(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

“We drove you a long way and you owe us. Now give us some money!”

He was a lot bigger than me. We were miles from nowhere. He could have just as easily slit my throat and taken my money so I gave him some. They drove off and I was quite shaken and sacred. Then God reminded me how a week before I had badly shaken and scared some snowball throwing kids. Oh, I get it. I get back what I give out. Ok. God it sir. Now, I try to be nice to people and stay away from cowboys in the Nevada desert. The End.

CAREER CHANGE

(For Dorothy, my mom)

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

S

o, Dot, thank you for applying with our firm. We’re really quite proud of what we do here. I think you’d be a good fit. Tell me a little about yourself.” Said the handsome older man.

“I think I’d like it here too.” said the young woman. Though slightly older than her appearance of 2’-’ years old she was nevertheless radiant. Shoulder length golden blond hair bounced and sparkled in the glorious sunlight that poured in though the office window. She had dressed conservatively for the interview and wore a simple white dress with appropriate foot attire. At first, when approaching the firm, she had been a little nervous. But Mr. Peters quickly ushered her into the conference room and made her feel comfortable and at home.

“According to your resume It says you’ve spent some time as a phone operator, a nun, an art instructor and as a homemaker. Tell me about these positions. Which did you find most challenging? And which did you find most rewarding.”

A small smile began on the young woman’s mouth and grew with her remembrance till it spread across here entire face. “Well,” she began. “Each job had its own challenges and rewards. There were times at the phone company when the switchboards were jammed and the calls kept coming in. I’m not sure how we got through it but somehow, we always did. And then there were days as a postulate....”

“Postulate?”

“Yes, you see, I never took the final vows as a nun. I guess you could say I was a nun in training. Those are called postulates....”

“I see. Please go on.”

“Well there were days as a postulate that really were difficult. Although not as outward going as some I’m really a people person and deeply enjoy being around people and sharing and listening. I’m especially good at listening. But there were days of quite meditation when we were forbidden to speak at all and sometimes I’d discover something on a walk through the path or in my daily devotional readings and was so excited that I thought I’d burst if I didn’t tell someone.”

“And so, what’d you do?” Asked Mr. Peters with genuine interest.

“Oh, I’d tell God. And we’d talk about that day’s discovered treasure.”

“Ahh, an excellent idea. I’ve done the same thing myself.”

“Oh, surely you’ve never applied to be a nun now have you Mr. Peters?” She replied. Her blue green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“No Dot. But I have had occasion to share a few things with the Lord. He’s a great listener too! But I’ve interrupted you. Please go on.

“Well, like anything there were days of joy and sorrow at the convent.” But overall I found it to be one of the most rewarding and deepening times of my life.”

“And why did you leave the convent?”

“Health-reasons.”

“Ahh, yes. I see it here. You’ve had a long history of illness.”

“But that’s behind you now.”

“Yes, it is. In fact, I think just before I got here I turned a comer in my life.”

“Please explain.”

“I remember my kids standing around my hospital bed. They had all pretty much been crying because I was so weak and tired. I was tired too but I couldn’t let go yet. Frankie wasn’t there yet. He was vacationing in upper Minnesota and was scheduled to come home in a day or two. I just determined to hang on till he got there. I think someone from your office must have contacted him because he said to his brothers and sisters he didn’t know how sick I was but he felt an overwhelming urge to get home as fast as he could. I heard he did over 70 for almost 7 hours. He got home and got a call from the other kids and came right over. Then I could relax. Then I felt the peace and could let go.

“Yes, I think that was Great Heart or Michael or Gabriel who contacted him. I’ll make sure they receive a commendation for their detailed faithfulness. Please go on.”

“Well, Mr. Peters it really was very touching. My kids loved me and each other but never were quite able to tell each other that. I kinda think it was nice the way they all joined arms and prayed. I know it blessed me a lot to hear it.”

“Oh, so even though you were unconscious you still could hear them?”

“Of course, I could.” Each one in their turn spoke to me and share some of their joys and sorrows. And I listened to each and agreed with them where they were right and tried to tell them not to worry when they recalled their own shortcomings as kids.” And the two huge men appeared just behind my boy Michael and took me by the hand. They had on white too. That’s what gave me the idea that I should wear white for this interview. They took me by the hands and both had such huge warm smiles on their faces I knew it was all right to go with them.

They told me it was time to go so I took a moment to kiss each one of them, and then I was ready. I got changed and here I am. I think I’m ready for a career change and thought maybe you could use me here.”

“As a matter of fact, we can Dot. A position has just opened up but first let’s hear about the art instructor and homemaker.”

“I only taught art at the grade school for a short time but it was rewarding. Helping the young people discover hidden talents and what treasures lay in nature and the color wheel.” It was really rewarding when they absorbed some of the principals and apply them.

“And the homemaking?”

That was the most challenging. And the most rewarding. Sam and I wanted kids but couldn’t have any. A friend of ours had ten kids. We decided if we couldn’t have em then with God’s help we’d just love the ones he’d send to us. There were 10 we adopted and over 33 or so that were foster kids.”

“That seems like an awful lot of kids to look after.”

“Oh, there were times when things were stretched and tight but we never missed a meal.”

“One of them is a doctor. Frankie, I think. You must be very proud of him.?”

“Actually, Michael is the doctor and Frankie is the writer. But I’m proud of all my children. I wish I could tell them that. I wish I could tell them that I love them. I want them to make the most of their lives. and that I’m proud of each and every one of them whether they’re comforting a patient, building a locomotive, putting together a living room set, cleaning a toilet or caring for the great grandkids. I’d tell them to do the best at what they’ve been called to do. And to remember their prayers and to love God. What else is there. Except to do that and to be happy.”

“Well, it seems you’ve had a full life so far. Several careers. A loving husband, loads of kids and enough trial and hardship to round you out. What’s next.”

“I’m not sure, but I know He’s got something good in store for me. So I came and applied. Do you think I’ll fit in.”

“I think you’ll fit in just fine. Congratulations! You’ve accepted Him and He accepts you.”

“But I wasn’t perfect. I fell short on so many things...

“Do you think only perfect folk get in here?” You loved Him through your life and that what really matters Dot. That’s all that really matters. In fact, I think He’s waiting just beyond the gate to greet you. Yes, I see Him. And it looks like Sam and Terry are with Him. Let’s go see.

They walked together through the huge pearl gates and Dot began her next career.

The End.

EXODUS 12 LEAVING EGYPT CANDY DAY

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

A

(For Miss Sandy Crane)

sk her for the fudge nut passels.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“No. You’re right. Ask her for the fudge nut passel whackers.”

“You’re making these things up right?”

“Absolutely not and I can prove it.”

“How?”

“Cuz when they write this down in the bible for centuries to come people all over the world will read how the Israelites cleaned out the Egyptians of gold and silver and all kinda precious things and not one jot or tittle will ever mention how you got their fudgiest goodies, their Snickers bars, their seven-layer coconut bars or any of the two or three hundred mouthwatering goodies I intend on glomming up.”

“How will the lack of any mention of these things prove these things exist?”

“Cuz the ‘Gyptians may give up their gold and silver and fancy frocks when staring down the barrel of the angel of deaths’ 44 but they really have a hard time parting with the cashew, caramel and milk chocolate turtle candies, much lets the almond bark, the coconut haystacks and just forget about the choco-covered cherries. And I want em Miss Sandy. I want em all. The Egypt boys will make sure history says nothing about their enormous sweet tooth remedy.

“Jackie Boy, You’re a celestial. Don’t you have just acres of those things back home?”

“Celestial I am,” said Jack the Nose. Yes. But there is something about the dry Egyptian climate that makes a chocolate bar really snap with Egyptian goodness. Alpha Centuri confections can’t hold a candle to them.”

“I don’t know, Jacko. I feel bad enough looting these people of their precious metals’ silks and dyed badger skins we’re gonna need for the tabernacle. Do I real need to empty their candy jars while I’m at it?”

“In for a penny. In for a pound. Of course, you do. The last thing Mrs. Pharaoh is gonna need is some pralines smothered in chocolate and nuts when she’s gotta roll up her sleeves and help Mr. Pharaoh rebuild their crushed economy. No, what she needs is grit and determination. A little sand in her coffee to get her fighting mad so they can re-erect the pyramids and swab out the Nile.”

“Woah! Are we taking those too? Cuz no one told me we were taking them. I’m gonna need a bigger cart if we gotta haul off the pyramid of Cheops.”

“It was just a metaphor.”

“I got lumbago Jackie Boy and some of those stones tip the scale at 70 tons. I’m gonna need some help hefting those suckers by evening for sure. Mid-day would probably be better.”

