Category Archives: All Too True

This is not about Kurt Cobain (but it can be if you’d like)

Once, an angel accidentally fell out of heaven and landed on the Earth. As anyone who’s ever tried can tell you, it’s very hard to get to heaven from the Earth, so for the time being, the angel decided to try to blend in. It saw this as an opportunity to study up-close the creatures that it had loved so much from afar.

Unfortunately, it soon found that humans were best loved from a distance. To an eternal being, it is easy to wave aside the slaughter of millions of unimportant mortals and focus on the incredible creations of beauty from the few, as well as the impressive achievements of the race as a whole. Up-close, however, their pettiness, close-mindedness and selfishness was disgusting to a creature made of pure love.

Doubly unfortunately, the angel soon found that as distanced as it was  from the source of all life, it needed to find its energy elsewhere, namely in food. Having never attended university, or indeed any school at all, the angel had no marketable skills, and its physical form was much too frail for manual labor. It did, however, have one remarkable talent. It could sing songs the likes of which the human mind could barely conceive. Up until recently, the angel had lived in the midst of the divine, and could, with its voice, conjure scenes of such sweetness and light that even the most cynical couldn’t help but listen.

Every time it sang, however, it grew more and more depressed, as it reminded itself of the beauty it would never experience again. It tried to cope with its depression in the same way humans do. It tried drugs (both pharmaceutical and otherwise), sex, TV, even religion. Nothing could soothe the soul of the poor creature. Although great damage had already been done, it adopted the human phrase “better late than never,” and quit singing to become a dishwasher. People who had heard it sing tracked it down and begged it to come back.

“You must sing for us!” they shouted, “Your gift is too good not to share! Your songs lift us up and bring us visions of a greater world than this one! Your songs make everyone better for having heard them!”

Although jaded, its love for humanity was still too great to refuse their demands, especially with the knowledge that its songs were making them better. The years went on and the angel’s light darkened, until eventually one day, it didn’t appear to sing at its appointed time. They found it in its bedroom, a bullet hole in its head and a gun in its hand.

And the people wept. Not for the angel, of course, but for themselves because now they wouldn’t be able to hear its songs.

The Unvisible Man

“Yuri!” screamed Zed the Collector, “You son of a devil! I know you stole my brand new Elvis stamp last night!”

Whenever anything in town went missing, everyone blamed Yuri the Unvisible Man, even though as far as anyone could remember, he’d never actually ever been found guilty of stealing anything (in fact, half the time the “stolen” item was actually just lost and the owner usually found it a few days later).

“What a shame,” said Eugene the Thief (who accounted for the other half of the missing objects), shaking his head, “He truly is a menace.”

Yuri, fearing yet another attempted lynching, immediately took off his clothes and ran, bringing Zed’s chase to a halt. Zed spat on the unvisible man’s clothes and cursed.

“A man like that is nothing but trouble,” Zed said, “And not just because he’s a thief — no offense meant to your self, sir.”

Everyone in the village knew that Eugene was a thief, but nobody could ever prove it. And everyone liked him too much to try.

“Not just because he’s a thief,” Zed continued, “But also because I have a daughter. I’m worried what sort of mischief an unvisible man can get up to with the women in town!”

His daughter, Yulia, smiled to herself as she walked home from school with the other girls, because she knew first hand just what sort of mischief Yuri did get up to with the women in town, or at least one woman in particular.

“It’s unholy,” agreed the thief, “A man no one can see has too much to hide.” Secretly, he was just jealous of Yuri’s transparency and thought that he could put it to much better use.

Yulia made her way through the forest to the river bank where she knew Yuri went to sulk whenever he was blamed for a crime. She knew that he was there because of the twin indentations in the ground marking the resting place of the unvisible man’s buttocks.

“What can I do?” Yuri moaned, “I’ll never be accepted, wherever I go! Nobody trusts an unvisible man. Your father will never let us marry!”

“You need to show them that having an unvisible man in the village is a good thing,” Yulia said, “You need to do something good that no visible man could ever do.”

