Posts Tagged With: comedy

Halloween Interlude – Wormy Boners


What’s that sound on the bedroom door?
Ooooooh! Wormy Boners!
What’s that smell on the kitchen floor?
Ooooooh! Wormy Boners!

What made the dog scream with fright?
What keeps you sister up all night?
What wants in but it’s just too tight?!
Ooooooh! Wormy Boners!

Some say a boner with no worms in it
Is a boner only in name
Some may try wrapping their boner in worms
But, it isn’t the same
And ain’t that a shame?

So, why is that clown coughing up so much blood?
Ooooooh! Wormy Boners!
Why is my child buried deep in the mud?
Ooooooh! Wormy Boners!

Why did that baby doll rip off my skin?
Why are we just shells with no soul within?
Why is living a torment; a game we can’t win?
Ooooooh! Wormy Boners!

Categories: Halloween Interlude, Halloween!, Horror, Just a stupid thing, Just a VERY STUPID THING | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Amazing Story of This Five Dollar Bill


This is it. This is the five dollar bill.

The other day, I was getting in my car and this five dollar bill was frozen in the ice by the passenger-side door, so I chipped it out with my boot and now I have five more dollars.

Categories: Just a stupid thing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Awesomeness Of Martha Jones


“Thank you for all of your help, Martha Jones,” said the man in the blue suit standing on the stage holding all of the awesome medals, “It was a big help and saved the world. So, you win all the Awesome Awards and we present you with all these awesome medals for being awesome.”

Martha Jones did not care about awesome medals, but she knew that if she did not show up to accept them – all of them – the public would be disappointed because they cared so much. So very much.

“I accept all of the awesome medals,” she said to the man while looking him directly in his eyes as was her way because she was every man’s equal, “I accept them all. The Awesome Awards.”

The man in the blue suit put all of the medals around the neck of Martha Jones and, though they were heavy, she held her head high so she could look every person in the eyes as equals because that is what they were. And, they were all into it because they cared so much.

“I hope you have a safe drive home,” said the man in the blue suit, “Be careful. The roads are slippery and the whole country – nay, the whole world – would weep if you were injured.”

“I will be careful,” said Martha Jones, “because I value safety and I value your feelings, although I would never put them before my own.”

Martha Jones got in her car and drove away and everybody was impressed and they all cared so much because they all thought she was so awesome.

Categories: Just a stupid thing | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Sad(?) Tale of Willy Marks

Try not to get all turned on.

Try not to get all turned on

Let me tell you about a thing . . .

When my across the street neighbor – Willy Marks was his name – when Willy Marks disappeared down that abandoned mine shaft that the school board had converted into a Ball Pit, we sure did learn to appreciate the benefits of good lighting. Little Willy – he was 28 but we called him “Little Willy” because he was bad and it made him feel bad – Little Willy was trapped in the mine shaft for a month(!) and he only managed to stay alive thanks to all the food and water and reading materials we threw down to him. Over and over we’d chuck McDonald’s and Burger King and Arby’s and Hardee’s and Jack In The Box and Kentucky Fried Chicken and Popeye’s Chicken and Hart’s Crispy Fried Chicken and Hal’s Chicken (a local chain) and Cap’n D’s and Long John Silvers down to him and he’d eat everything but the Jack in the Box and throw the garbage back up to us and we’d say “Little Willy! You want anything to read?!” and he’d yell back “A bible and a light to read her by!” So we’d throw down a bible and a flashlight and then one day we wondered why we kept having the throw down a fresh bible every time he wanted to read one and why he didn’t just ask for new batteries instead of a whole new flashlight. Well, our questions were answered at the end of the month with a giant rumbling from below! The ground shook, it shaked, it shimmied and out of the mine shaft came Little Willy his own self, rocketing into the clouds on a flying raft made of bibles and powered by flashlight parts and his faith in the Lord! Well, many a hand went over several a heart that day and as we watched Willy sail away above the clouds, we understood that the real light that lit his way didn’t come from any flashlight; it came from the spirit that burned deep within his soul.