“We’ll leave the triangles.”

“Good cuz If I gotta haul those myself I’m gonna want the next day or two off and plenty of Advil.”

“Yeah. Ok. I’ll get right on that.”

“And I thought chocolate wouldn’t be discovered for thousands of years in Central America.”

“That’s what those Egyptian rascals want you to think. They’ve had the stuff, the good stuff from Europe for hundreds of years but have you or any other Hebrew ever had so much a taste?”

“Mmm. No. I don’t believe we have. Those devils!”

“See! It was bad enough enslaving your people for hundreds of years but to not share the fudge nut hen’s teeth, the Passel Whackers, the Nut Goomber, Fudgies, Donkey Barks, Dog Chortles or Caramel Scarab Beetles is just plain rude Miss Sandy.”

“Those jerks! I’ll say it is. Let me at em Jackie Boy. Let me at em.”

“Ok, here’s the next house. It’s the Phil Schmedrakeian the governor of this province’s home. Now do it just like I taught you.”

Ring. Ring. Ring…. Bam, Bam, BAM!

“Oh bother, plagues of locust and frogs and darkness. What is it now? Collecting for the Red Cross? Yes. What is it my dear? How can I help you?”

“Hi, Mrs. Schmendrakeian.” My name is Sandy. We’re neighbors see and I was wondering…

“You live in this neighborhood? Oh, I doubt that dearie.”

“Sure, I do. Me and Rich and a house load of babies. Right across the swamp close to the sewage treatment land fill site.”

“Oh. Over there huh. I thought I recognize the smell.”

“Yeah, well I was just talking to my buddy and he said I should come see you.”

“Your Buddy? Do I know this, Buddy?” She asked haughtily, tossing her magnificently coiffured gray head of hair to one side.

“I don’t know you know him or not. His name isn’t really Buddy. It’s D.T.”

“Like he has the D.T.’s? Delirium Tremens.”

“Ahhh. Ha ha ha. Did I say D.T? I meant D.A.”

“What’s that stand for?”

“Death Angel.”

“Oh, Mmm. Well, that’s different. But you see we’ve already given. The governor’s firstborn Johnny Winkums, from his first marriage. I never liked him really but he’s dead now so what are you gonna do?” she said with a wistful sigh.

“Yeah well D.A. said he’s thinking maybe he needs to make a second or third pass though. You know, just to thin out the dead wood.”

“Ahh, well, I do have the really good gold and silver I didn’t give to the first group that came by.”

“Perfect. Death Angel has given me a complete inventory and as you bring it out, I’m gonna need to check off each piece to be sure we don’t miss anything and upset the big guy. I mean have you seen the sword that guy hauls around?”

“No…Not really. It is that big?”

“Take off a prefect or governor’s head in one swoop.”

“Oh, my. Oh my. Give me a minute and I’ll round things up. I’ll just bring it all out and you can sort through it at your convenience. Would that be okay?

“Actually, no. We’re in kind of a hurry. You know, trip to Goshen, things to steal, people to kill. Just keep the paste and make sure we get the good stuff. I got my inventory list right here.” She held up a blank piece of vellum and didn’t let Mrs. Governor see her side.

“Oh, my that’s quite a long list sweetheart.”

“It’s even got those gold studs you’re rocking right now on there.”

“Oh. Ok. Here. Catch. I was getting tired of them anyway. Ha ha ha.”

“Oh, And there’s one more thing Ma’am.”

“You’re cleaning me out girlie. I don’t see how there can be one more thing unless you want the air in my lungs.”

“No. You can keep that but bring out the Passel Whackers while you’re at it.”

“The what my dear?”

“The fudge nut Goombies. The caramel Gooeys. The sour Gooshers and the sweet cream Gompers. The Hen’s Teeth both frosted and double dipped. The Turtles, Myrtles, the Muggers, Frosted Luggers, Triple Twisted Smugglers and the Chocolate Licorice Whips. You can keep the red ones.”

“Oh my. Oh my. What a clever girl you are to know about those things.”

“Yeah. I got a list for those too, so don’t get cheap on me, Gerty.”

“Well, since you put it that way, what choice do I have?”

“I could ring up D.A. He’s over on the next block trashing your neighbor’s cabana boy right now.”

“Raul? Oh, how utterly sad. No, no, my dear. Keep your list out. It’ll all be on there; plus a few things we go in from Holland this morning that probably aren’t even on your list yet.”

“Holding out on me Gert?”

“He, he, he. Never would I. I’ll just be a minute…”

Jack the Nose brought up the tail end of the Israelites journey from Egypt to the promised land. And since he was the very last one, his camel train loaded to the gills with goodies; he got just a little wet when Moses closed up the Red Sea behind them. He took the taffy down, tasted it, and decided it was better with a little sea salt on there. And that’s how we got Salt Water Taffy.

The End.

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

Smash, Crash, gouge, poke, slap, smash.

Mike Anvil had been reading through the book of Revelations and he got to the part that says someone saw a lamb that had been slain. He knew the Lamb was Jesus and he thought about his beloved Lord laying cold in the grave. And he thought up this story.

“It was Saturday night and the bar fight was in full force. Lines had been drawn up and narry an innocent bystander was found in the tight little room. Tables were smashed like kindling, chairs, with people still sitting in them were thrown across the room. Some of these boys were beefy lads. All hell was breakin loose and it was breakin loose in a place it ought not.”

“Tell us more Mikey.”

“I gotta parch my throat first.”

“Don’t you mean your throat is parched?”

“Or possibly do you mean you have to un-parch your throat?” offered another sot.

Mike Anvil took a long pull on his foamy headed beer then wiped it with the sleeve of the guy next to him. The guy was gonna beef but looked at Mikey and his death wish vanished. He moved to another stool while his other sleeve was still dry.

“Ok, now this all is just conjecture. Sort of like a “What if,” Comic book So, the hash and fists were being slung around the room and the room was none too big. Then Mikey A. showed up and took out the trash.”

“Mikey A. That’d be you, Mikey Anvil right bub?” asked someone in the back.

“Normally yeah, that would be me but this time it was Mikey with a celestial ring to it. Mikey the Arc.”

“Oooh, that guy is bad.”

“Badder’n bad.”

“Yeah, so Mikey picks out the largest guy in the room, largest besides himself and shoots a pile driver into his solar plexus and a haymaker to his corrupt jaw. The brute goes flying back into the wall and if they ever wanted to add on a second room the heavy lifting’s already been done. Mikey and his boys mop up the plug uglies and sweep the floor with em. After taking out the trash—there were twelve times twelve times twelve legions of them in that little room—he assigns two young men to sit on the bench, one at the head, one at the foot where the master lay. To guard watch over him though the night. Cuz Easter Sunday was coming.”

“Dude, I need chapter and verse.” Said Maurice the bible-soaked inebriate.

“You got it Mo. When Michael the Arc disputed with the devil over the body of Moses Mikey didn’t bring a railing accusation against him but rather said, “The Lord rebuke thee.”

If the devil coulda swiped the savior’s body and destroyed it while God was sleeping there would be no resurrection, mankind would never be redeemed and we all would die in our sins.

So, while he slept in the grave I’m telling you there was ever possibility the evil one would have made every attempt to get the body and defeat God once and for all.”

“How’d it go Mikey? “Asked Little Johnny sitting on a stool to his left.

“Boys” said the devil. “That was one tight spot. It took all my craft to get this guy and even now after we bagged him I’m not sure we bagged him. So, this is what I’m thinking. Joey, you round up the boys and we’re gonna forget subtly on this snatch and grab. We’re gonna come in the back door, grab the corpse and toss it into Mt. Doom. Right into the middle of the lava flow. That should cook this bird’s goose.”

“Ok, Boss,” said Schumucifer his number three in command. Beelzebub his # 2 was off on a taco run. “But how many of the boys you want me to get for the job.”

“You better get all of them. Cancel shore leave and sick days and vaca time. I need all hands-on deck.”

“What about you boss? You gonna be leading the charge? You know, rally the troops and all that?”

“Normally, I’d say yes but I just heard the screen door slam and that means tacos are here. You guys get on without me and if I finish my crispa’s and my nap I’ll stop in to see how it’s going.”

“Nap. Got it boss.”

“I get a nap. Not you you idiot.”

“Oh. Really. Sorry, but that’s a drag. I was up watching videos late last night and really could use a little shut eye in some place cool and dark.”

“There’s a place that’s dark but not that cool. I’ll make sure you end up there.”

“Gee, thanks boss. With a devil like you lookin out for me what more could a demon want?”

