Monthly Archives: December 2008

Black Humor

Merry Christmas

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Dear Santa,

How are things at the North Pole? Based on what General Patterson’s been teaching us, I’d imagine that there wouldn’t be many “strategic targets” up there (unless your workshop is one? I would think it’d be pretty important) so I hope you’re doing well. Things down here aren’t that great. A couple of people got dragged away by some crazy cult. We can hear ‘em shouting and singing their crazy mutant songs all night. It’s really scary.

Is it snowing up there? It’s snowing down here, too. Since I’ve lived in Florida all my life I’ve never seen snow but it snowed this year. Mom wouldn’t let me go play in it though. She said that the snow was actually something called fallout and I should stay inside. But I saw Billy and Bobby outside having a snowball fight and they were just fine! Mom can be so mean sometimes.

I don’t really want that much for Christmas. It’d be nice if everyone could be happy for once. I’ve heard Mom and Dad fighting and yelling about lots of stuff. A couple of people are saying that the water purifier’s close to breaking down and pretty soon we’ll all be drinking something called rads. I don’t know what rads is but it sounds pretty bad and all the grown-ups are kind of upset about it.

But I know that world peace and happiness and stuff like that isn’t really what you do, you’re more for the real presents. Well, I guess I’d like a BB Gun for Christmas. That way I could help all the grown-ups protect the shelter. A BB Gun’s not very powerful but I think it would help keep the giant rats away at least. They’re pretty scared of stuff, even though they’re really scary too.

Anyway Santa, I know there’s lots of other girls and boys writing letters to you so I’d better finish this up (also I’m running out of paper and I had to steal this sheet from the commissary. Can you believe they wouldn’t give me even one piece of paper? I hope that’s OK, I know stealing’s wrong, but otherwise there would have been no way! Please forgive me, Santa). Hope Mrs. Claus and the Elves are well. We don’t have any cookies but I’ll try and leave some canned pears out. They’re the closest thing we have.

Love,

Timmy Calhoun

Black Humor

Justice Served!

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Dorothy stepped out of the house and looked around in amazement. The twister had dropped her in the strangest land she’d ever seen. Everything was bright and colorful. The houses, the candy apparently growing from the ground, even the road was bright yellow. She noticed a few strange, very short people looking at her and smiled at them in what she hoped was a disarming way.

“You killed her,” one of them whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“You killed her!” he repeated, “You killed the Wicked Witch of the East! The horrible woman who enslaved us and mistreated us! She took all the food we grew, took our children and turned them into hideous misshapen flying monsters, kicked our dogs…but now she’s dead!”

“Oh,” said Dorothy, “Well it was an accident, but I suppose…”

“Murderer!” the man shouted.

“What?” Dorothy said, taken aback.

“Murderer!” he repeated, pointing at her accusingly.

“But I thought you hated the witch, I thought you were glad to see her dead!”

“Don’t get me wrong,” the man explained, “The witch was horrible and we are glad to see her dead. But killing someone is a crime, no matter what a monster that person was.”

“OK,” said Dorothy, “this is ridiculous. I’m just going to take her ruby slippers and get out of here.”

“Oh God,” groaned the man, “Now you’re defiling the dead? Police, help!”

Officer Munchkin was on the scene right away and he took the young murderer to jail where she lived out the rest of her days.

Remember kids, crime doesn’t pay.

Based on a True Story!

Rest Stops Aren’t Really Very Restful

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blow job, the door of the stall said, flash lights three times. How the hell does that one work? Some whore hangs around this rest stop all day every day waiting for someone to catch her message and flash their lights? Bullshit. If anyone’s hanging around waiting for someone to flash their lights they’re not gonna give you a blow job. That’s for sure.

I step out of the stall door and walk over to the sink and squeeze some god-knows-what chemical mix they call soap out into my hand. I’m struck with dread as no water comes out of the faucet when I turn it on. My worst fear is squeezing soap into my hand and then finding out the water’s been cut off. What the hell are you supposed to do then?

Outside the restroom are a pair of asian men, babbling to each other in some unintelligible language. I always hate being around people who speak a different language. You can never tell when they’re talking about you.

“Jesus Christ,” Stevens mutters as I slip into the passenger seat, “What the hell are they standing around for? Why the hell would anyone stand around at some goddamn rest stop?”

“Flash your lights three times,” I tell him.

“Why?” he asks, but does it anyway.

The asians stop talking and look at us.

“Well shit,” I muse, “It just might work.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks suspiciously as he watches the asians get into their car and drive off. “Look at that, they weren’t even waiting for anyone. What the fuck were they doing?”

“What the fuck are we doing?” I ask as a police cruiser exits the highway and drives towards us. “Damn pigs saw us flash the signal. They’re after us now.”

He starts up the car and starts to drive away.

“Act casual,” I warn him.

Black Humor

God’s Judgement is a Rolled-Up Newspaper

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Sometimes when I’m driving I make up stories about the bugs who hit my windshield.

“Man, this is great! I can’t wait to get home and tell Bernice I got a promotion! We’ll be able to send little Timmy to that great private school now. And I’ll finally be able to treat Bernice how she deserves. Take her out to nice dinners, buy her jewelry and fancy dresses, maybe a private romantic vacation once a ye…” *SPLAT*

It’s a shame they always have to end in tragedy.