbled up. I ran a bait and tackle off of highway 99. Thought I'd be there for life. It was the perfect location, right there on the way to the river and a thoroughfare for people making their way up north to do some more serious fishing. Now I'm a "Blesser/Greeter"© at the Super Church.© I'm hoping to work my way up to the sports department eventually, but even that will pale compared to the joy of owning my own business. Oh well, life goes on yeah?

I woke up with a cold yesterday morning and discovered the bright side to corporate employment, calling in sick. I was ready to go in; pockets loaded with cough drops, a scarf wrapped around my throat, an extra pair of thermal underwear. It was my daughter Mary, that told me to stay home. She'd come by to check on her old man. She does that now. As if my will to live was all wrapped up in that drafty little shop of mine. She needn't worry. I'm not going anywhere. There are fish yet to catch and no Super Church © is going to take that from me. So Mary swings by and she catches me having chicken soup for breakfast.

"You sick?" her greeting as she lets herself in through the kitchen door.

"Yeah, caught that bug that's goin' around. I'll be fine." I reassured her.

"Why do you have your vest on? You're sick, stay home."

"Hey, I can do that can't I. I'm not used to this work for someone else business. I can call in and tell them I'm sick! Hot damn." And that's just what I did. I got a hold of Brian, my teenage supervisor and told him I wouldn't be coming in.

"But Frank, today's the big day. The boss is appearing on Oprah and we're going to be swamped." He whined.

"Look Brian, you don't want me there. You can't have me blessing people while snot runs down my face and I'm hackin' all over the place. Who would want that kind of blessing?"

"Well we can put you in the warehouse and move John or Paul up..."

I started hacking here, really coughing up a lung. It wasn't entirely an act but I really let it all come up. "Brian... cough, gag... Look, I gotta... hack, hack... I gotta go...cough." and with that I hung up the phone. I gave Mary a free blessing and promised her I'd take it easy. It was an easy promise to keep. I'm not much for sleeping in. If the suns up, I'm up, so going back to bed wasn't inviting. Instead I lingered in a nice hot shower. It felt nice to have that hot water beating down on my back. I could see out the window and there is something delightful about being home on a work day standing in a hot shower and being able to see the blustery day outside.

After my shower I grabbed a bowl of cornflakes and had a seat in front of the couch. I really hadn't intended to watch the Oprah show. I was actually hoping for I Dream of Genie reruns, but I clicked the tube on just as the boss was taking his seat on that famous couch and my curiosity was piqued.

"Jesus Christ©!" Oprah was playing up her excitement at having such an esteemed guest and motioning for the audience to continue applauding. Jesus© waved and smiled, looking sharp in an olive green suit. The audience rose to their feet and the applause continued long after the reborn messiah took his seat facing the world's most successful talk show host. He rose from the couch twice more before, at last, the clapping stopped.

"Jesus©, thank you so much for agreeing to appear on my show."

"Oprah, thank you for having me. This beats appearing on a tortilla hands down." and with this a barrage of laughter erupted from the audience followed by yet more applause.

"Now Jesus©, the first thing I've got to ask about is this new look. Did my people do this to you? I mean, this is not the look we're used to seeing. Where are the robes and the beard and long hair?" She asked, referring to the images that adorned JC Products©.

"Listen, Oprah, after 2,000 years I figure my wardrobe needed a bit of an extreme make over." More laughter. "But seriously, the robes and the beard are comforting to most people, but I do a lot of traveling and with the current political climate it was just too much of a hassle getting through airport security."

"Well you look fantastic." Oprah responded, knowing it would trigger a new surge of applause. I was ready to go searching for Genie if the love fest kept up.

"Well thank you, and to tell you the truth, I feel fantastic." Jesus gave the stock answer and I reached for my remote.

"You've been a carpenter, an outlaw prophet, a scapegoat and a swear word, but few expected your latest role as CEO of your own major corporation. It's been awhile now since The Second Coming© and many are surprised by the fact that you haven't been performing many miracles this time around." Good question. Looks like Oprah might not be going soft on our man after all. I set down the clicker.

"Oprah, what's with the tough questions? I thought my agent had negotiated for more of a fluff interview." More laughing from the audience. "But I'm not afraid. Let me tell you, since The Second Coming© was officially announced a mere five years ago, the stock in J.C. industries© has risen to a point where a one thousand dollar investment in 2002 would be worth over 3.5 million dollars today. Now, if that's not a miracle, I don't know what is!

"But, I know that this isn't the kind of miracle the naysayers out there are clamoring for and so, next Sunday at the Grand Opening of our Fresno Super Church© I'll cure the first 500 lepers who attend. The healing is first come, first served; so all you lepers get there early and do a little shopping in our Lepertorium© before the store officially opens. I'll also be turning agricultural waste water into the finest Merlot you have ever tasted. Watch out Napa valley! And I'll turn milk into JC Cola© for the kiddies. Jehovah's Witnesses and other heathens can get JC Sugar Free Root Beer© by special request."

Oprah looked amazed and I was almost convinced that she didn't know in advance exactly what announcements her guest would be making.

"Well that should silence some nonbelievers!" She observed. "Speaking of which, I've got to wonder if you're upset that the Jewish community still hasn't recognized you as the one true Savior?"

"OY Vey!!!!!!! The Jewish community? Oprah, Oprah, Oprah, I AM Jewish, and I believe in me, and I believe in J.C. Industries©. We ALWAYS have the lowest price and I believe our Jewish Friends can appreciate that."

"That sounded a little, well, anti-Semitic."

"Oh, come now, I can kid the Jews. We go way back you know. Tit for tat. Seriously though, the Jews continue to patronize our J.C. Super Church© and they're visiting our Jews For Jesus recruiting booth while they're there."

Oprah appeared anxious to change the subject. "Let's talk a little about the latest JC Industries© policy statement stating that entrance to heaven© shall no longer be based solely on faith©. According to this release any party who has made at least 10 major appliance purchases at any JC Super Church©, is eligible to be admitted to heaven© by a simple majority vote."

"That's absolutely right, and I should add it wouldn't hurt to buy some of our stock, and avoid eating meat on Friday, although both are voluntary and fall within our Free Will© provisions."

"With all these changes aren't people beginning to wonder if the bible is still relevant? Should we still be reading The Bible©?"

"We at J.C. Industries consider The Bible© to be a very important document, it is in fact, the basis for our mission statement. But we realize it hasn't been revised for some time and it does have some, well, inconsistencies so a revision is in the works. There will be a few new commandments designed to cover modern issues such as youtube and myspace ettiquete, genetics and those five for a dollar fruit pies, but we recognize that a lot of people are unable to read. Most people can read but simply don't care to. So, in keeping with our policy of satisfying our customers, J.C. Films©, A wholly owned subsidiary of J.C. industries©, will release Bible-THE MOVIE©, early next year. It will be presented at your local J.C. Saviorplex Cinemas© in every known language in the world, except for those clicking people, but I'm sure they'll get subtitles."

The audience went predictably nuts at this big news, and Oprah invited the plugging to continue. "Now I've just got to know, what other new products are on the horizon?"

"I"m glad you asked." The CEO flashed his perfect smile and from behind the couch produced a cheerful bit of packaging. "There's new Body of Christ© brand microwave dinners, because if people are going to commune with me by eating of my body, they should get a decent meal out of it. No offense to the church but those little wafers just aren't very filling, are they? We're offering good sized, nutritionally balanced meals for those who have a lot of faith, but not a lot of time. BOC© Meals are also available in kosher style, and for those who need to watch their weight we have Body of Christ Light©."

After fishing more products out from behind the couch he continued with great enthusiasm. "And we didn't forget about the Blood of Christ© either. Watch for the introduction of our new Blood of Christ wine. It will be available in bottles and cans and on tap at our Super Churches© worldwide. Tests are underway in Utah right now for our Blood of Christ© non-alcoholic beer."

"These are amazing products. It seems like JC Industries has bounced back from the unfortunate incidents involving your J.C. Walk on the Water sneakers." Jesus winced at the mention of this.

"Oprah let me stop you there. The Walk On Water Super Sneaks© were taken off the market out of consideration for the loss of the two families in Mississippi and Oklahoma. The shoes were plainly labeled for use only on shallow bodies of water, two inches or less in depth and recommended for use when the temperature is below 32 degrees Fahrenheit. As for the claims of child labor being involved in the products manufacture let me assure you; all children employed by JC Industries© here or abroad are paid a fair and competitive wage. I mean really, they're kids! How much money do they need?"

The audience gave an enthusiastic response despite Oprah's hesitancy. "Well, outside of these controversies, you're also dealing with some stiff competition as Satan Inc.© continues to monopolize the music industry and the movie industry, as well as role-playing games like Dungeons and Dragons and World Of Warcraft. Does J.C. Industries© have any plans to compete in these markets?

The boss put his broad smile away at last, but by now I was sure it was all according to script. "The board has been studying this problem for some time. You might remember that two years ago Satan Inc.© rejected our generous offer to buy them out. They are so entrenched in the industries you mentioned that its just not feasible to try and compete directly with them. We would of course like to ensure that our devoted customers are able to enjoy Marilyn Manson, Danzig, The Rolling Stones and of course Celine Dion without incurring the wrath of my dad. Well it can now be announced," and with this his pearly whites were flashed once again. "We are in talks with Satan Inc.© and the prospects for a merger look very promising."

Another round of applause. "There are some details to be worked out, such as corporate salaries, and what position Satan would have on the board of the new company. We feel he could be an asset in dealing with the malcontents among our employees who are trying to unionize the Super Church©." Ha, as if he hadn't completely squashed any chance of a union forming anywhere near his organizations already. "Look for further announcements on this matter over the next few months, and in the meanwhile be sure to give the Devil his due."