“Maybe an upgrade to a hundred and fifty pound porker with no lakes within miles.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Forget it. Just go out there and give it the old college try will you Schmus.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“So, all the demons and wicked spirits except for Lucifer himself descended on the garden tomb. With only two angels guarding him this thing would be cake. But Mike was not easily outmaneuvered and if you think it’s hard pulling the wool over his eyes it’s really super hard to get the better of his boss. In fact, I read somewhere it says, “There is no wisdom, counsel or understanding against the Lord,” so good luck with coming up with a plan to defeat him when he lay cold in the grave.

“So, it was war?”

“Yeah,” Said Anvil. All the good angels showed up and the place was trashed.

“Why didn’t you have the devil head up the troops in the story?” Asked someone over to the left.”

“Cuz the tacos were still hot and Lucifer is no fool. You eat a taco when it’s hot and you don’t bother leading the troops on a fool’s errand.”

“If he knew he’d never get the Lord’s body then why’d he ever bother?”

“He knows that Christ overcame him at Calvary but he still goes on tempting man and tripping them up. The battle is already done but he still wants to take as many souls with him to hell with him as possible.”

“And then he will rule over them in Hell?” asked the lush.

“No. No one rule in Hell but the fire, the flames and the black loneliness for eternity.”

“Eww,” I never want to go there.” said the lush.

- “Know what the most important commandment is?” asked Anvil.

- “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind and strength.”

- “And the second one?”

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

“Yeah. Do that and you’ll be fine.”

The End.

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

No. not that one. They have better photographers than product. I bought one from them and it looked like baby calfskin pleather. Plastic. No. Definitely not them. They will take your money and never send you your goods.

In a useless attempt to try and gain or find for the first time the cool that has eluded me most of my life, I decided a vest was what I needed. I had a few and at least one guy asked about them. I need lots of guys and gals telling me I brought my A game so I’ve got a lot of vests. But not one made of leather.

God our Father smiles when he thinks about my leather vest. He smiles because he knows things I don’t know. One or two quatrillion. And the last thing he knew that I finally understood was the joy of finding just the right vest. I had been shopping my brains out for a nice leather vest like Louie Farnsworth had back in the day.

That was a really nice one. But I wanted something without lambs wool fluff on it. So after shopping till the cows came home I finally found a winner. A really, really nice one. And it was in my size. No, scratch that. It was in two X so, no matter what they did or how they measured in this far off land of eBay, I was confident this one would finally fit and not too snug like that last pleather joke.

I bought it. And waited. Finally, it came. And I was hesitant to open it. I’d been disappointed so many times I couldn’t hardly face a new disappointment. But wait, I’d really really really prayed over this decision. I asked God to make sure this one was actually nice and fit me.

So, I remembered that and joyfully ripped open the parcel.

And it was a true, rare beauty. And I was very very glad. And I realized that donning this garment would finally raise my coolness level to at least 1 or 1.5.

I smelled the rich leather not pleather and knew this was hand crafted by wood elves who washed the cookie crumbs off their mitts before sewing it. I slipped it on and went to button it up. Mmm. A flap must be stuck cuz I can reach the button to the hole. I took it off to fix the flap. These things happen, he, he, he.

There was not flap. I stretched and fumed and no matter what I did the vest, that was supposed to be a two X was really a medium. Fire! Death! Lawyers! Murder! This will not stand. How could they do this. And worse, how could God do this to me? I had prayed and asked him to keep me from exactly this things, deep and bitter disappointment.

Sir, I asked you to guide me and I get thing thing? What’s going on?

“Just trust me Frankie.”

“Trust you? This thing is not gonna stretch. I am never gonna be a medium. Ever sir. I my casket with the back split open this thing will be too tight in the arms. Bwwwaaaa!

“Just trust me.”

“I was mad at him. Here was one more bloody faith trial to test my meager supply and prove to me once again I am a turd. I already knew I was as turd and didn’t need yet another reminder. I shoved the vest in the back of my closet so I couldn’t be reminded of yet one more failure. That should be my middle name. Frankie Failure Chocolate. Or just drop the Chocolate and really get to it.

Sometime later God had been nudging me to go back to my adult Sunday School Class. Two years before some people had falsely accused me of something and I was devastated. All the rotten things I think and would like to act upon and you gotta make something up I never even did? Were you even trying?

My wife wanted us to leave the church was I was adamant. This was my church and they would carry me out but they would never drive me out. So, I took the shame false accusations and ate it like grapefruit. A turtle being beating by wicked young boys with sticks, I hunkered down and just kept going. Finally one of the two men who had taken me aside and told me how bad I was called me. “I should have never done that. I was wrong. Forgive me.”

God gave me grace and a short memory. I’d forgotten this guys name. There’s a gift of ADHD fo you. As I was stumbling about trying to remember who this man was I started mumbling an acceptance. Half way through I finally remembered who he was and the pain and shame he had caused me and my family. But the train was already rolling and God told me clearly not to switch tracks. “You did nothing wrong. You were only trying to safeguard the flock God had given you to care for.”

Wow. Did I say that?

No. That was me.” Said the Spirit of God.

Ok, the deed is done. This guy and I have made peace so we are good. But there were two guys who took me aside and rebuked me. What about the second one. God made it clear he was just the moral support and really didn’t want to have any part of the accusation. Ok. I got that sir. We done with this whole mess?

Not quite. There’s one more thing.

What’s that sir?

You know that vest in your closet?

You mean the one you signed off on that I should buy it and it didn’t fit and I’m still sore about? That one sir?

Yeah, That one.

What about it?

I want you to see if Bobby would like it.

Well, he’s welcome to it. Its never gonna fit me sir.

Ok, go put it in a plastic bag and bring it to church this morning.

So, I stopped in while the lesson was being taught, bent down to Bobby and whispered, “If this doesn’t fit let me know.” He was smaller than me but what do I know about what fits men. Obviously nothing.

In the middle of the service Bobby comes down to my row, comes right up to me and hugs me like a mama bear. This is the coolest thing anyone has ever given me in my life. These good ones are soo hard to find. Thank you, thank you thank you. He is beaming like a 50,000 watt tower.

Then a sense of overwhelming joy sweeps over me and God tips his hand, shows me his cards.

He knew that vest was never gonna fit me. He picked it out for Bobby and had me pay for it. If he had told me to buy it for him I would have refused so he had to circumvent my pride to accomplish his will. He needed me reconciled to this man. And he lavishly used this really expensive wonderful vest to do it. We were friends again and I could love him as I used to.

Ok, so both men and I are good. And my name has been cleared. The shame and scandal has been lifted. Now there’s only one thing left.

After all this I still needed a vest. But there was no way I was ever gonna buy another one without first trying it on. And in the stores they are rare and costly. More than I could ever afford. But then I see Jesus my savior smiling at me. At the corner of my mind I seen him smiling a great big smile like he knows a secret and even though he’s God Almighty he’s having a hard time keep this one to himself. So he’s smiling and I take his bait. Such a smile. You gotta meet this man and see this smile. It will make everything you ever had to go through up to this point worth it just to see his grin.

So I ask the ask He’s been dying for me to ask. I gotta frame it right. So, I think about it. Then I got it so I ask the ask. “Sir, would you please get me a nice leather vest. Even nicer than the one you had my buy for Bobby.” And God completely laughs and says joyfully, “Yes Frankie. I’ll ge you a nice one.”

So, I’m not a content type of guy. I want what I want before I even know I want it. But now I got it made. Here in Chicago when we slip someone a few bucks on the sly we call it the, “The Chicago Handshake. And if your Alderman owes you then you got it made cuz the fix is in and you’re golden. You got this thing sussed by Sunday.

My sweet leather vest? It’s in the bag and God himself is gonna pick out a reliable

Bag man and he’s gonna get it to me in his time.

So, I feel good. That vest is mine! The End.

A day in the life of Death

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

“Thank you for purchasing the perfume from Ural Perfumes and cosmetics, as a Valuable customer we would like to inform you the registered mail Might take between 2-5 weeks for delivery

We can upgrade your shipment to FedEx or DHL for extra $17 and you will get the order within 2-5 days

Please let us know if you like to upgrade your shipping service or should prepare your order to ship it by normal slow register mail

Thank you
Rachel.”

“Mmm. Really?” He flexed his knuckles and clacked at his keypad.

“It’s not really Rachel is it Jashanpreet. Yes. I know your real name. I know where you live and work. I know what you had for breakfast. Chai and sesame cookies. You really should add a little yogurt or some nice goat cheese to your diet. The protein will last you longer and you won’t have the incredible headaches you’ve been having.”