“I’ve got it!” Yuri shouted, snapping his fingers (or so Yulia assumed, he could have been cracking his neck for all she knew). “I’ll finally catch Eugene in the act! That way, I’ll clear my name and also help the village at the same time!”

“That’s wonderful!” Yulia exclaimed, leaning over to try and kiss him, but falling flat on her face because she was three feet too far to the left.

So, for the next few nights, Yuri sat on the roof of his house watching for Eugene. It was difficult work. The nights in this part of the country could be bitterly cold, and of course he had to sit through the whole night entirely naked. Some nights, Yulia would sneak out and bring him warm borscht, which made it slightly more bearable.

It seemed as though Eugene was living easy off the profits he had made from selling Zed’s prized Elvis stamp, because the village was free of any larceny for two weeks (though Yuri was still blamed when the widow Ivanova’s cat batted her favorite necklace under the dresser). The cold, sleepless nights began to wear on Yuri’s resolve, and he feared that he’d missed his chance.

However, a stroke of luck came into his life when a famous merchant came through town. The people in the town were so pleased to see a foreigner, they insisted he stay the night free of charge in Nikolai’s inn. Yuri knew that Eugene wouldn’t be able to resist the call of the merchant’s many riches, and late that night, his suspicions were confirmed as he spied Eugene sneaking towards the inn.

“Stop, thief!” he shouted, leaping off of the roof and landing on Eugene, knocking him unconscious. He shouted “Thief!” until a crowd began to gather.

“What’s the matter?” shouted Ivan the Sheriff, running up to the scene, wearing his uniform over his nightclothes.

“Yuri’s attacked Eugene!” shouted Zed.

“He’s too dangerous,” Ivan said, shaking his head. “Back when he was just a simple thief, we could let him roam free. But a violent unvisible man is too dangerous to have in town. There’s nothing left to do but to throw him in jail.”

So they did.

The Bright Man’s Burden

Chuck Richards sat across from the doctor. He fidgeted nervously with the tie his wife had made him wear for the occasion.

“Well, Mr. Richards, we have the results here,” the doctor said, pulling a file out of his drawer, “And I have to say, congratulations.”

Chuck looked at him expectantly.

“No offense, Mr. Richards,” the doctor said, “But I have to say I’m rather astonished. Your IQ is 185, putting you at extreme genius level.”

Chuck’s face sank. “Doctor, say it ain’t so!” he shouted.

“I don’t understand,” the psychologist said, taken aback, “You should be happy, you’re one of the smartest people on the planet.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Chuck groaned. “Do you know what kind of responsibility that is?”

“Responsibility?”

“Before, when I thought I was just a normal guy, life was good! All I want to do is go to work, love my wife, raise my kids, drink some beer, watch the game on TV…I only took this stupid test because my wife wanted me to!”

“I still don’t understand,” the psychologist said. “Having a higher IQ doesn’t limit you, it only increases your possibilities in life!”

Chuck shook his head. “You said it yourself, I’m one of the smartest people on the planet. I can’t just waste that. I have to go be some kind of inventor or miracle doctor or president or something. Hell, I haven’t even been to college, this is going to be a lot of work.” He put his head in his hands and started sobbing.

A secretary poked her head in the room. She shuffled over to the doctor, whispered something to him, and handed him a sheet of paper.

“Mr. Richards,” the doctor said, “I’d like to apologize. The computer mixed up your results with someone named Charles Richardson. I have your true results here.”

Chuck stared at him, fear in his eyes.

The doctor glanced over the sheet. “It turns out that your real IQ is actually 71.”

“What does that mean?” Chuck asked suspiciously.

“That’s the lowest possible IQ you can have without being considered mentally retarded.”

It was the best news of Charles Richards’ life.

Some Things Never Change

“Hey, look!” called out the kid, prodding a small paper bag with his foot. The old man walked over and picked it up carefully.

“Now there’s a symbol I haven’t seen in years. ‘Trillions served.’ That was more than the population of the planet at its height. Damn fine achievement.”

“What’s this?” asked the kid, picking up a cup made out of a strange, squishy white material. Inside was a dark brown liquid.

The old man took a sip and smiled wistfully. “The nectar of the gods,” he said.