A concerned Oprah struggled to get her question in through the applause. "Now this is shocking news. Some would suggest that a merger between God and Satan, might compromise both entities."

"Yes, well its been great being here, Oprah." The applause grew louder, the end of interview music came up and the cameras pulled way back.

"Wait a minute, Jesus, were you going to answer the question?" A hushed silence fell over the crowd.

"Yes of course, Oprah. To your listeners I'd just like to say, Remember, your creator, my father has endowed you with certain inalienable rights, like the right to shop at a huge, well-stocked store, with plenty of parking and the lowest prices imaginable. Exercise those rights at our conveniently located Super Stores, and build up bonus points redeemable at the pearly gates." And with that, Jesus made his way out of the studio as the wildly cheering audience rose to their feet.

Oprah had no choice but to abandon her protest. She closed the show by supplying free JC Industries© products to every member of her adoring studio audience. They cut to commercial, as if we hadn't been watching one this whole time.

I found my I Dream Of Genie rerun, and miracle of miracles, it was the episode that rocked the censors way back when it was originally aired by giving us a quick peak at Barbara Eden's belly button. Bless you Barbara Eden. I decided I'd call in sick again the next day.

My Confession

2006-11-22T08:45:00.000-08:00

I'd never masturbated in public prior to that day. I'd never exposed myself. I'm no pervert. There were no restraining orders against me. I'd been arrested once before, it was a misunderstanding, I thought the donuts were free samples. It didn't even go on my record. But now I'm a marked man, right there on the ever popular Megan's Law website, a sexual offender. Sure I have regrets, but mostly about getting caught. I can't regret being with her. It just felt so right. It was love, pure and simple. It was love.

I walked past her every morning on my way to work, as the sun came up. I passed by her every evening as I made my way back to my apartment. Her smile warmed me on those rare days when I felt down and frustrated with a world that just couldn't let me have what I wanted. She smiled with me when I felt good and that made me feel even better. Seeing her became the highlight of my day.

Her spot was on the corner of 21st and S Street, a prime location, lots of traffic down 21st. It was unusual for a billboard to be positioned so low, so close to the sidewalk but day after day she remained free of graffiti, a sign that I was not the only one who knew that she was something special. Even the hearts of our town's prolific vandals were not immune to the sweet stare, that lovely full smile.

Icon-Cola, a relative newcomer to the carbonated beverage market were to thank for brightening our town. The little market just a block from her corner sold Icon-Cola and judging by the three rows of shelf space given I'd say they sold plenty. I myself got in the habit of grabbing at least one Icon-Cola each morning. It replaced my coffee. With increasing frequency I'd have an Icon-Cola in the evening as well. High Fructose Corn Syrup never tasted so good as it did when I thought of her shiny lip gloss.

I didn't know her name. I'd never spoken to her, until Cheryl walked out on me. I was caught completely off guard. I came home, sipping a 16 bottle of Icon-Cola and found her packing her bags. Her cousin Chad helped her load a dresser, and several boxes into the back of his truck. I wasn't surprised at his cold attitude toward me. Apparently he'd been informed that he no longer had to pretend to like me.

Cheryl wasn't angry, and that's what let me know this was for real. She looked at me sadly and explained, "I'm sorry. For the last year I've just been going through the motions, trying to recapture the feelings I once had, but they just aren't there anymore. You aren't the man I fell in love with."

What could I say? I couldn't argue. She was right. I wasn't that man, nor did I want to be. I'd become content, as boring as that may be. I had a warm apartment, a job that was close enough to walk to and plenty of time to read. I also had a wonderful woman to wrap around each night. What terrible irony; Now that she was gone, I would be hungry again. I would have some of that drive and passion that attracted her to me to begin with. Or would I? Even as I watched her pack and drive away I just didn't feel any need to pursue her. I didn't cry or beg or make demands. I even helped her pack up the computer. She never was good at dealing with all the plugs and cables. And then she was gone.

She'd taken the bed, but left the couch. I curled up on it and closed my eyes. An hour later, having given up on falling asleep I decided to take a walk. The little market was still open and without thinking I grabbed a bottle of Icon-Cola, ice cold comfort. Even the way the bottle felt in my hand was soothing, the bubbles in my stomach doubly so. Before I realized what I was doing, I'd made my way to her. I stood there at 21st and S, looking at her, drinking my Icon-Cola and then I just started to talk. For the better part of an hour I shared every frustration, every little victory, concern or annoyance I'd felt over the past months. It felt so good to let it all out, every boring, minute detail. And when I was done talking I just stood there and looked at her smile and drank my Icon-Cola. I slept soundly that night and I smiled a private smile when I walked past her again the next morning. She was there for the whole town, but we now had something special between us.

Over the next month I took to visiting her regularly. I didn't miss Cheryl much at all. I felt more relaxed actually now that she was gone. So what if I was content? So what if life was mildly pleasing to me? I would be ashamed no longer. I put on a few pounds, let my beard grow and got up to three Icon-Colas a day. They came out with a new 22 ounce bottle and I drank quite a few of these as I stood on her corner, late at night.

It was foggy that morning. I wore my beanie and gloves and my large coat as the cold weather had arrived suddenly in the night. I was happy, as always, making my way toward 21st and S. By now her picture was everywhere; in magazine, on bus stop ads, but these were just pictures. Her soul resided at 21st and S. The corner had become a part of her and she a part of it. The fog was so thick I could see only a few feet and I was face to face with her before I saw it. The terror gripped me. Half of her billboard was gone. Not stripped completely clean, but being replaced, by an ad for Spreckle Toothpaste. Some grinning 9 year old was destroying the best thing in my life. I grabbed at the new image and tore, but underneath was only grey. Her image wouldn't stand up, was dead now under these new heavily glued strips of advertising.

I marched off to work, not able to even say goodbye. It was not a productive day. Making my way home again, I expected to see the job finished, to see her completely covered but the billboard folks had not been back. The vandals had and the smiling Spreckle Toothpaste now bore the words Choko painted across the white pearly teeth, one letter per tooth. My girl was still graffiti free. I felt a solidarity with Choko, I felt a sense of community and shared grief.

I did no better at sleeping than I had at filing, indexing and faxing. I tossed and turned all night. In the morning I got off of the couch, still wearing my clothes from the day before. I grabbed a bottle of Icon-Cola but I did not go by 21st and S. Work wasn't as bad as the day before and I actually welcomed the distraction. On my way home I decided to get it over with. I saw from a block away that she was still there. Was it possible that even the workers hired by whatever heartless entity owned this billboard were taken in by her beauty? Even it this were the case I knew it was a just a matter of time before she was gone for good. And I knew then what I had to do.

The universe it would seem, was smiling on me. Icon-Cola had released a new 32 ounce bottle and it reached stores that day. They had plenty of them in the new Icon-Cola cooler at the little market. I grabbed myself a cold one and made my way back to her corner.

I stood in the sunlight and stared into her eyes. My left hand pushed deep into my pocket as my right wrapped around my large plastic bottle. I felt myself grow hard behind my zipper. I stroked myself through my pocket. She smiled. I unzipped my pants. There was no shame or modesty as I pulled my cock out. All was good and right with the world. I stroked myself there on the corner. The wind felt great against my exposed skin. Her eyes were half closed in that "come hither" stare and I loved her.

I heard the sirens, and I let go of myself long enough to get the top of off my big bottle of Icon-Soda. I returned to stroking myself with one hand and raised the bottle to my lips with the other. Still she smiled. I drank deep. It tasted like her. I could taster her clean freshly shampooed hair. I could taste her lip gloss. I could even taste bit of Spreckle toothpaste as my eyes danced over her perfect white teeth. I heard the cops pull up. I didn't care. She filled my vision as my eyes focused only on her beauty. I was no longer aware that one of her ears was covered by an interloping ad for an obviously inferior product. I was aware of her staring at me and of her perfect skin, her enchanting smile.

"What the god-damn... You cut that out!" I heard from my right. The bottle was almost empty. I gulped. I stroked. Tears of joy, ecstasy and about a hundred other emotions streamed down my face. I felt a hand on my shoulder. The last drop of Icon-Cola slid down my throat and I came then, long and hard. The hand shot away from my shoulder. She kept smiling. I kept cumming.

"HOLY SHIT! You son of a bitch."

I was thown to the ground. I sobbed, but I didn't feel sad. I felt wonderful. I felt alive. They could take that billboard now. They could never take her from where she now resided, in my heart. I felt the handcuffs around my wrist and I closed my eyes.

I did my time. I'm on their little list. So what. I've known a love like no other. It really is better to have loved and lost, as the saying goes. They'll never understand. I feel sorry for them, I really do.

I'm down to one bottle of Icon-Cola a day.

Barry

2006-11-04T16:23:00.000-08:00

"Look god, I’m trying to do your will but it’s just too confusing. Everyone has their own idea about what you want and you certainly aren't forthcoming with instructions. I can't deal with it any more. So here’s the deal, you come talk to me or forget it. I don’t need a burning bush or a rumbling voice of thunder or nothing but if you want something you gotta let me know. I aint go.." Barry's prayer was interrupted by the doorbell. He considered ignoring it, but then he remembered that he had ordered delivery.

"Sorry God, I think it’s my pizza, I’ll be right back."

As Barry pulled the door open he was surprised and pleased to see a beautiful woman holding a large pizza box. She wore a mini skirt, a sweater and tights with a light coat, her medium length red hair piled up on top of her head. She really was stunning to behold. At seventeen years old Barry is not accustomed to having the attention of such a lovely woman at least five years his senior.

"You order a pizza?" she asked, at last breaking the awkward silence.

"Oh yeah, thanks. How much was that."

"Oh don’t worry. Its on me."