“Who is this. How do you know my name? You couldn’t possibly know my name. This is Ganesh pulling my leg isn’t it.”

“No. Not Ganesh. You shouldn’t have had such harsh words to him last night. You deeply offended him.”

“No one heard that argument but Ganesh and me. No one else was there. Who is this?”

“You don’t want to know who this is Aliya. I’m the last person you want to meet.

“Well, Mr. last person. I’ll signing off. I’ll see you in hell.”

Her phone vibrated a moment later. She had ten thousand voice messages. With trembling fingers, she clicked on the first one.

“I wasn’t done talking Jash. That was rude cutting me off on your monitor like that.”

“Whoo is thhis?” she typed with trembling fingers.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy Miss J. I can travel through walls and in the air. I can get to you though locked doors and dead bolts. There is no where you can hide that I can’t get you. I “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

“Yama? The Hindu god of death? Is that you? Hey no problems. You got your lines crossed is all. I’m Sikh and we are strictly monotheistic. We believe that there is only one God. Guru Nanak so you probably want Nancy instead of me. She’s Hindu. She’s on break right now but I’ll be sure to tell her you called.”

“No, you ninny. I don’t care if you’re Sikh or Hindu or French. I’m calling for you. I’m Death.”

“Why, what did I do to you?”

“You tried to upsell me on my perfume delivery. Giving me the old soft shoe that it might take eternity to get my sauce but if I wanted to pony up a princely sum I could have to this afternoon.”

“Seventeen dollars is hardly a princely sum and we could get you your stuff tomorrow. You could have it tomorrow but same day delivery ended five minutes ago.”

“Darn.”

“Yeah. Sucks to be you. What were you the god of again?”

“I’m not really a god. I’m death actually.”

“Not a god? Are you sure? There are a lot of them floating around. Do you want to check for a minute just to be sure? I’ll hold.”

“Mmm. Okay. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time Death. I’ve got eternity.”

“Hello Aliya. Are you there?”

“I’m still here Dearie.”

“Uhh. Umm. We’ll…ahh. I checked and I’m not a god.”

“What about demigod?”

“What is that exactly?”

“A being with partial or lesser divine status, such as a minor deity, the offspring of a god and a mortal, or a mortal raised to divine rank. Some Roman emperors claimed descent from demigods such as Hercules”

“Woah! Encyclopedia Brown.”

“Nahh. Wikipedia. But thanks.”

“Wow. You’ve really been nice.”

“Thanks. Now why did you blow me up?”

“I guess I was just trying to throw my weight around a little. Sorry.”

“Happens to the best of us Death. Now, what seems to be the problem big D?”

“You sent me a bait and switch with a chaser of fear. It might take forever to ship you your juice but if you cough up an extra $17.00 we can get it to you quickly.”

“Oh. That one. I’m sooo sorry. I didn’t realize it was you. Let me just take that off the invoice and expedite your ship date.”

“Oh, that’d be great. When can I expect my perfume?”

“Let’s see. The original date was twelve days past the end of eternity. I can upgrade you to the last day of the world.”

“That’s really not much time to enjoy the juice.”

“It’s kinda weak anyway D.”

“Still, the perfume is pretty expensive. There must be something else you can do.”

“Alright. Don’t tell anyone I did this for you but if you give me just a bit more money we can forget all this nonsense and just get you your juice quickly.

“Oh. Thank you. Thank you. How much extra is this going to cost?”

“For you. Seventeen dollars.”

“Perfect. Here’s my card…

The end.

Death takes a tonic and lime.

Death was sitting at the bar at Brixie’s Tap having a tonic and lime with a shot full of poor me. It was slow. Randish the ex-Ranger bartender was reading his bible on his phone behind the bar.

A lush named Lucius sat down next to Death and ordered a Bud Lite. The movement of the barstool disturbed a brown recluse spider that had been sleeping off a three-day rager. She crawled up Lucius’s back till she found skin and raised her fangs to liquefy a huge portion of his neck. Death arched back on his stool and touched the arachnid. It curled up and fell off to the floor.

“Thanks man,” said Lucius.

Death nodded and said, “amateur.” in a voice that sounded like dry paper rasping around in a hollow skull. He was thinking about his duty roster for the day and considering how to finesse the next assignment. To himself out loud he said, “This next perp I have been giving bad dreams of imminent death for three days. She is so terrified she can hardly breathe. I’ve got the two o five bus lined up and I am gonna throw this Nancy girl under it”.

“What are you doing? “said a voice out of the air.

“I’m doing my job sir.”

“How do you figure tormenting my people is your job?”

“Didn’t you create me to end life?”

“Yes, but I take no joy in the death of the wicked. When you kill someone, you should do it with a tear in your eye. You should be compassionate.”

“I’m Death. End life. That’s my job description. It’s a pretty depressing job sir. No one is happy when I show up for the birthday party. No one says, oh look whose come for breakfast or I wonder how that train ended up going off the trestle. They howl when I show up. It’s gets wearisome sir.”

“Well, it’s not forever.”

“Yeah, when forever rolls around I get to join hell in the lake of fire. I’m not looking forward to that. Couldn’t you just make it so I stopped existing?”

“That’s not how I roll. When I make something, I don’t unmake it. Ever. First the beast and the false prophet, then the devil, then you and hell.”

“Making a clean sweep of it I suppose.”

“Yep. Now, please stop tormenting my people. Do what you have to do and do it softly.”

“It’s still depressing to be me sir.”

“Ok, cheer up. I picked out a song for you on the jukebox.”

As the Lord went up from that place Randish the bartender got a dollar and walked over to the Rockola machine. He punched B-17 three times. Roberta Flack came on. Randish went back behind the bar and sliced some lemons.

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song

I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him, to listen for a while
And there he was, this young boy, a stranger to my eyes

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he’d found my letters and read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly

Killing Me Softly with His Song lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell. The end.

Death gets road rash.

Just like ZZ Top he was rolling down the road in some cold blue steel. He wished he had a fine fox in the front and three more in the back. But he didn’t. He was alone, still it was a brand-new baby blue custom paint Cadillac so he had that going for him. It was a warm day, late spring easing into summer. The Honeysuckles and Jonquils had already gone but the lilacs, poppies and roses would be coming soon. The air held the scent of something sweet and wonderful. It was the kind of day where anything might happen. For the first time in a long time he was happy. The sun was shining down on him giving a bit of color to his normally dead white complexion. He tuned in the radio and Fun Fun Fun by the Beach Boys was just coming on. He smiled up at the sun, turned it up loud and sang along. “Well she got her daddy’s car and she cruised to the hamburger stand now. Seems she forgot all about the library like she told her old man now. And with the radio blasting—he turned it up louder—she goes cruising just as fast as she can now, and she’ll have fun fun fun till her daddy takes the T-bird away.” Life was good. Then some jerk in a Beemer darted into his lane and almost forced him into the ginormous red semi in the left lane. To cap things off this weenie flipped him the bird as he darted by as if he resented him even existing and taking up air.

Normally when something like this happens to you and me we are filled with road rash and wish to heaven we could crush this insect. This guy didn’t have to wish. He didn’t even get mad. He just narrowed his eyes and stared at the guy. Blam, Blam, Blam, Blam. Four tires had complete blowouts. What a coincidence. The Beemer limped to the side of the road. Black smoke poured from under the hood. The tires had melted away. The fancy rims—toast. The windshield was spidered. Against all possibilities a piece of paper that hadn’t been there a moment ago gave him a nasty paper cut. The lemon that dripped on the cut was a complete mystery. Payback was sooo sweet. He rolled up to the side of the road where the Beemer had died and lifted his foster grants. The man looked at where his eyes should have been and fainted.

“What are you doing now?”

“Oh. Hello sir. My fellow motorist her was in distress. I just interrupted my hectic day to see could I aide him in any way?”

“You sound like Eddie Haskell on Leave it to Beaver.”

“Oh, thank you sir. May I have another?”

“No. What did you do to that poor guy?”

“He cut me off so I smushed him. Blew out the tires, fried the engine, cooked the radio. Nothing really.”

“Do you know why I said vengeance is mine?”

“You don’t want to share?”

“It’s too strong. You start handing out punishment and you go overboard. You give a bullet where a slap would have been enough.”

“Okay. I’ll get out and slap him too sir.”

“You’ll get out alright. I want you to fix his car up and get him back on the road.”

“This car is trashed sir. It’d take three months to make it right.”

“Then you better get started.”

“How am I gonna get him back on the road?”

“Give him your car.”

“My car? Sir this is brand new.”

“Yeah, and it’s a beaut. Make sure it has a full tank.”