He crashed that flying bible-raft an hour later and was pretty much spread across seven counties. Scientists speculate he had to have been going three hundred miles an hour in order to make the crater he did. Scientists from “other towns” insist it was a meteor that crashed and that Willy had died weeks ago down in that mine and that the whole operation was a scam perpetrated by our town’s colossal Flashlight and Bible manufactory. But, we’d have none of it. We got rid of those scientists the same way we got rid of everyone. Down the mine shaft – I mean, down the ball pit.

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On Hal’s and Carpeting and . . . mores?

Let me tell you a little story.

car1When I was a child, I walked to school every morning – let’s not get into what year this was; I’ll just say, yes, cars had been invented by then (BIG FAKE LAUGH)! – and every morning I passed a carpeting store. Hal’s Carpets. Hal’s was a neighborhood fixture, had operated in the same storefront, with the same staff for further back than my young memory extended, and our community relied on Hal’s for quality carpets at a reasonable price. They may not have been the best carpets available – that honor went to the carpets at Carpet-A-Rama – and they may not have been the best value – that would be Carpet Pete’s (Pete was Hal’s half-brother on their father’s side and they’d had a bitter rivalry since childbirth. They were both dead by this point, but the feud carried on through their children and store managers) but Hal’s Carpets was a fixture and community uniter. Not a Halloween went by that we didn’t throw on our sheets, or masks, or sheeted masks and trundle our pillowcases down the street to Hal’s Carpets bellowing our “Trick or Treats” at the tops of our lungs until we were quieted down by a screaming neighbor, or angry tramp or a hose aimed at us by the local constabulary. We never got any candy on Halloween, – candy and other sugared snacks had been outlawed by city ordinance decades before I was born – but the annual Halloween Yelling at the Carpet Store united the youth of our community and kept us busy while the adults had their key parties and gin baths; and as we trundled home on November 1st at about five in the morning, soaked, bruised and otherwise banged around, we felt a sense of pride, of community, of unity.


When Hal’s Carpets shut down in my third Junior year of High School, you can imagine the uproar. Gone were the carefree afternoons hurling mud and invectives at the carpet delivery vans as they sped off to parts unknown. Gone was the opportunity to transition immediately from Public School into Hal’s Carpet’s Post-Graduate Carpet Management Training Club and Bartender Supply Company. Gone was the sense that we belonged to something bigger. Something grander. Something that might pay us enough money to afford a ticket out of this town that consisted of little more that strip clubs and carpet stores. Gone was Hal’s. We did receive a bit of an economic boost when Hal’s was razed and tourists started flocking in to see the “mystery grave pit” that was discovered under the foundation, but after a few skulls went “missing” from the “evidence locker” and the deacon disappeared, they shut that little enterprise down right quick.

My point being, kids today know no deep appreciation of carpet and paint in public spaces.

Categories: Just a stupid thing | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Master, the Kitten and the Cake

5-human-foods-cats-can-eat0The Zen Master was baking a cake in his high-technical kitchen when a small cat wandered in through the half-open door.

“What a cute kitten,” the Zen Master thought to himself, “If I give it a piece of fish, it will stay in my kitchen and I can enjoy its company. However, I have no fish to offer. Therefore, I would need to procure some fish and in order to do that, I would have to abandon the kitten, putting my half-made cake in danger. I could take the kitten with me, but it is very difficult to fish in the presence of a kitten, as they are excitable and tend to frighten away fish and other small animals. I could offer it some milk, but I only have enough left to finish my cake. If I left the house to buy some milk from the local milk-seller, I’m back in the same place I was before. And before. And before. And before. And before. And – “

The Zen Master continued to say “And before” all night and well into the next day. When he finally snapped out of his self-induced trance, he had soiled his pants and the kitten was gone.  Also, the kitten had eaten a good portion of the cake batter and knocked over some of the Zen Master’s plants. Also, the kitten was just a small cat, not a kitten. Also, there may have never been a cat as no one except the Zen Master was there and he was a notorious liar and he only told the story after someone asked him if he knew he’d soiled his pants. Also, he may not have been a real Zen Master. Also, where did he keep getting all of his money; he had, like three cars.