"I don’t have to pay for it?"

"No, Barry Its on me."

"I’m sorry, do I know you? How do you know my name?"

"I’m god. You wanted to talk, remember."

Of course, he was being put on. He wondered which jackass friends of his older brother's were hiding in the bushes. They probably had the camcorders rolling. "Were you listening at my window or something? Who the hell are you?"

"Barry, look at my name tag."

She seemed so sincere. While she was certainly delusional Barry found himself wanting to believe that she was at least innocent. He leaned in and read the name tag pinned to her sweater. It read; Hi, my name is God.

"Oh come on now. That's just ridiculous."

Handing Barry the pizza she pulled out her wallet and piled various articles of identification on the pizza box, describing each out loud as she slapped them down impatiently. "Drivers License, Passport, Green Card, Goldie’s adult video card..."

"Yeah alright, alright, I get it. You're... You're god. Wow. I just didn’t think..."

"That I’d be a woman?"

"That you’d be hot!"

"Ahh, that’s so sweet. Now, am I going to stand out here all night, or are you gonna invite me in?"

"Oh! Oh yeah of course sorry. Come on in." Barry held the door for his guest and then rushed in after to tidy up a bit, kicking his dirty gym socks and embarrassing Garfield pajamas under the bed.

God didn't seem to mind the clutter as she had a seat on the bed and opened up the box, taking a slice for herself and handing one to Barry who took a seat at the far end of the bed.

"Hey, I didn’t order vegetarian."

"Oh yeah, that was me."

"You’re a vegetarian?!"

"Yes sir, that I am."

"But you’re the one that made meat taste so good." Barry laughed and choked a bit on his first bit of pizza.

"Yeah, that’s real cute kid. I've seen that bumper sticker too. You had some questions."

Embarrassed at his failed joke, and remembering the passion he'd felt before the doorbell rang, Barry did his best to take God to task. "Yes, Yes I do. Um... Well, let's start with this, Why all these disasters and bad stuff."

"To punish humanity for the current miserable state of pop music."

"WHAT!!!"

"Relax, I’m kidding. Listen, you guys are so big on this free will thing, so, I give it to ya. If you want to blow each other up I let you. And if you want to listen to really crappy music, I let you."

"Well, yeah, but you know, not all disasters are man made. What about the weather?"

"It’s just a part of the plan. Weather is an important part of what you guys have named..." and she made the quote marks in the air as she said "'The natural order of things'" her distaste evident in her voice. "I, by the way actually titled it “Composition in 11 billion parts”. Anyhow part of free will is I’m just gonna let you and the bunnies and the polar ice caps work it all out on your own. You'll work it out. After all, I didn’t give you umbrellas but you thought of them eventually, even if it took a bit longer than I thought it would."

"...and disease?"

"Hey, microbes got a right too. They’re ahead in the polls where I come from you know. But just between us, I put my money on you guys. I mean hey, microbes never invented the naked lady pen." and as Barry stared, aghast, God pulled out a pen, turned it upside down, and watched the black swimsuit disappear off of a shapely blond. "I love these things."

"Um, yeah... Look, what about Noah and the flood and all that."

"Oh, that. Okay, look, I'm gonna level with you here. That, um, that was a mistake."

"A MISTAKE! You’re supposed to be an omnipotent being, how can you have made a mistake?"

"Hey." She snapped back. "I didn’t say it was my mistake. I was on vacation."

Realizing he's pissed her off, Barry went about making nice quickly. "Well I guess an omnipotent being is entitled to a vacation. You go to Jupiter or somethin’?"

"No, Vegas, anyway I got back from vacation and the flood was already happening. I’d told a few of the guys to do some clean up and the lazy bastards had decided a flood would do the job nicely. It was to late to stop it so I put in a call to Noah, made up some stuff about wiping away sin and what not. You know the rest."

"Wow that’s really messed up."

"Hey you cheated on your last midterm am I giving you a hard time? And never mind the thoughts you've been thinking about Sheila since you were ten."

"You know about that?!"

"Relax, it's not so bad. Don't tell your Uncle Bob this, but Sheila, well, she aint actually your cousin, so you know, you're in the clear."

Barry was glad at this news, but more than that he was embarrassed as he ran an inventory on what else God must know about him.

"Okay, look I'm sorry. So, I guess we’re on our own. You don’t interact with us then."

"Eh, you know. I can’t help the occasional little gift."

"Like?"

"Bagels. Those are from me. And knee high socks, which I think are so cute. I was sure you guys would come up with them on your own but I got impatient."

As God went about adjusting the buckle on her Mary Janes it occurred to Barry that she was a bit of a dork. Suddenly realizing that she probably knew he was thinking he decided it best to get back to his questions.

"So what do you want from us?"

"What do you want from me."

"Well different things now that I’ve seen you." as the realization of what he'd just said sank in the young man turned a deep shade of red. He pushed on quickly, "Um, I mean, Just to know you're there I guess. Just to know you're listening."

"That sounds about right. That'll do for me too."

"That’s it?"

"That’s it. What do you want? A list of rules. Okay, be good, be patient with Sheila, she'll be needing a good friend soon, and take care of your teeth. I can't stress that last one enough. Oh, one more thing. Satan and I have our own issues to work out alright. Could you folks Puh-lease leave us out of your tabloids and gossip? I've really had quite enough of it." And with this she stood to leave. "You’re a good guy Barry. Just keep it up. I’ll be around."

"God?"

"You can call me Sharon."

"Oh, uh, okay, um Sharon. You uh, maybe, um," and Barry surprised himself as he pushed past his nervousness to grab at an opportunity that he never figured he'd have again. "You wanna neck?"

"Nice try kid. I'll see ya later."

Modern Medical Miracles

2006-11-04T16:19:00.001-08:00

After going through usual routine of blood pressure, weight, height, "Are you in any pain today?" Janet was led once again to a small examination room. She passed the first half hour wait scrutinizing the calendars, pens, coasters and wall clock bearing the name of various pharmaceutical companies. At first it was interesting to wonder about these freebies, and the salespeople who delivered them to doctors offices. That the practice of giving promotional items these to medical professionals continued was a sign that it must be working. Had any of the scores of prescriptions that had been written her been influenced by the "Pfizer" plastic Frisbee that the good doctor used to play catch with his pure bred French bull dog on weekends.

A nurse opened the door, leading a rather shell shocked looking young patient. "Oops, sorry. I thought this room was empty." the nurse apologized backing quickly back out.

Janet pulled out a paperback and continued waiting. She had grown accustomed to the long waits at some point and no longer became upset, opting instead to make the most of the time away from work and the stresses of life. The small office was not quite zen, a poor excuse for a meditation suite, but it didn't keep her from getting lost in a trashy novel for awhile.

"Hi Janet, I’m Doctor Mosley, sorry to keep you waiting. Dr. Plant is on sabbatical so I'm helping him out." The doctor spoke quickly, never bringing his eyes up from the "Merck Pharmaceuticals" clipboard he clutched in his left hand. "I’ve reviewed you chart and I have some prescriptions ready for you so, you’ll be out of here in a jiffy. Thanks for coming in." and with this he turned to leave, having never so much as glanced at his patient.

"Doctor?" Janet interrupted his hasty retreat.

"Yes?" And at last she saw his eyes. He had nice eyes. In fact he reminded her a bit of Paul Newman. "Well, I... wonder if I might ask you a few questions?"

"Of course. That’s what I’m here for isn’t it?"

"Oh, yes of course. Thank you." Janet let her first impression go and decided she rather liked this older doctor. "I’ve been doing some reading on the internet and I’ve done a bit of research at the library into some alternative treatments. Not that I question the treatments you’re prescribing I just thought that maybe we could try some changes in diet and.."

"Janet, Janet, Janet, that’s fantastic." Dr. Mosley interrupted. "I encourage all of my patients to be well informed on their conditions and I think you’ve got a great idea there. You work on the diet, I’ll write up these prescriptions and in the end you’ll not only feel good, you’ll look good too." as the doctor spoke he returned his gaze to the clipboard in front of him. Janet felt dismissed and returned to feeling a tad combative.

"No, Doc, I don’t mean that kind of diet. Look, Doctor, have you considered what increasing my Omega 3’s might do. I found some great fish oil supplements. I’ve also been looking into some herbs, even just simple things like chamomile have shown impressive results."

The medical professional interrupted again. "Yes, Omegas, of course, I’ve heard of some… thoughts on the omega fish... properties, but hardly what we’d call clinical studies. And Chamomile, well, that’s just tea."

"Yes, Doctor, I suppose you’re right. But what do you think of the debate over whether or not my condition even exists. I mean studies are being conducted at the Main Clinic that suggest a whole range of possible causes for my group of symptoms from food allergies to environmental toxins. I certainly think it’s worth exploring a few more options before adding anymore chemicals."

"The Main studies, yes of course, I’m well aware of the students, studying their, um, studies there in Main, of course, but well, the… Texas test we conducted assures us you have no allergies, and the um… North Dakota screen ruled out any sort of toxic presence."

Janet knew when she was being put on. 'Who the hell is this guy?' she wondered feeling like the victim of a prank. "I’ve never heard of those tests, and I certainly don’t remember them being administered."

"Yes well, you were unconscious! In fact maybe you’d like something to relax you now, I’ve got a little something here in my pocket in fact…"

"No! Doctor that’s okay. I’m fine. I just want to be a part of the diagnosis here."

"Yes. Of course." and then he muttered under his breath, "Because you’re a doctor."

"WHAT!"

He feigned innocence. "What? Oh, you’re not? No really, I meant that sincerely. I, uh, I though you were a doctor… of medicine... I’m sorry. You’re just so well informed."