“Yes, but this is custom paint. The guy that did it was Michelangelo.”

“Really? I thought he was dead?”

“He was like Michelangelo. How am I gonna clean this up?”

“Be creative.”

“I don’t know sir. He did cut me off.”

“You know the lake of fire?”

“SIR YES SIR!”

“Some parts area hotter than others.”

“Got it sir.”

“Okay. Get it to.”

“Yes sir.”

“What happened?”

“You hit an eagle and trashed your car sir.”

“An eagle did all this?”

“Maybe you crashed into their tour bus.”

“Really? The Eagles? Wow! Cuz I love those guys. Are they still around? Do you think I could get their autographs?”

“They just left.”

“Darn. Did you see Don Henley?”

“Yeah. He’s great.”

“What about Glen Frey?”

“He’s dead sir. His son Deacon and Vince Gill are rounding out the band now.”

“Oh yeah. Still seems a shame they booted out Finger’s Felder don’t you think?”

“No one does Hotel California like him sir.”

“They felt so bad about the accident they asked me to give you this brand-new virgin Baby Blue Caddy. That’s custom paint on there sir. Glen Frey would be really upset if you were to get any scratches on there.”

“He’s dead. How’s he gonna know?”

“Er, He’s alive in our hearts isn’t he sir?”

“Ok… I guess.”

“Here’s two hundred bucks to keep it filled. I’ll just stay with your dead Beemer till the tow truck comes and you can have the Cady till your car is fixed.”

“Great but I live in Spain. How you gonna get my car back to me? I’m going back home next week.”

“I’d drive it.”

“How was that?”

“I’ll ship it sir.”

“Great. Those Eagles sure are great guys.”

“Yea. Their swell.”

The End.

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

In heaven, at a long golden table, a table made of pure gold, not just gold paint, a dozen angels sat around like grumps. I realize in heaven Jesus has wiped away all tears and there is pretty much just joy floating around all the time, 24/7 so this was most unusual.

Big Mike the Arc was at the head of the table. God was doing something else so Mikey Mikington was heading this posse up. He had on his white robes of course. And his shiny golden bib. Cuz you wanna look your best when you’re representing the Most High God and the last thing he needed was a soup stain on his tunic.

Now, I don’t want to say there was a lot of grumbling around the table but most of the guys were not smiling. For this being heaven it was like someone slipped a salted anchovy in their ice cream or something. And most of em were wearing dark, dark glasses. That table of pure gold was really shiny. So, these powerful ministering spirits to the heirs of salvation were sitting at the table and Mikey begins, “Ok, you birds listen up. We got a special assignment today.

Some of them sat up straighter and tried to look more attentive.

“This one is directly from The Master himself.

Now everyone was sitting up and took off their shades.

“Frankie Chocolate is making soup again.”

Groans all around. Someone blurted out, “What’s wrong with Cambell’s sir? They make a decent soup.”

“Sure, they do. And for anyone not as tightly wound as Frankie C. that would be a find cup of soup. But Frankie is an anal retentive. Too much is not enough. When he gets a taste or whiff of something he’s like a heat seeking missile. He locks in and paints his target and will not rest till he sees it through.”

“Come on sir. What chance does this Jamoke have of making a decent bean broth or hearty minestrone?”

“Stranger things have happened Johnson. Anyway, here’s what’s going on. Frankie remembers one time he made a really good ham bean soup. Soup so good angels wept and choirs sang each time someone took a spoonful.”

“In a pig’s eye. Sir!”

“As if Sir!”

“That’s a laugh sir. Ha, ha, ha.”

“I tend to agree with you Simpson but that’s what’s in his mind.”

“So, where do we come in sir?”

“We gotta taste his latest creation. And if it’s as good as he remembers…”

“How am I gonna cry on demand sir?”

“You want me to join a choir to sing the praises of this hack’s chicken gumbo sir? I can’t even carry a note in bucket.”

“Yeah, well each of ya are gonna get a slice of onion in a hanky and voice lessons.

I just gave you this heads up as a courtesy, that’s all. Now, Rodriquez, I need you to go down and check his grocery list. Make sure there is bay leaves and kosher sea salt on the list. And none of that coarse cracked black pepper. It’s way too sharp and last time I nearly gacked up a lung. Ok, He’s praying now. So, everybody take your places. Operation Chicken Yumbo is about to begin. The End.

Author’s Note. /This story was inspired by singer David Crosby’s 1989 song, “Monkey and the Underdog” and is for my wonderful daughter-in-law Annie go getter whom God uses in countless ways to bless my life. So, this story is to honor the life of David Crosby and my beautiful daughter in law Annie go getter

When Annie go getter met Johnny , he was low on cash. He was often low on cash but knew how to close a deal. She saw in him the potential and greatness that was hidden there. And that boy could dance. They were both attending the annual Lindy Hop and Jitterbug contest in Hamburger, Illinois, just a stone’s throw from Hot Dog New Hampshire and down the road from Pizza Pennsylvania. Now, before we go a step further, I must confess there is no Hamburger Illinois or any of that other nonsense. A good writer would have come up with something more clever that that silliness. But you already know I’m a hack so accept my apology and let’s press on.

Johnny and A. were at the Hop, each with another date and it was a blast. Everyone was there. Bill Haley and the Comets were the headliners. Cab Calloway was on the mike throwing out scat like a monkey with poo. Eww. The Jive Five, the Glitter bombs, the Caramels, the Soft Caramels and the Chocolate enrobed Caramels were all there. Ronnie Mitchell was singing “Having a Party.” Up next were the Dixie Cups, long in the tooth Long John Baldry, A fresh-faced young Elton John was warming up on Crocodile Rock and that joint was jumpin!

It was the dance off and Annie go getter loved to dance. And just about the time she and her date Caruthers Nochance were ready to begin the final round Cruthers pulled a hammy, got a crampy in his Patella, and his Tibia went out. Flopping in pain the ambulance came and hauled him right out of the story. By the most convenient and natural of circumstances and without anything resembling lazy writing Johnny ’s date Bula Birthinton, who was nowhere near a ton tripped over a cord, and flew into the snare drum kit of Big Mellow and the Twists who were next up and was out cold. The Wambulance came again and suddenly Johnny found also found himself without a partner. As their eyes met across the dance floor young Miss A’s heart skipped a beat.

“Do you have any money?” she asked him as they began their Lindy Hop.
“No.”

“Can you get some?”

“I don’t know. I can try.”

“There is no try. There is only do.” She said in a spot-on Yoda voice. Johnny didn’t get it for

three minutes then donkey laughed so loud he spooked the drummer off his beat.

“Where do you live?” she asked him as they Jitterbugged next to the huge column speakers.

“With my mother.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a financial planner.”

“And how is that going for you?”

“I’m planning to close the most important deal of my career. Of my entire life.”

“Sounds important.”

“It will be the sale of my life if I can close this deal.”

Well, she said yes and they closed the deal and were wed six months later. And I’d like to tell you that they won the all-night sock hop but they didn’t. Annie go getter in the 11 and a half hour started getting woozy. And keeled over just as Darcy Puddleglum, her arch nemesis was about to collapse. It was down to those last two couples. Darcy and Dilmore Dimpleton, captain of the cheer squad and Johnny and Annie go getter. And something went wrong and she smiled at her future husband and said, “I’ve had a lovely evening Johnny ,” then fainted with a smile on her lovely face.

As it turned out, her thyroid was not lovely. It was low and finally gave up the ghost. She started taking hormone replacement pills and all went well. They had four wonderful kids and a goldfish named Hank and all was wonderful. But in the back of her mind, she still chaffed at Darcy Puddleglum staggering home on swollen feet with her trophy.

Ten years later she read in the Daily Blabber there was gonna be another sock hop, Jitterbug and chili cook off. Johnny and she set their sights on removing the crown from Puddleglum’s head. They practiced and got their act down cold. Then heated it up.

Then Annie go getter got weak again a week before the dance-off.

“I feel like I did before I had my thyroid removed. No energy. I just want to sleep.” She told Johnny , who was now an apologist. Someone who for a fee will take the blame for things.

Now as it happens Miss A’s father-in-law Frankie Chocolate had the same symptoms and could barely get out of his old brown recliner to walk the dogs, write a story or raid the ice box.

It looked like another year without a crown for best dancers in the 30-year-old and up category.

But Annie go getter sought her God. She really wanted that crown and to take that smug look off of Darcy’s puss. And being a Christian, she wanted, if possible, to do it in love—if possible.