He passed the cup to the kid, who took a sip and winced. “Gross! It’s so sweet!”

The old man smiled sadly. “We used to drink that poison by the gallon. But now let’s see what’s in the bag. Those health nuts always used to say that there were enough preservatives in this ‘food’ to last a hundred years. Maybe they were right.”

He opened the bag and pulled out a small cardboard container filled with thin yellow sticks. He offered one to the kid, who took it and sniffed it cautiously.

“It’s a funny thing,” mused the old man, “I never ate here before the war. I always preferred the competitors. But hey, everything changes.”

He popped one of the sticks into his mouth, chewed, and grimaced. “Well, some things stay the same,” he sighed. “The food here still sucks.”

The Only Therapy I Need!

“Hey man, you OK? You look a little down.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“You know what your problem is?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I know what my problem is. My problem is I have a terrible sense of self-worth. I constantly harp on my failures while ignoring my successes. Causing, of course, a never-ending spiral of failure because as I trust in my own abilities less and less I succeed less and less. Of course, it’s not really my fault. When I was young, nothing I did was ever good enough for my parents. I was the only child so all their attention was always focused on me. Whenever I screwed up, I got it big time, when my father was even around. Most of the time he was off on ‘business trips’ (at his funeral I found out he had at least 50 mistresses) leaving my mother to raise me. I mean, she tried her best, but she didn’t have the masculinizing influence that a father would have had. Plus I think she knew what he was really up to so most of the time she would just cry herself to sleep watching TV, leaving me to eat stale crackers and tuna. Actually, the tuna probably didn’t help either. There’s a lot of heavy metals in that stuff. Probably disrupted my brain real bad, probably all sorts of chemical imbalances up there now. ‘Course, things didn’t get much better when I went to college, my mom wasn’t willing to cut the apron strings, they’d call me every night. I tried sometimes to ‘accidentally’ leave my phone in my room but then I just got chewed out. Honestly it was basically like having someone watching you all the time, do you know what that’s like? Of course now that they’re gone that’s not a problem anymore and I feel relieved, but I really feel sort of guilty for feeling that way too. And honestly after having someone there all the time to force you to achieve and to support you when you fail…it’s sort of hard to deal with actually being independent. Honestly, all in all I’m pretty much just a basket case.”

“Wow.”

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was gonna say that your problem is it’s been too long since you’ve gotten drunk.”

“Yeah, actually, you’re right, that’s probably what it is.”

Caught Red Handed

Tom was sitting at his computer when all of a sudden his heart froze as he heard the door behind him open. Quickly closing the window, he spun around and smiled. “Hey honey, you’re home early!”

Rebecca stood in the doorway, shock and disappointment plastered on her face. “Tom,” she said quietly, “What was that?”

“What was what?” Tom asked a little too casually.

“On your screen,” she said.

“Oh, I dunno. Just looking at the stocks, checking up on the news a bit.”

Rebecca’s brow furrowed as she walked over to the desk. “Don’t lie to me Tom,” she said.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, laughing nervously as she leaned over him and clicked the history button.

“Tom,” she said quietly, “What is this?”

“It’s nothing,” he said frantically, “I thought it was something else I accidentally clicked it…”

Rebecca turned to him, tears in her eyes.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” she said.

“Honey really, it’s not…look, I don’t normally look at that stuff, OK! An old friend from high school sent it to me in an email, he didn’t tell me what it was…”

“You’ve been doing this since High School?” she asked, slowly sinking to the floor, head in her hands.

“No, it’s not, no! Look, please, just listen to me,” Tom began, grasping for words that could explain, could set everything right.

“No Tom, you listen to me,” Rebecca said, her voice hardening as she stood up. “I’ve put up with a lot in the fifteen years we’ve been married. I realize that we’re different people. I know that I can’t please your every taste, and that sometimes a man has needs. But Tom, there have to be limits. There’s a line you just can’t cross.”

“Rebecca…” he faltered.

“I could put up with almost anything, Tom,” she said, “But The Star Wars Christmas Special? I’m sorry, Tom. It’s over.”