Janet chose her words cautiously. The sarcasm was pissing her off, but the last thing she needed was a fight. Avoiding stress was an important part of dealing with her condition. "Yes, well, I have become a bit of a citizen scientist I guess, but I’m not meaning to disregard or disrespect your years of schooling and training. I apologize. I do definitely want to look into some alternatives, but only under your guidance, please."

"Well that’s great!" His impatience was still showing, but he seemed to be making an effort to keep it in check, responding to his patients calm demeanor. "Look we’ve gotten your symptoms cleared up. We’ve done a bang up job there I’d say. Now if you’ll just trust us with a few more prescriptions I think we can keep you in the healthy state you’re in today. And of course we can add some tea or mushroom soup or something, no problem."

"That’s just it Doctor. With all due respect I’m not sure that the symptoms are that much worse than the side effects of the drugs. If we can give it a month, I’d really like to see what we can do with a little exercise and a few adjustments to my diet, add some vitamins, cut back on the sugars, maybe go organic…"

"Yes! Organic! Because we love the little buggies don't we? I know, let’s all eat the way people ate 200 years ago. God knows folks were a picture of health then. Let’s just get away from all our big bad chemicals and spooky drugs.
"I have a great idea; Let’s just pretend that it wasn’t the doctors and pharmacists who helped increase the life expectancy while your organic food growers have served humanity by keeping Birkenstock wearing pre-med drop outs employed in the herb departments of your precious little food co-operatives in places like Vermont and Utah.
"'Say Sue, don’t’ you have a doctor’s appointment today after lunch.'" he now began a dialogue feigning a pair of exaggerated falsettos as he danced about his office. "'Well, yes Beth, I did, but I ate my parsley so I don’t really think I need to go now.” “Oh my, and here I though it was just a garnish.”"

"Now you listen here!" Janet shouted. She had had enough. "I hardly think this is appropriate behavior for a man of science." Janet was surprised to find herself standing and yelling in the exam room.

The doctor yelled back, in a loud booming voice. "You Don’t Want A Man Of Science! You want a witch doctor with a good tan who can see your aura reflected in a bowl of organic miso. You’d just as soon we throw away the last couple of thousand years of medical science and kill us some chickens, maybe apply a few leaches."

Doctor Mosley was in her face, and Janet was now feeling more scared than angry as his tirade continued. "Here, here, I’ve got some pins you can stick yourself here and there, maybe munch on my Fichus plant here and you ought to be all better as long as you don’t accidentally listen to any non public radio on your way home, but that won’t happen will it, because surely you wouldn’t ride home to your solar powered yurt in one of those marvels of cancer causing science known as an automobile would you? Hell we’re both past thirty now, how the hell long do we want to live for anyhow? We're just taxing mother earth of her precious resources." He grabbed Janet by the hand as he climbed on to the examining table. "Come on, let’s just lay down and die."

Janet was close to tears now, as the Doctor crossed his arms over his chest, closed his eyes and let his tongue hang from the corner of his mouth. She took a deep breath and counted to ten. When she saw him open one eye she addressed him, as calmly as she could manage.

"Doctor, I’m sorry. I… I know your right. I do trust you. It's just, well, It's just that I’ve been so scared. Please Doctor, what is your treatment?"

Doctor Mosley hopped up from the table, grabbed his clip board and staring at intently went on as if nothing had happened.

"Great. I’m glad to hear you come to your senses. I’ve got a few good prescriptions here to add to your regiment and I’ll figure next week we can start removing your major organs. We’ll have you good to go in no time."

Janet took the prescription slip handed to her. "Yes doctor."

Ice Cream; Zen Story Number One

2006-11-04T16:19:00.000-08:00

Thomas sat playing with his Hot Wheels on the floor making the sounds of revving engines and screeching tires with his mouth as five year olds will do. His mother sat nearby knitting, a sweater, beanie or pair of gloves taking form on her lap as her skilled fingers moved rapidly.

"Mommy..."

"Yes dear.."

"Is Daddy dead?"

"Thomas, no! Of course not. You're father has simply gone out for ice cream."

**********************************

Thomas blasted the invading alien hordes hitting the single red button repeatedly. The Atari video game console had been a present for his tenth birthday. His mother sat nearby, reading the latest edition of "Ms" Magazine.

"Mom..."

"Yes dear..."

"Has dad left us?"

"Tommy! Why must you say such things? Your father has simply gone out for ice cream."

**********************************

Thomas stood, looking over his mother's shoulder as she read what he considered to be a perfectly idiotic mystery novel. He was sullen and angry at the world, as teenagers often are.

"So Mother, you think dad's started a new family."

"Now Tom, I don't want to hear any more of this. I've told you, You're father has simply..."

And he said the old refrain with her, "Gone out for Ice Cream."

"Yes, that's right."

Thomas had finally had it. He couldn't take it any more. "Mom, Wake up! Dad is GONE. He's left us. It doesn't take ten freaking years to get ice cream now does it? You sit there with that vacant expression on your face, living in your little dream world. Well it's time to wake up. You can't go on like this. Face fact and accept it; Dad is gone and he's not coming back." Thomas saw his mother smiling at something over his shoulder and it only served to upset him more. "Ice cream! Really!"

She continued smiling and finally Thomas turned to see what she was staring at, figuring it was nothing and that his forcing her eyes open had perhaps been too much for her. As he turned his head, much to his amazement a bearded man in a long out of fashion coat and hat stood with his arms full of grocery bags. It took Thomas a moment to realize that he recognized this man from photos and even a few hazy memories.

"Dad?"

"Hey, who wants some ice cream? I got a spumoni, I got a rocky road. Here's some vanilla, some French vanilla and vanilla swirl; chocolate chip, chocolate mint chip, chocolate chip cookie dough and chocolate mocha fudge swirl with the marshmallows. You like tin roof? I got tin roof. I got Neapolitan. Here's some strawberry, raspberry, black cherry and boysenberry. How about whipped cream. Who needs whipped cream? We got whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate syrup, crushed Oreos, we even got those little silver things; you know those little silver things, they look like you can't eat 'em, but guess what, you can! Here ya go."

The list continued as Thomas' still smiling mother began happily stirring her plain vanilla in a bowl. She didn't like to eat it until it had softened a bit.

"I got ice cream sandwiches, Popsicles, push ups, and fifty fifty bars. Here's a frozen banana, it's not quite ice cream, but its a yummy frozen treat."

"Sorry mom."

"We got marshmallow swirl, strawberry cheesecake vanilla, white Russian and chunky monkey. Yes sir. We got it all..."

Suicide Hotline

2006-03-29T18:31:00.000-08:00

Hi, this is Tom. How are you.

Hello...

Do you want to talk? I'm listening.

"I... I want to kill myself. I have a bottle of pills and I want to just swallow them all."

Well okay. You be carefull. I've seen some bad times come about as a result of pills. You really got to make sure that you've got enough to do the job, and to do it quick. You don't want to end up spending the night in the E.R. pukin' and howling while they shove tubes down your throat. That aint going to make things better.

"Uh..."

Look, why don't you tell me why you want to die.

"I don't know. I'm just, my life, it's just, nothing's going on. It's all bullshit and I just can't do it anymore."

Okay. I can see that. You don't have any kind of critical illness now do you.

"No."

Hmmm. That would give you a good excuse and method all in one there. Okay, let's see, have you made your list?

"What list."

Oh come on now. You can't kill yourself without making a list.

"You mean like a will."

No, no, no. You don't worry about that. Letting the living fight over that crap. Gives them something to live for. You need a list of things you gotta try before you go. You got to take advantage of the situation you're in right now. Look, life sucks for all of us when we live with our parents, right? But then we move out and it all changes. You have moved out of your parents house haven't you?"

"Yeah."

Good, good. Now then you can cross that off your list. Go ahead. Get yourself some paper and cross that off. I'll wait.

"Seriously?"

Oh I'm serious. You want to kill yourself, there are things you've got to do.

"Um, okay, I have a pen and pad here."

Good just write that on there, "move out of parent's house" and you can cross it right off. Congratulations.

Now I can only do so much to help you with the list, since I don't know you. If you're on drugs, try quittin' 'em. Don't kill yourself wihout succeeding at that first. If you're not on drugs, try some out. You can't kill yourself without never having tripped on LSD or smoked a bit of weed. You can try the white drugs if you feel you need too, hell what've you got to lose right? Personally, they didn't do much for me.

"Are you for real?"

Oh yes. Now if you're rich, ditch your money. If you aint happy with all that money you may as well get rid of it before you check out. Hell you might save someone else's life, help them get to some things on their list. Your list should be pretty long. Have a threesome, participate in an orgy, travel domestically, travel abroad, hitchhike. Hell, if you're not too worried about dying you've got a-lot of options. Remember though, you are afraid of pain, I mean, you should be, so keep that in mind. And then at the bottom of that list, put 'Commit Suicide', but make sure you do it right. I mean, the last thing on your list should be nice ya know. No shittin' blood or gaspin' for breath, that's no way to go. I think I'd put on some old Stones and slit my wrists in a warm bath, but that's a personal decision of course. I love the Stones. Strange that they're mostly still around. They must have finished up their lists years ago. So great to have a death wish. All the movers and shakers out there do. That's what allows them to take chances. How's that list coming.

"What? Oh, um, good. I filled up the first page."

That's great. Great. Keep going. Oh, and one more thing. Right above 'Commit Suicide', put 'Call Tom and say goodbye'. Could ya do that? Here I'll give you my cell phone number. They're gonna be seeing me out of here. This is my third call and they think I need to listen more.

Valentines Day

2006-02-16T18:41:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid my dad decided to surprise my mom for Valentine's day by dressing up as Cupid and crawling down the chimney. Somewhere along the way he must have gotten stuck and died.