I went to the dance to see all the excitement and Johnny and Annie go getter were there. She didn’t really look too good. But then my eyes fell to my phone where she had texted me earlier. She had another check-up three days ago and sure enough, her meds were off again. She got a new script with more, better jungle juice. Elton John started banging on the old piano like a faithless lover, “I guess that’s why they call it the blues.” Miss Annie go getter looked up at me and with her eyes, she said, “I’ll kick her ass.” And I knew right then she would. The End.

“Monkey And The Underdog” lyrics

“Monkey And The Underdog”

Well I went out for my evenin’ stroll
All along the boulevard
It’s familiar turf, from the hills
To the surf
I treat it like my front yard
Well I right away ran into
A girl I know.
She said “you gotta come with
Me tonight, the word
Is out that the underdog
And the monkey gonna finally fight.”

Been fightin’...fightin’
Fightin’ just to stay alive
I’ve been fightin’...fightin’
Fightin’ to get from
Four o’clock to five.

Now I’m not what you’d call
A violent man.
But the news brought a smile
To my face.
Cause the underdog is a
Friend of mine.
I’d love to see him
Put that monkey in his place.
You may think I’m crazy
The odds are against the dog
You understand;
This monkey is as strong as
A gorilla.
He’d stretch a tire like
A rubber band.

But I’ve been fightin’...fightin’
Fightin’ just to stay alive
I’ve been fightin’...fightin’
Fightin’ to get from
Four o’clock to five.

Now, he’s sneaky
And he’ll smile
Right at you, pretend
To lick your boots
And all the while,
He’d be thinking
How to rip your soul
Out by the roots.
When we got there
My old underdog.
He didn’t really look too good, no
But when his eyes met mine
And he said
“I’ll kick his ass.”
And I knew right then he would

I’ve been fightin’
I’ve been fightin’
Fightin’ just to stay alive
I’ve been fightin’...fightin’
Fightin’ to get from
Four o’clock to five.

Well now I don’t want
To bore you.
With a bunch of dialogue.
It’s not how much dog
Is in the fight
It’s how much fight
Is in the dog.

And I’ve been fightin’...oh fightin’
Fightin’ just to stay alive
I’ve been fightin’...yeah fightin’
Fightin’ to get from
Four o’clock to five.

I’ve been fightin’...oh fightin’
Fightin’ just to stay alive
I’ve been fightin’...yeah fightin’
Fightin’ to get from
Four o’clock to five.

I’ve been fightin’...oh fightin’
Fightin’ just to stay alive
I’ve been fightin’...yeah fightin’
Fightin’ to get from
Four o’clock to five.

Writer(s): David Crosby, Craig Doerge, David Van Cortlandt

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

On a gloriously balmy summer day life stirred just below the still green surface of a pond laced with duckweed and mystery. Fry, water nymphs, beetles and a host of others laughed, played, darted and swam in the languid pool.

Turtles lived there. Richly colored Painted, velvety Green Red Eared sliders and reclusive pancake-like Soft shells. Common Snappers too! But not the Alligator Snapper.

The Alligator Snapper is the largest freshwater turtle in North American. Females have tipped the scales over 250lbs. As youngsters they forage for food like most other terrapins, eating pretty much anything they can fit in their mouths. When they get bigger they become more sedentary. They invite a meal into their gaping jaw by the lure of a tiny pink worm-like protrusion wriggling from the middle of their black tongue. It’s said with great certainty a full grown alligator snapper could snap a broom stick in two or shear off a man’s finger effortlessly.

* * *

Young Zack was nine years old and full of life and mischief. He loved soccer, basketball and catching critters.

All critters. His dad called him the “human animal vacuum.”

At camp he’d catch water snakes. They’d bite him till they got tired of it. He’d shake it off and continue to play with them. Finally, they’d resign themselves to simply curling up on his arm and allow him to parade them around the camp terrifying all the girls while Zack basked in the fearful admiration of all the fourth grade boys. He’d catch frogs, crickets, field mice and anything else that couldn’t outrun, or out swim or out jump him. His favorite thing to catch was turtles. And he caught a lot of them. In his 40 gallon breeder tank in his basement bedroom he had five.

A Mississippi River, a painted, a white cheeked mud, a red eared slider and a soft shell called pancake. In another smaller 10 gallon tank he had a baby soft shell. One thing he lacked. An alligator snapper.

Zack knew the pond like the back of his hand. Sometimes he’d chum the water for turtles with fresh, fat worms he’d covertly dug out of his dad’s flowerbed. Sitting under the willows on the bank he’d toss a gentle arc and a wriggler would land softly on the surface. A swirling rushing beak emerged and it the worm was gone. Some of the more greedy ones would actually come up on shore looking for more. He’d see all kinds but never an Alligator Snapper. The people at the nature center explained they weren’t indigenous to waters in northern Illinois.

One day, while riding his bike on the Prairie Path he spied a small black walnut in the path. He swerved to avoid it then stopped his bike. Years ago his Sunday School teacher had nick named him, “the finder of all things.” The name fit. He got off his bike and stooped down to look at the nut. It wasn’t a walnut. It looked like a tiny black plastic figurine of a prehistoric dinosaur turtle. It was rimmed with white limestone dust. He looked closer. It peed on his hand, stretched its leathery neck and opened its tiny mouth to let out a barely audible hiss. He had finally found his Alligator Snapper.

Snappy was a girl turtle. Zack could tell that by the curve of her Plastron, the bottom half of her shell. Girl turtles Plastron’s curve outward like a bow. Boy turtles shell curve inward. She was a ferocious eater and grew enormously. Often she’d corner three feeder fish at a time. With a whip of her lighting fast neck she’d grab three at once and bolt them down.

Zack loved to watch her walk on the bottom of the tank, searching for food. One afternoon however she was acting very different. She frantically stood on the bottom on her two back legs and stretched her neck towards the surface as far as it would go. It wasn’t far enough. Zack watched in stricken horror for a moment as he realized somehow his turtle had, just for this moment, lost its ability to swim. It was drowning before his eyes. He scooped her up and put her gasping on the sunning rocks.

She lay there for a long time not moving with her neck distended and vulnerable at in an unnatural angle. Finally, she began to move and crawled to the water again. This time she could swim. The interesting thing was from that day forward every time Zack entered the room Snappy would frantically swim toward the side of the tank to be closer to him. It seemed the turtle remembered his act of kindness and was happy to see him.

For a few seasons Snappy shared the big tank with her fellow terrapins. But turtles, especially lady snapping turtles grow exponentially. She grew larger and larger and hungrier. One day Zack heard a terrible commotion in the tank. Snappy was pulling down one of the other turtles in her formidable jaw and was about to make it a mid-day snack. It was a sad day because young Zack realized it was time to let the bruiser go.

He sadly placed her in a tight fitting five-gallon plastic bucket and peddled to the birthing pond near the prairie path. Stroking her grim head one last time he looked into her emotionless black eyes and told her he loved her and would miss her. She crawled into the water and disappeared for a moment. Then, about six feet out, her head reappeared and she looked him. He never saw her and peddled home with bleared eyes.

* * *

Time passed and young men don’t always remember their catechism. Zack forgot his Sunday School lessons and fell in with Clay Black. Clay ran a numbers game on the east side. He made tons of money and like flashy clothes and jewelry. His favorite piece was a huge ruby and gold ring he’d won in a crap game years ago. Clay was also the kind of guy you didn’t welsh on if you enjoyed drawing air.

At 21 Zack was into Clay for 30 large and had no way to pay the debt. So he went to work for Clay collecting receipts and delivering payoffs. Till one day he got dumb and took Clay’s money and placed it on a nag in the fourth.

He lost. After three nights Clay found him hiding in a shack near the old pond. He put a slug into him and the young man fell into the murky weed- filled water off the edge of the dock. Black never did things half-heartedly. He bent down on the dock and peered into the water. “Better give him one or two more to be sure,” he said.

He saw something move just below the surface and stretched his pistol arm down to just above the water. At that moment the thick clouds parted and silvery moonlight washed over the scene. Clay’s eye grew enormous as he froze in unbelieving terror. Something terrible rushed up and he fell screaming into the silver black water.

Chief Mark Meadows was the second cop on the scene when Lt. Jeff Borders called in an unusual call for back up at the pond. Mark couldn’t believe his eyes. Zack lay on the shore, wounded, bleeding but somehow still alive. Next to him, hissing at the Lt. with a swaying head and snappy jaw was a living nightmare. The biggest baddest Alligator snapping turtle northern Illinois had ever seen. In its jaw was the state’s evidence they needed to finally put away Clay for good. If they could just get it out of the brute’s mouth. In it’s jaw was the mangled remains of an index finger still wearing a heavy gold ring with a huge blood red ruby in the center.