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Halloween(?) Interlude – Good Brown Soup

Lyrics discovered in an old adventure journal located at at camp site in the Andes, circa 1925. Note: although the bodies at the site were dismembered and the heads had been arranged in a pyramid, no evidence of foul play was uncovered. Authorities chalked the whole incident (including the sightings of a skyscraper-sized monstrocity rending the sun with its mighty claws and mass hallucinations of the agonies of Christ) up to coincidence and weather patterns.




Grandpa don’t you make that

Good Brown Soup

Grandpa don’t you make that


It boils and bubbles

It gives us troubles


Grandpa don’t you make that

Good Brown Soup


Grandma why’d you let him

Make that soup

Oh, how low will Grandpa


The soup is a troublin’

But my tummy’s a rumblin’


Grandma why’d you let him

Make that soup


Rover why’d you have to

Poop Poop Poop

Now I gotta get my


Cause the water’s a boilin’

And my stomach’s a roilin’


Rover why’d I have to

Eat that poop?


Everybody have some

Good Brown Soup

We made it out of old dog


It sounds real disgustin’

But, if you feel trustin’


Taste a bit of Grandpa’s

Good Brown Soup

Why are there always carrots?

Everyone involved in the publication of this material is humiliated to be associated with something this stupid.

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Halloween Interlude – Hardwood

“Stop lying!”

The barrel of the gun  – I don’t know what type it was; I don’t know guns – was beginning to hurt the bridge of my nose.

“I’ll give you until the count of three and then you’re losing this nose, right? One -”

“I don’t have them!”

“Two -”

“I swear if I had them, I would have sold them to you weeks ago!”

“Thr -”

“The basement! They’re in the basement!”

The gun eased off my nose.

“You don’t ‘ave a basement.”

“I do. It’s hidden. The hatch is hidden. Underneath the rug.”

I gestured towards the living room floor.

“There ain’t no rug. There’s just a floor.”

“The rug is designed to look like a floor.”

“Thats an ‘ardwood floor.”

“It’s a rug. Believe me, I know, I paid a lot of money for it.”

“Hang on. Jimmy, get me my knife. Thanks. Stand here wiv ‘im. I’m gonna go check out this ‘rug.'”

Jimmy pushed his gun barrel into my nose. Christ.

“Wot’s it made out of?” came the voice from the living room.

“It’s just . . . rug. I don’t know. It’s made out of rug!”

“Feels like ‘ardwood. I don’t wanna ruin my knife stabbing into ‘ardwood!”

There was a pause.

“Bloody ‘ell. Jimmy, this ‘ere ‘ardwood floor is actually a rug! It cuts through like a rug. Aw, this is brilliant! Just brill -”

There was some silence.

“Bruv?” Jimmy called into the living room, “Bruv, wot you find?”

There was some more silence.

“Where’d ‘e go?” Jimmy asked me.

“How do I know? I’m in here with you.”

“Bruv! Hold on. Don’t move outta that chair.”

Jimmy went into living room.






Jimmy came back from the living room.

“Wot you do to him, eh?! Wot you do to im?!”

Jimmy had discovered the lump in the flooring.

“He’s probably in a lot of pain, Jimmy. You’d better cut him out.”

Jimmy ran to get a knife. I waited until the struggling stopped and went to investigate the living room.

The two lumps in the flooring wriggled a bit, but they were pretty snug in there.

I sat down and patted the floor.

“I’m sorry they hurt you, love. I tried to avoid it, but they got pushy. Tomorrow, it’s back to rabbits.”

The flooring undulated a little bit. Its wounds had already scabbed over. There’d be a bit of buffing in my future.

“I’m off to bed. Wake me if you need anything.”

It didn’t need anything.


Categories: Halloween!, Horror | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Halloween Interlude – Haunted With Ghosts

Marty’s house was haunted all right. Haunted with GHOSTS!

“So many ghosts,” he thought every day when he got home from working at the Mill.

“So many ghosts,” he thought every evening as he took his daily soak.

“So many ghosts,” he muttered to himself as he fell asleep.

Marty had to deal with ghosts every second he was at home.

They flew in front of his face when he tried to watch tv.