We just assumed he was off on another of his Amway selling binges and we figured he'd be back when he ran out of product.

Then things began to smell. Mom decided a nice fire would help cover the mysterious odor that had overtaken our home and she was right. Years of Amway aftershave, shower-gel, body cream, and the like had left my old man so marinated that fast food drive-ins were packed for miles around as the delicious scent of his flame grilled corpse reached motorist and started them salivating.

When his charred remains were finally discovered and removed all that was left to ID the body were his teeth and the little heart shaped arrowheads that were a part of his costume (in fact add a set of wings and they were his costume.) I took a job at Country Burger despite having gone vegetarian after hungering for my burning father. I had to help pay off the huge Amway debt so that we didn't lose our house. I've hated Valentine's day ever since!

With apologies to Gremlins (and Gremlins 2)

Christmas Joy

2005-10-08T15:18:00.000-07:00

I’d quit my job the day before. It’s a wonderful feeling quitting a job. Confirming that your destiny, though uncertain, is not contained within these particular four walls. Walking out the door for the last time is like a grown up version of the last day of school. I had pledged to myself as I liberated myself from yet another burn and turn restaurant, chain video store, or trendy overpriced coffee shop, “Now to do something worthwhile with my life.

Too long on a job and you start to feel like you need it. Once that dependence sets in you’re screwed. You start to care. The funny thing is I do worse when I care. When I don’t give a damn I move through the ranks pretty quickly, the higher ups mistaking my ambivalence for confidence. Heck I once made it from fry guy to burger flipper to head burger flipper in a mere two weeks. Then I crumbled up my paper hat, discarded my little plastic nametag, which invariably said the wrong name, and off I’d go. Getting out before that big burger money went to my head. Back then I’d be high for a week off the knowledge that I was jobless, bossless, and free, free at last. Oh well, the first time is always the sweetest.
I sit in my warm apartment this time, thinking how nice warmth and apartments are, and get ready to go hit the job market a scant twelve hours after quitting the last job, the blissful rush of “free, free at last” lasted less and less. Not the least of my concerns is a Christmas list hanging on my refrigerator. I really hope this can be the first year of my actually getting everyone a little something that will simultaneously advertise to them that I have my crap together and that I love them.

I start my hunt at the mall as I always do. The first step in finding a job is rejecting all the places where I don’t want to work and the mall has the largest number of such places in the greatest concentration. The mall also is one of my favorite places at Christmas. The lights the crowds the music, all things I hate the rest of the year, but around Christmas it makes me giddy. I look around at all the corporate stores that are the same in every mall everywhere, the hip store with all the retro stuff and the dirty board games, the bargain clothing store that gets things exactly two day after they go out of fashion with the oh so hip fifteen to seventeen year old crowd and best of all the huge corporate clothing giant that says, "Here! Plain white t-shirt and jeans, it’s cutting edge, honest, look at the price tag." I take a good long look at them all and say, “Nope, don’t want to work there.”

Well with that out of the way I head on out. I can’t help but stop and see Santa before I go. The old guy looks familiar this year. I mean of course he looks familiar, he’s Santa, but beyond that, I think I know this guy. Hot Damn, it’s big gay Shawn! I immediately get in line to sit on his lap, trying not to care about the evil eye I’m getting from parents and children alike. Just as I reach the front though, this little tart of an elf in a green felt mini skirt pulls the chain across.
“Santa will be back in 15 minutes big guy. He’s got to feed his reindeer.” I am disappointed, and need a smoothie to perk me up, but as I turn to head to the Juice booth, there in my way stands Big Gay Santa Shawn.

“Ho, Ho, Ho, You’ve been naughty!!!” He bellows at me.
“Uh, yeah, sorry about that Santa. Hey if I buy you a smoothie will you put me on the nice list anyway?” Me and Santa Shawn head to fetch some delicious and nutritious, and he gives me the low down.

“This job is great. The pay is unbelievable and all I got to do is sit here telling rich kids they’ll get the real Slim Shady for Christmas. I can hook you up dude.”

“Really? I’m Lookin’ for a job.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s a job search sweater if ever I’ve seen one.”

“Shaddup, this sweater rocks. Can you really make me Santa?”

“Well the big malls are all taken but Southside is still open.”
It sounds great to me. I figure I can work through Christmas get everyone gifts. The job even comes with a 20 percent discount at the mall stores who are of course dependent on Santa to steer the precious little consumers in their direction. And I can pay my rent and bills for January allowing me to maybe actually enjoy at least a couple days of “free, free at last” after the holidays.

“Hook me up Shawn, hook me up. I’m great with kids.”

I arrange to come back at five to meet Shawn’s boss, and decide to spend the rest of the day staking’ out all the presents I’ll be buyin’. A little devil on my shoulder suggests I get everyone Amazing Real Live Pet Sea Monkeys, but the little angel on the other side, who usually just agrees with the little devil, picks this occasion to actually do her job, and steers me away from that sacred aisle of the toy store where they keep the science kits, the ant farms, and of course the Amazing Real Live Pet Sea Monkeys.

Five O’clock comes quickly and I meet Shawn and his boss Nick at the food court. We talk over falafels. Apparently this guy has been in the Santa racket most of his life, and wears a real white beard, long white hair, ruby cheeks and bowl full of jelly belly year round.

He has amazing stories of mafia children in Chicago telling’ him they’d better get that little red choo-choo if fat boy knew what was good for him, and of mothers who want Santa to climb down there chimney when father is at the office.

“It’s some kind of fetish with these ladies, the whole outfit. They want me in the outfit, in character for gods sake.”

This I find simply amazing and must beg for more details.

“Oh man, they want me Ho Ho Hoing and telling them they’ve been extra nice this year.”

I’m crying laughing, as I ask him, “So you’ve actually done this?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I have, sometimes even if they were on my naughty list.”

“Especially if they were on your naughty list!” laughed Shawn.

“Oh like you’ve never taken advantage of Santa Clause being the ultimate bear.”

I’m dying with laughter over the fact that I’m having this conversation with two Santa Clauses in the mall food court. We eventually talk business, but there isn’t too much to talk. Old St. Nick likes me and tells me to show up at the depressed Southside Mall the next day at noon.

I spend the night with vision of sugarplums and housewives with Santa fetishes dancing in my head and show up the next day early and eager. Nick gives me my outfit and leads me to a dressing room. He gives me some pointers in rapid-fire speech.

“The elves are there to check for wet bottoms, if they miss and you get a damp one, give two Ho’s instead of three. That’s their cue to get the kid off of you. Some of these kids are pretty tough, so keep good eye contact going with your security elf.
Tell the kids they can list three items, and don’t let ‘em get past ten. Keep the line moving. Don’t let the depressing ones get you down. Just remember you’re there to cheer ‘em up, so do it, but don’t promise ‘em a Mercedes. We don’t need a bunch of pissed off parents. All right kid, you look great. Here’s some blush, knock ‘em dead.”

I walk out to the chair feeling like a natural. “Ho Ho Ho! Look at all these good boys and girls. Ho! Ho! Ho!” I take my seat and the rush is on. The first one is dumped in my lap.

“Well hello there, what’s your name”

“You s’pose to be Santa. Why don’t you know my name fool?”

“Well I only know the kids on my nice list, you must be on my naughty list.”

This gets me a dirty look from my security elf. “Ho Ho Ho!” I add hastily.
“How come there’s no black Santa. My big brother says we get the crappy presents cuz your an old cracker.” “Ho Ho Ho”

I see an older kid laughing’ his ass off a few yards away, and I sense it’s the older brother havin’ some fun at Santa’s expense.

“Do you want anything for Christmas little boy.”

“Yeah” he looks around a little and then self consciously whispers, “I want a new bike, and the Lego space station, and some Pokemon cards, and the Pokemon movie and” His desire for this great treasure has at least momentarily suspended his big brothers evil influence. The list goes on till my elf encourages me to hurry him along.

“Ho Ho, listen I’ll get you as much of that stuff as I can, but you got to do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“You tell your brother that I did know your name, his name, and all about what he did on Halloween and he’s on my very naughty list and may never get a present again ever.” I stop and think a minute then add “unless he brings me a mocha ….oh and get something for you, what do you want a hot chocolate?”

“Make him let me look at his playboys.”

“You tell him I know about those too, and you stay out of them, alright?”

“Alright Santa, thanks.”

I see the brothers reunite, the older anxious to hear how badly the younger messed with my head, and I get the dirty look I’d been expecting.

The next kid is placed on my lap.

“I want Nintendo, and a B.M.X. and a Rotweiller puppy, and “

Every one of these kids has a list a mile long, and carefully prioritized. They take this business very seriously. A few older ones start out sarcastic, usually playing the tough guy for some invisible audience, but even they slip in a sincere request or two, just in case I guess.

I get through my first day feeling pleasantly exhausted and head to a bar I’ve never heard of before where, according to Shawn, a lot of Santa’s hang out.

I find the bar all right and as I open the front door I am amazed. Santas Everywhere! Santas are arguing around the pool table, slumping over the bar, singing along loudly with the Eagles on the jukebox. Everyone has stayed in costume if not in character (not all is jolly). Shawn calls me to a corner table where he is flirting with a young elf, and Nick has himself a lady who promises to be nice and naughty.

“Hey Santa how’d it go?” Shawn greets me.

“Man I heard some lists today.”

“Yeah you were in a poor neighborhood, they always have the longest list.”

“Your kids lists aren’t as long?”

“No, the rich kids don’t need to believe in Santa as badly. They get stuff all year, and at Christmas they think long and hard to come up with a couple of things they didn’t get that are maybe a little bigger and a little more frivolous then what they con their parents out of the rest of the year. A lot of the little brats actually tell me, “Tell my Mom I want…”

“It’s that big of difference eh?”