The End.

A glass of poison

Mike Anvil the dune buster of carpet cleaners sat in his brown leather recliner in his living room. Across from him sat Baal. 2^nd class.

Mike was a blockbuster; a brute of man with a mean Irish streak and the iron fists and temper to put it across. He towered over most men. Baal made Mike seem small. His grotesque black skin pitting and horribly scarred writhed like living serpents. He looked exactly like a demon because that’s what he was.

Baal was assigned to Mike Anvil among other humans. See, there are a lot more good angels, two thirds more than there are bad angels so the bad ones had to double and triple up to make sure everyone was covered and tempted properly.

Mike’s love for Jesus was strong so Baal almost never got him and even a demon gets discouraged continually pushing a saint up to the precipice of sin only have him roll back down the hill the minute you stop for a cigarette or a bit of blow.

Don’t think Baal didn’t put in for a transfer. He did. Request denied. Okay, you think it’s so easy you try tempting him he told his boss Carcass Breath one day. Carcass Breath did and he mucked it up so badly they were both in trouble with the legional supervisor for a month.

Finally in a fit of desperation Baal appeared in Mike’s living room for a shot at the honest approach.

I never seen you before but I know your smell. You’re the turd that messes with me aren’t you. Said Anvil.

Not me said the lying spirit. That was another guy. He was transferred on account you ain’t been buying what he was selling.

I ain’t buying what you’re selling either bub.

You got me all wrong Mike. May I call you Mike?

No. You may not. What’s your name?

I’m called Lucifer.

No. You’re called liar. Lucifer is a much bigger turd than you and I’m a much smaller fish than he’d bother with. You look like a class 1 demon to me.

I’m a class three, He lied.

Prove it.

Baal pulled out his wallet and showed Mike the smoldering diamond I.D.

This says class 2.

I’m expecting my promotion in six months.

So any last words before you leave liar class two.

Yes thank you. I have something for you.

What makes you think I want anything from Hell?

Oh this you’ll want because you see Mikey…

It’s Mr. A. turd face.

You see Mr. A. I know you better than the last guy.

Who you conning? I’m from Chi-town. You are the last guy.

Maybe I am. I still know exactly what you like and I brought you some fresh new stuff.

What stuff?

This glass right here.

Mike looked at the coffee table between them and there stood an amazingly tall glass. It bubbled and looked like the finest hot cider and smelled of cinnamon and half forgotten illicit memories.

What is that?

Its what you want Mr. A. When you’re hungry or angry or lonely or tired. This is exactly what you want.

An icy dagger plunged into Anvil’s gut. He took a closer look at the glass. Swirling in its depths were naked images writhing in passion and lust most men secretly dream of. For a moment he was transfixed by the images then with great effort he tore his gaze away.

I know what that is.

You should.

It’s a glass of poison.

No. Its not. It’s desire. God given desire.

God never gave what was in this glass, Said the carpet cleaner.

Yes he did in that he made man and women then denied men the right to fulfill the desires he gave them. He’s the monster here, Not me.

No. He’s the good guy and you are a lying sack of shit.

Mr. A. You’re tired. It’s been a long day and no one is around. The smallest of sips will slake your thirst for a thousand years in a new and unique way like you’ve never experienced. I promise you.

One sip and I’ll be like Edmund with Turkish Delight. You only want more and more till it drowns and blackens your soul with clinging grime that only the strongest prayer and time can erase.

Exactly Mr. A. And the best part of this whole deal is you can drain this glass dry and drink a dozen more and your God will forgive you and you can start over all again fresh and clean. It’s a deal you can’t refuse. I’m offering you the best of both worlds. Let down your hair just a bit and drink deeply. If afterwards you feel you’ve overstepped the bounds of propriety you simply pull out your I’m forgiven card and its all good. You know how good it’s been in the past. This new stuff is twice as good and it’s non-habit forming. Quit anytime you like.

No. There is nothing more addictive. Heroin is mother’s milk compared to this stuff. Afterwards I abhor myself in dust and ashes.

So take a shower.

And the worst part is I cannot look at any women for days without sinning against her.

Its cherry flavored, Said Baal weakly.

I’m not drinking poison.

You hypocrite. You drank gallons, oceans before.

Yeah well I’m not drinking any today. Take your glass and get out.

He did. Mike Anvil opened his bible, fell on his knees and wept. The end.

Blown away

A mike Anvil Story.

Big Mike Anvil was bending the elbow at Brixie’s Rat hole pub in beautiful downtown Lomhurst. Next to him was his partner in grime fighting Little Johnny, a lug of a man. Anvil was a double brute of a man.

Mikey was tossing down suds and cracking peanuts in their shell while wrestling with a conundrum.

“Randish, could we get another down here he said to the bar wipe.

Randish was an ex-ranger who could probably kill you with his eyelashes. Lean with a long jaw, salt and pepper and a piercing look that he used to get souses outta his bar. “Coming up Mikey,” He replied. “Johnny you good?”

“Hit me up in a few,” replied the sidekick.

“So I been reading in Exodus lately and something perturbs me,” said the double brute. When Moses was sitting on the boulder and Joshua and what was the other guy’s name that was holding up his left arm?

“Hur,” said Randish not turning around from washing some glasses.

“Mikey, you don’t know was it his left or right arm Hur was holding up,” said Little Johnny.

“Maybe I do.”

Let me guess. You read it in the original Greek right?

It woulda been the original some other language for the old testament. The new was written in Greek said someone at the table behind them.

“What am I surrounded by bible soaked inebriates?” asked Anvil

“It was Greek for the New Testament. For the old testament the original text were done in Hebrew and Aramaic with a smattering of Babylonian maybe,” said Randish Beaming like a bible soaked inebriate.

“So what I don’t get is what was up with as long as they held Mo’s hands up the Israelis would win and when the arms went down then the guys won—and no body here needs to tell me they were Amalekites. Two or three lushes were halfway up out of their chairs then deflated they sat down again.”

“It’s a perfect example of God’s provision for us. As long as we seek him we prosper,” said Little Johnny.

“It also illustrated how we need God to support us in our daily battle,” said the Randish.

“It also shows how we need others to come along side us and encourage us,” said Lush # 1

“It was a conduit for celestial power,” said Lush #2. When Moses put his hands down it closed the God’s power transfer. When he raised them it opened the circuit and power flowed though him again.”

“You mean like when Indy and Karen Allen were tied up and the power coming outta the Arc of the covenant passed through them and melted the wax dummies of the bad guys?”

“Maybe,” # 2 suddenly finding the bottom of his beer mug fascinating.

“No. You guys are all wet. I’m talking about what a cramp old Moses woulda got even with his two guys holding his arms up. If he stopped to rub them down three of his guys would have died. If he wanted to shake them out a little bit Jews woulda been dropping like flies.”

“I think maybe they rubbed them down with Tiger balm or Ben

Gay” said someone in the back.

“Ben Gay?” asked Anvil.

“Sure,” said the guy. “Why not? Ben mean son of so why not?”

“So some guy was named Gay?”

“There’s Marvin Gaye.”

“You got a point.” Said Anvil while motioning to Randish to hit him and the little one up again. The end.

All the ice cream in the world

I’m NOT believing this, said Frankie

Believe what you want, said Jeff.

Jeff was sitting at the bar knocking back a few cold ones with Frankie on a Friday night. They had been swapping lies till Frankie started in on has glory days playing football with the mighty mites, a pick up league outta Brookfield where they’d pick you up by the neck and ride you down like a steer. In his mind the one or two decent tackles and broken field running Frankie managed eek out grew till George Halas came to film him and show super 8 videos to the monsters of the midway. He was a legend in his mind.

Jeff countered Frankie’s bragamony with one of his own where while playing at Washington U he and a punk kid named Alby put it to the opposing team and with seconds to go pulled off a feat that college announcers are still calling the Sanders miracle to this day.

Jeff took another pull on his beer and wipes his mouth with Frankie’s sleeve.

What are you doing you idiot?

Keep your pants on Frankie. I got a story to tell you, the true story of what really happened to old Al-fish and how he really scored that final point that carried us all the way to the toilet bowl.

I’m not familiar with that bowl. When is that?

They don’t got it any more. Budgets got it flushed.

Ha ha ha. So what’s dope on old A. S.?

I’m not sure I should tell ya.

Come on man. Ain’t we best buds?

Okay but you gotta promise not to tell anyone.

Me? Never.

So in a low conspiratorial voice Jeff dropped a dime on old Alby. When it was over Frankie remembered an important engagement he was late for. Out in his car he dialed up our hero on Facebook and told him cryptically. Yo Al, a little bird told me if I asked real nicely the next time you and the fam might invite me out for ice cream. The little bird’s name was Jeff and he mighta said something about that final game and the final winning point and about you and that duck and the barking frog—maybe.