“Go away, ghosts,” he would say, “I can’t see the tv.”

They thumped on the wall when he was trying to talk to his lady friend on the phone.

“Stop thumping, ghosts,” he would say, “I can’t hear my lady friend.”

They moaned in the attic when he was listening to the news.

“Quiet down, ghosts,” he would say, “I can’t hear my favorite anchorman.”

They wailed in the basement when he was reading the paper.

“Shush up, ghosts,” he would say, “I can’t concentrate on the facts.”

They ripped open holes to the Hell Dimension when he was watering the plants.

“Keep Abezethibou out of here, ghosts,” he would say, “Abezethibou eats my plants.”

All morning and all evening it was ghosts, ghosts, ghosts. So irritating!

“Fine,” Marty said, “have it your way.”

He went into his garden and dug up allllllllll of the bodies.

Marty arranged the corpses around the dining room table.

“Eat!” he said to the bodies.

They ate.

It was a fine Halloween dinner.

Three days later, neighbors complained to the police about the horrible smell emanating from Marty’s house. Upon entering, they found hundreds of skunks.



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Halloween Interlude – Who Are You Going to Call?

I woke up and all the cats were skeletons. AGAIN! That was six cats in one week; the people at the shelter were going to cut me off and I needed those cats!

Stupid shoggoth.

I tossed the bones into the pile behind the house, kicked some mulch over them and stared at the basement window. It was filled in with black and the black was full of eyes.

Stupid shoggoth.

I pulled my list of animal shelters off the fridge. Out of twenty-five I was down to three. They’d started contacting each other and talking about me. The guy who kept adopting so many cats. So many cats! I knew I had another list in my desk. A list with less . . . legit animal dealers. I hated the thought of resorting to to one of those guys, but I was getting desperate.

Stupid shoggoth.

I dug through my desk drawer for the list and pulled out a card. When this problem had started, I’d received a lot of references from a lot of different sources. Most of them I’d chucked, but I’d hung on to this card. Just in case.

Marinus Willett, PhD.
Finder of lost items, practitioner of old majiks
exorciser of daemons
and a phone number

I thought about calling Willett. Most of these guys, they were useless. Their chants and spells, their potions and poultices, all of this stuff was easily accessible online and had been for years. One guy said he could take care of my problem

(stupid shoggoth)

and had been reduced to trying to hit it with a shovel. I lost fifty bucks that day. And a good shovel.

I looked out the window at the growing mound in the garden.

Willett said he’d be here at noon and arrived at two. He mumbled something about a cursed rectory and shuffled into the house.

To describe Willett as “bedraggled” would be far too complimentary. He was about seventy, short, with dirty gray hair and wearing a suit that looked a) fifty years old and b) fifty years since a good wash. He carried a black doctor’s bag. Like Little House on the Prairie Doc Baker type bag. Seriously old school.

“Shoggoth?” he asked when he hit the foyer.


“Smells like,” he said, “Get a cat?”


“Yep. Stops working after a while. They hate them some cats, I tells ya. Still, after a few weeks they realize they’re not gonna get taken to the moon and they get their courage up. Finding a lot of skeletons?”


“Sounds right. Good thing you called when you did.”

Willett set down his bag and took out a large piece of chalk.

“Hope you don’t like this tile work too much,” he said as he drew a large circle in the middle of the foyer, “Not gonna look too pretty in a minute.”

Willett futzed around in his circle, drawing little marks and squiggles. He muttered as he drew.

“Damn things keeping me busy these days. Your’re not the only one, no sir. I just cleaned out a nest of them at the Marriott by the mall. Took over the damn basement. Cleaning crew disappeared weeks ago but they tried to cover it up. Once the customers started waking up with limbs missing or . . . replaced . . . they got wise. Well, half-wise. Rounded up a bunch of strays from the alleys and dumped them in the basement. Apparently, the yowling was so loud it alerted the city inspector. Idiots. They called me in. I got rid of ’em but the whole place burned down in the process.”

I must have startled because he looked up.

“Don’t worry, young fella. Your place’ll be fine. Your floor won’t be, but these walls should hold.”