“Oh yeah, that’s why we give you newbies the poor territory. You’re paying your dues my friend.”

We’re cut short by the Santas at the pool table who are now beating the crap out of each other. The Eagles singers have been replaced by a scruffy young Santa whose dirty beard and tattered suit suggest is not a working Santa at the present time.
He’s on top of the pool table using a cue as a guitar, rocking out to some old Black Sabbath.

Nick leans over to me “Don’t feel bad about promising ‘em the good stuff kid. Nobody spends too much on Christmas like poor parents. They’ll be in debt the rest of the year, but their babies are gonna have one helluva Christmas.”
With this him and his housewife head on out, he HO, HO, Hoing all the way through the door.

The Santas have made up at the pool table, and the Eagles are back on.

“Shawn, there’s only so much Eagles I can handle. I’m gonna head home.”

“Alright Mr. Claus well see you tomorrow.”

I leave Shawn and his anonymous elf and make my way home, to my nice warm home.
As the days pass, the lists get longer, many kids visit more than once having reprioritized, and a certain older brother can’t seem to stop coming around and staring. I see parents all around me filling baskets with Nikes that I could never afford, along with Nintendos and Pokemons and other must have commodities. They’re really going to town. I now know how this mall stays open the rest of the year. This insane consumerism troubles me, as I think of my role in it. I wonder if cash is used for anything as credit cards and debit cards flash every which way. Parents wandering in a daze with glossed over eyes and furrowed brows. It starts to affect my performance. I catch myself trying to tell kids of the real meaning of Christmas, something I don’t put much stock in myself, having always associated Christmas with cheesy canned music and gaudily decorated shopping malls for as long as I can remember. The little angels are not too interested in being the recipients of my great knowledge and usually interrupt me to continue their lists.

I head to the Santa bar every night wanting the company of the other brave men who share this bizarre experience, though the other Santas are mostly worried about taking home one of the cute young girls they hire as elves. Usually only the security elves are male, and poor Shawn's odds are severely limited in that few of them are ever gay, or if they are they tend to be young and undecided. Secretly I think Shawn likes to be the funny uncle that shows them the way.

Santas seem to be a particularly unhappy group, if unhappiness can be measured by pints or shots per hour. These guys really put it away. Nick tells me their just workin’ on their bellies.

“The less make up and props you need the higher on the Santa ladder you are. Which is why” and he stands and yell this part, “I am the King of the Santas.”

He has a pretty elf with him and she laughs delighted, as I think to myself, “Must not have been any housewives today.”

No Santas dare contest his royalty but a few are starting real beards beneath their fake ones, and you can see them eyeing him with that “one of these days, you’ll slip fat boy, and when you do Ho Ho Ho!!” look on their face.

Christmas is getting close and the scene at the mall is depressing me more and more. I watch as two parents get into fisticuffs over the last Pokemon bonus box, neither wanting to settle for the Digimon box the poor sales clerk desperately waves at them. The decorations and the music are now just furthering my depression. I’ve given up on teaching the real meaning of Christmas, having decided that the real meaning of Christmas is making Mr. K.B. Toys and Mr. R Us richer while making mom and dad poorer and poorer.

I’ve taken to keeping a flask of spiked eggnog on me witch I share with the security elf. This mall being more prone to problems, my security elf is a big monster of a man who looks ridiculous in his little green outfit. He is the consummate professional however having worked this racket to subsidize his own Christmas spending for the last four years.

“Why don’t you do Santa?” I ask him during a rare lull in business.

“Yeah, every kid wants a seven foot tall three hundred pound black Santa.”

“I see your point.”

We sit and watch the chaos all about us.

“Look at these fools makin’ themselves broke.” He says disgustedly passing the flask.

“Yeah. I don’t have any kids so I guess I just don’t get it.” I’m half way through the flask and we haven’t even reached our lunch break yet.

“I got kids and I try to make Christmas real nice, especially cuz I got such great kids, but there are limits. I spend on Christmas what I make workin’ this job and no more.”

“ What’s your other job?”

“I do security at an all night check cashing place.”

“That sounds pretty scary.”

“No mostly its just infuriating watching idiots throwing away ten percent of their
already tiny checks cuz they’re bank accounts are so overdrawn.”

“Doesn’t that poop you out, this all day and that all night?”

“No, I have a lot of energy. I don’t have a lazy bone in my body. When it isn’t Christmas time I go to school during the day anyway.”

“What are you studyin’?”

“I’m workin’ on my teaching credential, elementary school probably, maybe jr. high.”

“Well you’d have the best behaved class in the world.”

“Probably true. I just get so pissed off at the teachers my kids have now, and the teachers I had when I was a kid. They want it easy. They take their smartest kids and prescribe ‘em Prozac and Ritalin to shut ‘em up, and then reward the little morons that tow the line of crap their lazy teachers dole out.”

“Yeah, my teachers were pretty awful. They tried to put me on Ritalin.”

“That’s cuz your smart.”

“Thanks Elfie!” I say, honestly flattered, although my teachers did have some pretty good excuses, me being one of the least angelic little angels you’d ever want to meet.

Christmas Eve is just a few days a way and by pretending all these shoppers are as cool and together as my friend Elfie I’m able to enjoy myself a little more.
My little buddy, the older brother continues to keep a suspicious eye on me. I’m fully back into character now, although I do try to put a little bit of sense into the sugar high heads of these little angels, telling ‘em I can’t do everything on their list but I will do my best. I make up scenarios.

“My reindeer are getting old. They don’t allow me to carry as much as I use to.” Or “Mrs. Claus is hounding me for a new pair of Adidas and I need a new computer for myself, and the elves are demanding longer lunch breaks so it may be a slower Christmas this year.” Elfie finds this endlessly riotous, and we’re both stayin’ pretty darn cheery, though his child hoisting seems to have slowed, and the children seem to be barely reachin’ my lap.

I’ve gotten used to the Eagles and now regard them as just another kind of Christmas music to be enjoyed once a year now matter how awful it may sound during any other season. The other Santas are not so generous about my Black Sabbath preferences, but so far I’ve managed to rock out to the Oz without having to participate in the nightly Santa brawls. Nick wasn’t kiddin’ about the housewife thing. Fat and bearded may not do much the rest of the year but he is one Joyous Noel of a Don Juan this month.

And here at last, Christmas Eve.

A large black woman in a too small elf outfit greets me as I arrive at the mall. She explains to me that she is Mrs. Elfie and will be working his shift as he has a rotten back ache. I am disappointed and concerned, I’d really been lookin’ forward to hangin’ out with Elfie on this last day, but she is a sweet and appropriately jolly woman, and we have a grand time.

I see the older brother peekin’ at me again and I can’t resist fixin’ him with a stare that sends him running. Almost every kid on my lap has been there once before and I’m getting last minute revisions. I work a twelve-hour shift and am thrilled when towards the end of my line I see big brother in my line, and with a mocha in his hands no less. I give him a nice hardy “HO” as he reaches the front.

“I aint sittin’ in his damn lap” he tells Mrs. Elfie. “Here’s your mocha. Listen I know you aint Santa, but just in case he’s real, and you know him, put in a good word for my brother would you? He’s a good kid.”

Wow, this kid is the greatest. “Hey Kid, if I do see Santa I’ll tell him you and your brother are the greatest couple a kids I ever met. O.K.”

“Thanks man. Hey did you really say I had to give him my playboys?”

I can’t hold in my laughter, and he leaves after promising an ass whoopin’ for a certain little angel. Me and my substitute elf close up shop and I’m just giddy. Then I ask about Elfie.

“How’s Mr. Elfie doin’ anyway?”

“That man of mine got just what he deserves. The clinic told him he can’t be liftin’ kids all day if he wants to be able to lift his own.”

“Bad back eh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. He says he’ll get it fixed when he’s done with school and we have more money, and then he blows all this holiday money on presents for the kids.”

“Is it really that much money?”

She fixes me with a look. “You Santas sure are dense. Your security elves get double the pay you get, especially in run down malls like this. Hell when I saw his first check I thought he was guarding the president. A mall Santa got hisself beat up one year by an angry parent who couldn’t afford all the crap her kid was asking for.

Seeing this fat white fool promising her kid more and more, knowing he wasn’t gonna see the kid again but would get all the credit just got to be too much and she went crazy on him. The children in line were traumatized for life and the mall got dragged into court. They must have paid out big cuz it was a few years before they brought in Santa again, and that’s when the security elf was born.”

“You mentioned the clinic, can’t they take care of Elfie?”

“Son, you ever been to a free clinic?”

I had. I spent all day being saved by a born again punk rocker in the lobby while they waited for proof that I was poor enough to receive attention, as if anyone who could afford real medical care would opt for this mess. I finally saw a doctor who didn’t speak the same language as me so he just prescribed penicillin and sent me on my way. The penicillin did not help my twisted ankle.

“Yeah, I see your point.” I said, feeling silly for my suggestion.

“Well I better get home and take care of his lame ass. You have a merry Christmas. Elfie wanted you to know, he thinks you’re the best Santa he’s ever worked with.”

“Well you tell him I prefer big black Santas, and give him this.”
I’d gotten him a wooden apple with a worm in it that said “Worlds Greatest Teacher” on the side.

On my way to the bar I think about Elfie, and all those other fool parents trying to make sure their babies get as much loot from old St. Nick as all those little rich boys. I remember my parents, and how tight money was when I was a kid. I got my KISS army skateboard, my Atari and many, many science kits regardless. I wish I could do something for my big elf buddy, and I’m beginning to hate this holy day.

I get to the bar depressed as hell and ready to rock. I drop four dollars in the jukebox and programmed it to play “Sabbath bloody Sabbath” all night, Eagles and Christmas music be damned. After the third repeat has started and I’ve had two shots of cheap whiskey per play, some bastard in a red suit resets the jukebox by pullin’ the plug. Hotel California blares from the speakers and I have had enough.

“You Santas all suck. Christmas sucks. You all help to feed this greedy corporate sponsored crap of a holiday, guilting parents into spending money they don’t have. And do they even get a thank you for it? Hell no! All the thanks go to us fat drunken idiots. Well I hope you all get jack for Christmas, cuz you deserve it you pathetic opportunistic drunk morons.”

None of this particularly shocks or upsets them and they all go back to their drinkin’, carolin’ and pool playin’. That is until I deliver the conclusion of my diatribe, which brings the house down.

“The Eagles Suck.”

Fists come flying. I am surrounded by white and red. I’m being hit and kicked by gloved hands and booted feet. Shawn and Nick jump in to defend me. Two wannabe King of the Santas jump Nick and work him over, pulling on his beautiful beard, his housewife du-jour beating them with her purse. Shawn gets punched in the gut, and his elf jumps in to defend him. His elf is quite handy with the fists and I’m thinking us renegade Santas might take the advantage until I notice blue mixing with the red and white.

The bartender has called the cops and they are efficiently tossing Santas left and right. I am unanimously pinpointed as the troublemaker and I think the cops may have even been informed of my blasphemous comment on the Eagles, for my handcuffs are very tight. (Cops love the Eagles almost as much as Santas do.)
The local news is waiting outside as I am escorted to the squad car.

“Go ahead, put it on the news. Let all the little angels see what a dirt bag Santa is. I sold their presents to buy lap dances and gin. Show ‘em.”

This makes me even less popular with the police who stop in an alley to give me a little nonverbal talking to. My beard is turning pink from my bleeding nose and bottom lip by the time I get to jail. Would you believe it the bastards are booking me with assaulting them? I guess my face gave their fist a pretty good working over.

I sit in a full cell. Believe it or not Santa gets a fair amount of respect from cellmates or else I’m respected for being a ruthless assaulter of cops. At any rate I am given the supreme privilege of a seat on the cold metal bench instead of the cold cement floor. An officer with a clipboard shows up and begins calling names. I watch terrified as the named go into the hall and are made to suffer horrible indignations involving latex gloves and a flashlight. There is much coughing. The officer calling the names must see how terrified I am and he’s enjoying it. I’m the last one in the cell and he smiles at me.

“One name left on the list buddy!”

“Oh god almighty, forgive me for my atheism, please let me not meet the gloved hand. I’ll try to be better at celebrating your boys’ birthday, I swear”

The last name is called. “Jose Jimenez”

Jose Jimenez? I’m not Jose Jimenez!
“Ha, I’m not Jose Jimenez!”

“What.”

“Look at me. Do I look like I could possibly be Jose Jimenez?”

“What the…I’ll be back”

And he leaves. I’m banging out a funky beat on the metal bench and singin’ I’m so darn happy to still have a wee bit o’ dignity.

A voice from under the bench scares the hell out of me. “Chut de hell up.”
“Jose? Jose Jimenez?”

Jose, wondering how I know his name peeks out from under the bench and his blood shot eyes get huge as he spots this bloody Santa.

“Santa Claus?”

He crawls (drunkenly) out from under the bench.

“Yeah man, hey you’re lucky you passed out man. They were gonna search you good.”
He looks around the empty cell and is obviously freaked out, probably wondering how he ended up alone with Santa Claus in a jail cell.

“Wow! Santa.”

He sits and stares for a long while. He then inches closer.

“Santa?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you what I want for Christmas?”

“Um, Sure, why not”

“Santa, can I sit in your lap?”

Now Jose isn’t just drank too much at the office party drunk. Jose is live under the freeway, vodka breakfast, what's my name drunk with matching filth.

I’m about to say “No Way, Jose!” when I remember my promise to God. I have an awful lot of catholic guilt for an atheist.

“Alright I’ll do it but after this we’re even.” I say to the big man upstairs.

“Huh?” says Jose.

“Go ahead.”

“Go ahead what.”

“Go ahead and sit in my lap!”

“O.K.” he says, now doing me a favor.

He walks sideway, and plops drunkenly on my lap. He smells like every nasty ally in town rolled up in one and I nearly choke.

“O.K. Santa. I want…I don’t know what I want.”

Oh man, there’d better be a god. “How about a bottle of Jack Daniels?”

“No, I want to quit drinkin’ man. It’s screwed up my whole life.” At this Jose starts crying. Drunken tears tend to skip the eyes and come straight out of the nose.

“All right, listen Jose. When you get out of here go to the church at 24th and L Street and tell them you want to get sober. They’ll help you out. Whenever you want a drink you remember old Santa Claus comin’ to visit you in the drunk tank.”

“O.K. Santa. I’m gonna do it. I’m really gonna do it!” He’s getting too darn comfortable on my lap. “Is there anything else you’d like Jose?”

“Yeah. Santa, can I have a cigarette?”

I have a whole pack in my pocket. I gave him the pack. “Anything else?”

“Got a light?”

I give him a light.

“Santa this is the greatest Christmas of my entire life” He says, blubbering.

I look back at this crying stinky drunk man sitting on my lap in a cold jail cell on Christmas Eve and tell him honestly,

“Mine too, Jose, Mine too.”

Yuppie Birth Scene

2005-10-08T15:11:00.000-07:00

Or: "Mommy, where do high quality name brand consumer products come from?"

Geoffrey grabbed the overnight bag from the closet by door and rushed to start the Saab warming. Geoffrey and Sybil had ordered the bag from “Modern Mommy” magazine and they’d kept it ready and waiting for the last month; waiting for this special night. And here at last it was. Sybil made her way to the car, stopping to complain, “I really hoped we would have the S.U.V. by now. I wanted to arrive at the hospital in style.”

“Honey! This is car is a classic. Besides, we decided to wait until the baby passed the messy stage before getting a new car. And remember, it was you who decided we should wait and not find out the gender ahead of time, which means we have no idea what color interior would be appropriate.”

Geoff and Sybil put on the Baby Bach tape and drove to the hospital, Sybil humming along with the great composer, Geoff secretly wishing for The Eagles greatest hits CD.

At the hospital, in the new, high tech but homey, birthing room Sybil lay breathing heavily and, knowing that her hair was a wreck she decided that not filming the birth was indeed the right idea even if they had just bought a brand new digital camcorder.

Geoff paced back and forth trying to remember his instructions but being distracted by his wife’s faulty breathing. Good God, did she pay any attention to our Lamaze instructor? Geoff certainly had, Sybil suggesting he maybe paid a bit more attention to the attractive, petite, young woman than was required. Where the hell is that Doctor? Sybil’s Spinning instructor, Phoebe had suggested this Doctor. He was, in
Geoff’s mind more of a glorified midwife. The Doctor had trained Geoff to perform the delivery, the Doctor serving as advisor and assistant. He would of course take over in case of an emergency. Apparently this is the way birth was done these days; no drugs, no doctor, and yet somehow more expensive than ever.

The doctor entered the room at last, showing no sign of being rushed. Sorry to interrupt your golf game Doc.

“Well how are we doing here?” the Doctor asked nobody in particular as he communed with various pieces of chiming, beeping medical equipment.

“Well Doc, We’re having a baby!” Geoff answered back sharply, letting his impatience show.

The Doctor, unfazed, checked on Sybil. “Breathing good Sybil.” She was for once relieved at his impersonal nature. Without any make up she preferred not to be looked in the eye.

“Everything seems just fine.” The Doctor didn’t give Geoff a chance to start with the barrage of questions, his attention occupied instead by his cell phone as it began ringing to the tune of The Eagle’s hit, Hotel California. While Geoff certainly appreciated the choice of tunes this hardly seemed the time to be receiving phone calls.

“Yeah, I got in a full eighteen this morning. No, absolutely not. Are you kidding me, my handicap hasn’t been that high this decade. Oh, you are on. I suppose you’ll want to hit from the lady’s tee. Where’s that feminist spirit now?”

Geoff almost didn’t notice the fevered pitch of Sybil’s breathing as he strained to hear what course the Doctor played. He was sure there was some hidden, elite course in this town; though years of searching had so far proved fruitless. His wife’s breathing began to drown out the doctor’s chatter.

“Uh, Doc, I think we’re happening here. Doc, it’s time. Doc!”

“Alright honey, I’ll see you in just a bit. Yes the Motel 7. Right, right, off of the Five. OK sweetie. No, you. No, no You.”

“Doc, Doc, Come on!”

“Alright baby, I gotta go, I got one of them. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. Ok, you hang up. No, you. OK on three…one…two…three! You didn’t hang up.”

“JESUS CHRIST DOCTOR, WE’RE HAVING A BABY HERE!!!”

“I’ll see you there babe. OK, Geoff how we doing?”

“We are stressed the heck out, Doc. I’m not so sure about this. Maybe you should just do the delivery. I mean are you really sure it’s a good idea for me to deliver my own child?”

“Sure, yeah. I mean if that’s what you want.”

“IF THAT’S WHAT I WANT?!? Doctor, this was your idea. You talked us into this. For nine months now!”

“Yes, Yes, Geoff come” The doctor put his arm around Geoff’s shoulders reassuringly as he pulled a card out of his coat pocket and read aloud convincingly. “Shouldn’t you, The father, be the one to bring your child into the world. Why should some doctor be the first person your child sees as he begins his life? Don’t you want to introduce your child to the world? Don’t you want the excitement of being the one to discover the sex of your child? Don’t you…Geoff?”