Willett finished up his whatever-it-was and stood, cracking his back with his fists.

“I’m getting too old,” he said, “Too damn old.”

He took a little maraca-type shaker out of his pocket.

“You may want to stand back,” he said.

Willett commenced shaking the object and murmuring a stream of nonsense. It seemed like nonsense to me, at least. Some of it I recognized. “OGTHROD AI’F GEB’L — EE’H YOG-SOTHOTH ‘NGAH’NG AI’Y ZHRO” obviously, that’s how most of these things start, but then it trailed off into sounds I wasn’t familiar with. The air became charged with a kind of greasy electricity. My hear stood on end and I felt nauseated.

“Okay, son, don’t look in the circle!” Willett said.

The room grew unbearably warm. The air became slippery and hard to inhale. I tried to turn and leave, but my head started ringing and my mouth seemed to be full of water. I couldn’t see. My eyes became blurry, like I was looking through thick glass. Things passed in front of my vision – swimming things. Things with fins. I smelled salt and seaweed. A form approached me, holding out its webby hands; taking my face, breathing brine and plankton into my screaming lungs. I floated down, down, down into the abyss of an underwater canyon. Lights burned around me and a city in the cliffs, aeons old, became visible. The creature in whose arms I was held beckoned to a group of creatures far below. They swam up to meet us, dragging a massive chain. The creature said something in a bubbly, alien tongue and his companions yanked hard on their chain. A stirring from below and a dark shadow began to stir in the depths. I looked up and the creatures had fled, their fet barely visible in the distance. I looked down and the shadow grew in size. Whatever was down there, it was big. Bigger than a city. The shadow was enormous and I hadn’t seen any of the monster’s actual surface yet. It continued toward me, pushing the water in front of it. I felt scared but also so curious. What was this thing? Was it beautiful? Was it an angel? Was it coming for me?

I saw its face and my mind reeled.

A hand grabbed me roughly by the collar and yanked me backwards.

I was lying in a sodden mess on the floor of my foyer. Willett was sitting gasping next to me, his upper body soaked and reeking. I coughed and seawater poured out of my mouth and nose. Choking and retching, I sat up. A sudden pain shot through my head. Willett had hit me with his bag.

“I told you not to look in the circle, idiot,” he said.

“W-w-what . . . what was . . . I saw . . . thing, a thing . . . “

“Just one of the spawn. They keep ’em down there. Come in handy. Only things that can eat a shoggoth. Eat other things too. You were lucky. Idiot.”

I realized the floor of my foyer was torn up as if something from below had forced its way out.

“I’ll email you an invoice, Willett said, “Don’t go in your basement for a few days.”


“I had to open a pretty big hole. Things got through.”


“They’ll fade. Don’t go in the basement.”

Willett gathered his belongings and walked to the front door.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” he asked.


“They’re cute when they’re little. Novel. You like how they can turn into little animals and mimic your voice. It’s neat. They’ll nibble your finger and chirp like a bird.”


“They get big, though. No one ever thinks of that. They almost ended the world once. You know that, right?”

“I – I’d heard . . . something . . . “

“Idiot.” he said. But, he sounded more sorry than angry now, “But, smarter than we have been enamored of their gifts.”

“What do you -“

“Pay that invoice, you hear! I know where you live live and I can bring ’em back.”

“Jesus, man, I’m -“

“Just kidding with you. Stick to cats and dogs from now on, idiot,” he said and he walked down to his car.

I surveyed my destroyed foyer, my walls dripping with seawater. I found a thing swimming in my toilet later that day and that night I woke up to a ceiling of screaming mouths. My walls bled for a while too. But, eventually, it settled down. In all the whole ordeal cost me over 10,000 in service and repairs.

Stupid shoggoth.

One lucky thing, though. Something that passed through my house dropped a trinket in my basement. I found it when I went down to clean up. It’s a small gold box with designs all over it. It burns when I touch it, but if I wear oven mitts I think can can figure out how to get it open.

I got a new cat too. It hates this box. Stupid cat.

Stupid Willett.

Stupid shoggoth.

Categories: Halloween!, Horror | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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