“Oh Geeze, you’re right Doc. I’m sorry. I feel better. Let’s do this Doc.” Geoff felt like the Doctor had spoken to him as a peer, an equal, a golf buddy. He stepped up to the plate with an extra bounce in his step and prepared to greet his heir.

“Breathe honey, Breathe! No breathe. No, no, no, not like that. What are you doing? Breathe! Like the instructor said, like she taught you!” Sybil was making them both look bad with this inexcusably sloppy performance, and Geoff saw his chances of golfing with the good Doctor slipping through his fingers. “DIDN’T YOU PAY ATTENTION IN THAT CLASS AT ALL!”

The doctor grabbed hold of Geoff and with a few good shakes, and one well-placed slap had Geoff ready to listen to reason. “Geoff, supportive. Now is the time to be supportive. Give her your strength Geoff. Help her to stay calm.”

“Yes! Supportive! Yes! And strength. Give her strength. Yes!” Geoff returned to his post, giving his wife a reassuring Pat on the knee and a double thumbs up. “Good breathing sweetie. Good breathing.”

The doctor gave Geoff a smile that just smacked of tee time. With renewed confidence Geoff realized the big moment had arrived. Geoff started his sentence ahead of time “It’s…” so he could announce the sex of their child at quickly as possible. Sybil pushed, and breathed and pushed. “It’s…It’s a…a…” It was a top of the line, surround sound, name brand DVD player and it landed in Geoff’s hands squarely. Geoff went instantly into shock as he stared desperately at the Doctor.

“Hey, It’s a Sony!” The doctor seemed thrilled. “Excuse me there, Geoff, just gotta unplug the cord here and…there you go. Oh wow, what a beauty.” Geoff snapped back into reality, and realized Sybil was still pushing, seemingly unaware that she had made any kind of delivery. Geoff wondered if more surprises were en route and he couldn’t help but notice the Doctor’s impressed tone as he listed the appliance’s many features.

“Keep pushing there, honey, keep pushing. Oh, and keep your eyes closed sweet. Good, good, keep them eyes closed and PUSH”
Push she did, as Geoff delivered a Nine Iron, followed by a sand wedge, several woods, eventually what seemed to be a full set of very nice golf clubs. The doctor excitedly called for his nurse to bring in his spare golf bag which he began filling. Putting in the last of the clubs the Doctor looked up expectantly, then worriedly. “Uh, Geoff, I think we may have a problem here.”

“A problem! A problem! It took you till now to decide we’ve got a problem. What pray tell could THAT BE?”

“No Putter!”

And with a grunt and a push Sybil allayed the good doctors worry as she all but launched a putter into the world, hitting her husband in the head.

Geoff got himself off the ground, and was near returning to it as he tried to grasp the situation at hand. Rubbing the rising bump on his forehead Geoff noticed the Doctor gripping the handle of a driver lovingly. Geoff felt a tinge of paternal pride.

“Those are good clubs eh Doc.”

“Teitleist Gold Line. These are what I play at…at the club.” The Doctor almost slipped there and Geoff seized the opportunity.

“You think, maybe I could take in a round with ya some weekend Doc?”

The good doctor hesitated and then quickly changed the subject, “uh, I think we got more coming there, Geoff.”

And indeed they did have more coming. With a minimum of assistance, but plenty of encouragement from the medical professional Geoffrey delivered; A bottle of wine-
“An excellent year here, Geoff” a fabulous trip to Mazatlan-“Oh, Matzatlan is great this time of year”, a portable TV- “Oh man this would go great in my Range Rover!”, a cell phone- “Wow, this phone has games, ha ha, that’s Space Invaders! Excellent!”. And a complete set of Cut-Co gourmet knives- “Oh buddy, you’re like a real chef with these!”

Sybil seemed to think she was just having one helluva labor and remained unaware of any strangeness. Though she did ask occasionally what was happening, she accepted the “Keep pushing, your’re doing great, keep pushing” that was offered in response.

She began pushing again, suddenly. Geoff rushed to deliver a sharpening stone or a palm pilot or one of those cool lights that let you read in bed. He was shocked when he was instead pelted in the face by thinly sliced cucumbers, then carrot slices, then diced onions. He turned to the doctor, confusion showing clearly on his face, along with some tears. Onions always had this effect on him.

“You know, I think I know what we’ve got here!” the doctor offered reassuringly, as he reached in and helped Geoff with the delivery. “Ah, just as I thought, A Salad Shooter. These things really come in handy.”

Geoff struggled to keep up with the Doctor in the cool and calm department, but the weirdness of the situation was getting to him. He really began to lose it when his wife opened her eyes and realized something was amiss.

“I demand to know what’s going on!”

”Oh God, Oh God! Doc, she wants to know what’s going on. I don’t know what to tell her. Oh God, What Do I Tell Her?”

“Calm down, Geoff. Keep it together. Now is the most important time to keep your cool. Now listen Geoff, I want you to be sweet and kind. Encourage her Jeff, and hey, you just may get a Rolex out of this!”

“OK, gentle, sweet, Rolex! Well honey, you’re doing great, really! That breathing, my god, top rate, wouldn’t you say Doctor!”

“Most definitely. Some of the finest I’ve seen.”

“Yes, very good. So, um well…there’ve been some complications”. Geoff slipped using the C word in the birthing room and Sybil’s eyes grew large, her breathe panicky. “No, sweetie, nothing bad, um, good complications.”

“Good complications? What the hell is a good complication?”

“Well it’s just that…well…honey…WE GOT SOME REALY GREAT STUFF DOWN HERE!”
Now Sybil was really confused. She sat up, and saw the booty that had amassed at the foot of the bed.

“Its all name brand sweetheart” Geoff spouted, unable contain his enthusiasm any longer.

“Top of the line, Sybil.” the doctor helped.
Sybil looked, dazed and confused and then recognition set in. She’d seen these exact items grouped together before. Understanding flashed on her face and she caught herself revealing too much as she muttered aloud, “Oops!”

“Oops?” Geoff reeled at the reaction. “What Oops? Oops? Sybil! What did you do?”

“Well, you remember when we were trying to conceive?”

“Yes, Yes of course I do”

“And we were making love?”

“Yeah, I remember” My god, do women have no sense of privacy?

“And we had the TV on, to the home shopping network?.”

“Yes. It was just for the volume so the neighbors wouldn’t hear.” Geoff explained to the Doctor who seemed suddenly quite interested.

Sybil continued, guiltily, “Well…I lied! I was watching it.”

“You WHAT? Well I was making love to you, you were watching television?” Did I just hear that nosey Doctor snicker?

“Well it wasn’t exactly romantic. I mean, you were stuffing pillows under my ass, taking my temperature, making sure we did it at the right time of day on the right days!” Geoff looked to the Doctor, who had instructed him to do just these things, and received a satisfied nod as Sybil read her list. “Making me stand on my head.
And I still don’t see how that rubber thing with the spikes was gonna help us conceive!”

“Rubber thing?” the Doctor asked, eye brows raised.

“She’s delirious! So you were bored. Great. You were bored…So YOU SHOPPED? She shopped!”

“Well she’s right, it doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“Oh, don’t you talk to me about romantic Mr. Rolex!”

“Hey, Rolexes are romantic.”

Just then Sybil gave a loud groan and Geoff’s nurturing instincts retuned. “Honey, forget all that. It’s not important now. You just do your breathing, and push sweetheart, push!” and with a good solid push Geoff held in his hands a most beautiful offspring which he held up for his loving wife to admire.

“Honey, it’s the Toaster!”

“Yes!” she answered, full of pride, “The one we wanted, the one with the extra wide slots!”

And the couple joined hands as they recited the ad copy aloud, “For Bagels.”
Then Geoff’s hand received a squeeze that threatened damage to his fingers. There was more!

Geoff got into position. Sybil pushed and breathed and pushed. Geoff coached with all his might. A bright white light shone into Geoff’s face.

“What is it?” Screamed Sybil.

“Push!” Yelled Geoff.

“What is it?”

“PUSH!!!”

“WHAT IS IT?!?”

Geoff, his face lit by the ever increasing light emanating from his beloved’s womb, appeared to her over her knees full of excitement and fear.

“Honey, you know that SUV you’ve been wanting!?”

She

2005-10-08T15:09:00.000-07:00

She had survived two abusive marriages. She had lived on the streets. She’d been in one of the worst nursing homes in the state. Now she lived at the Pines on H st. and she’d never had it so good.

She went that morning on her daily walk, picked up her one can of cat food from the corner store, sat at the small park on P st. with the ugly fenced off city storage area in the middle, and caught her breath. She was heading home when she decided to venture into the fish store. She spent a good hour and a half looking at the fish, many of which she’d recognized from watching the nature channel (always what was playing in the lobby of the Pines).

She paused when she came across the betas. All these colorful little fish each floating effortlessly in it’s own clean little bowl. Rows of bowl sat on three glass shelves. They looked to her like jewels. She picked the prettiest two, and she had excellent taste. Not going for the flashy reds and blues like most, but seeking out the subtle and unusual; one soft yellow with smoky gray fins and one deep purple, almost black really. She chose these two and had the clerk bag them up for her. She paid with exact change and took them in their little bags.

She walked only a block before stopping to sit on the curb and admire her little jewels. She poured one into the others bag and then waited. She didn’t have to wait long. Just like she’d seen on the TV. The two began to threaten one another, flaring out their gills and circling and then to fight. Fins were torn, shred. They’d part, resting. The shorter finned purple one definitely seemed to have the advantage, the yellow one cowering at the bottom of the bag. They rested for what seemed to her like an eternity. The purple one then easily finished the job. She poured him out onto the sidewalk. He flopped for a minute and then just lay there looking stuck to the ground.

As she watched him die slowly she muttered under her breath, “fucker!”