Al yelled down the stairs to his lovely wife June. “Grab the kids we gotta get some ice cream. We’re meeting Frankie Chocolate there.

We just had ice cream and who is Frankie Chocolate?

Just some idiot. I’m gonna kill that Chrusciel he said under his voice. I thought that duck and frog deal was finally behind me. The end.

Blessed are the meek

for they shall inherit the Earth.

(for Pastor Chuck)

Raphael put the finishing touches on his first book, a slim volume of nine stories and nine pictures that went along with them. He was very proud it and put it on Amazon self publishing and waited for the sales to rack up. He told all his friends and a total of one named Jim actually posted a review. It was a great review but Raph thought he’d need a bit more ump if he was gonna crack the top ten on the New York Times best seller list.

He thought about a successful preacher he knew. Well, not actually on a first name basis but the man did a pretty good job of writing and selling books so he thought he’d give er a try. He crafted a sure fire-winning letter asking for the famous preacher’s help in getting his book a little heat.

Within a week he got a swell manila colored envelope back from the preacher. Oh boy oh boy. Finally ole Ralph was gonna catch a break.

“Dear Mr. . As you can imagine I get quite a lot of these letters of solicitation asking for my help in promoting someone’s book. I’ve decided to not help anyone. I’m sure you can appreciate my stance. God’s richest blessing on you. Chuck S.

Raphael was stunned. No he could not imagine or at least he did not imagine others would solicit the preacher for his help but come to think of it why shouldn’t they ask him? Didn’t he represent Christ and wouldn’t Christ help someone who took the time to send him a letter? Why would this guy just flat out say he’s not helping anyone? So he didn’t have to be bothered with little people is why. And then ask God’s richest blessing on him? Wasn’t he a part of God’s richest blessing—if he chose to be?

It struck Raph as more than a little hypocritical. The more he thought about it the angrier he got. Now normally when a big guy disses a little guy the little guy doesn’t have a lot of recourse. He can always trash talk the preacher and he sure wasn’t gonna buy any more of his books but the this called for something more. Somebody maybe forgot their own hayseed plowboy roots and needed a refresher course in humility 101. Raphael gave it some more thought.

Maybe he was being a little hard on Chuck so he fired off another letter explaining how he felt disrespected and how maybe the famous Chuck ought to reconsider his stance and if that was the case Ralph was a big enough man to forgive him and was willing to let by gones be water under the bushel. He put a first class forever stamp on it and shot er off.

The famous preacher’s reply came in a record two days time. It consisted of one word on the big time stationary. Pass.

Fire flew from Raphael’s eyes as he hand wrote a last letter.

Since this is the stance you’ve taken then this is the stance I’m going to take. From now on I will not buy any of your books or tapes or videos or anything you produce. No one will. Raphael A.

Famous preacher Chuck read the final letter and laughed out loud. He tossed the letter into his garbage can and clacked away at the final chapter of his long awaited new book, Dealing with Doubt. There was boatload of PR and promotional work going ahead of it and it promised to be another best seller on both the Christian and secular best seller list.

The day of the book’s release and New York City book signing the weather called for sunny skies and mid seventies with a light breeze. It thundered all night and in the morning six feet of snow blanketed the city paralyzing it from it’s frozen toes to the tip of its frost bitten nose.

No one came to the book signing. The only reason Chuck big time preacher was in the hotel lobby where the signing was supposed to take place is because he took the elevator down from his penthouse suite.

Tough luck, His manger told him but these things happen. We’ve still got fifteen cities and clear skies ahead of us so cheer up Chuckie.

In fifteen cities there were fifteen of the strangest unpredicted weather anomalies ever recorded. In buffalo it rained hail the size of golf balls for precisely three hours. The same amount of time Chuckie was supposed to sign books.

In Chicago the famous hawk wind grew so strong the police cordoned off the block that held his hotel, The Four Seasons. When he left the hotel the wind died down to a whisper. Tornadoes in Kansas, grasshoppers in Salt Lake City power black outs in both Denver and LA. Finally in Frisco the ground shook from a quake who’s epicenter seemed to be the hotel Frisco where Chuck was staying. He flew back home mystified. His books, tapes, videos, all his faith aides and encouragement paraphernalia stopped selling over night. Nada.

A month later his royalty check which was faithful as clockwork refused to show up.

He called his agent and the agent looked into it. From the photo’s he emailed back it appeared Chuck had indeed received the check and deposited them into his personal accounts. He didn’t recall cashing it but when he went on line but the money was there. Then a moment later is was not. It had been wired to the Salvation Army.

Chuck knew the Salvation Army was a good organization but they surely didn’t need his money, he did. As he was contacting them to demand a refund the press got a hold of the story of his generous donation and he was stuck. No way he could ask for it back without sounding like the biggest jerk in the world.

Somehow against his will his money would fly out of his account each month and despite his most fervent efforts it was not coming back. After a year of this he started to feel the pinch. The pinch became a lobster claw attack when he ordered an Espresso and croissant from Starbucks and his card was declined after three times.

He left the coffee vendor without his daily treat and tried to call his agent. The automatic reply coming from his cell phone told him he needed to contact his carrier immediately. The bill was past due and there was no service.

What the heck was going on?

When he finally got a hold of his agent he told him in forty years he’d never seen anything like this. The only thing he could think of was Chuck must have ticked off someone very powerful. That was the last thing he heard before the landline went dead.

So Chuck Famous started sorting through his memory. Nada. Everyone loved him. The only thing that came to mind was that one guy who wrote him a year ago. Another squirrel sniffing around looking to ride his coattails to glory.

Three months later with all his income all but gone Chuck was frantically sorting through his trash in a desperate attempt to find that long lost letter.

It was wrapped around the remains of a petrified gooey caramel apple he didn’t recall eating stuck to the side of his office waste can. He hated caramel apples. It was degrading work that took forty-five minutes to separate the letter from the sticky fossil.

Most of it crumbled but one part was in good shape. The promise that Raphael would no longer buy his books and that no one would. This was far fetched.

No one had that kind of power but at this point he was desperate. The envelope was gone. No return address. So how was he supposed to find this guy? The computer he wrote the letter on had been donated to charity. That was his only lead. Though he had wiped its memory clean he thought there was still a way to restore it.

It took a week and a half to track down the old computer. It had been given to someone who moved to Illinois, in the ragged edge of the Corn Belt up in Wheaton. With no money and no more friends to borrow from he stuck his thumb out on side of the road. In three days he dragged his worn out body up to the tiny shack on the ragged edge of town next to railroad tracks just behind Wheaton College. He knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked till his knuckles were sore. No reply. As he was leaving in a dejected heap a cardinal in a branch started singing. It swooped down past him in a graceful arch and flew around the back of the shack. Chuck followed. There in the back yard in worn bib overalls was Raphael pulling weeds out of the flowerbed.

Chuck cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Are you Raphael?”

“Took you long enough to get here.” Said the man without turning around.

Excuse me? Said Chuckie beaten down dog.

I said it took you long enough to get here. I guess that truck driver took a wrong turn in Ohio.

How could you know that? Just who are you anyway and why have you done this to my life. I’ve done nothing to you and don’t deserve to be treated this way.

Raphael turned around and stood up facing Chuck the angry.

He looked like an American Indian. Straight nose, high cheekbones, taller than tall, lean and powerful, long chestnut brown glossy hair falling to his shoulders. No shirt, just the thin faded bibs. Not even any shoes. He was tanned berry brown by the Midwest sun and spoke in an unhurried manor. “If you got what you deserved you’d be in hell right now.”

I’ve said that. You stole that from me. I’ve said that a thousand times in the pulpit and in my books. Everywhere. Everyone knows that’s practically my signature statement.

That doesn’t make it any less true, Said Raphael.

I demand answers.

You demand anything from me? How could a man so steeped in the study of God be so ignorant of who he really is. Or for that matter who I really am. For a moment Chuck though he saw fire racing around the edge of Raphael’s eyes but then it was gone so he must have imagined it.

I’d like some answers. I’d like to know why you’ve done this to me. I’ve sorted it out and the only answer that makes any sense is that you somehow are behind all this, orchestrating things to bring me to poverty. As far as I can tell, he continued in a more contrite manner, I’ve never done any harm to you and you’ve reached out to destroy me.

Destroy you? No Chuck. I destroyed Sodom and Gomorra. I destroyed the Egyptian army. I destroyed the enemies of Israel in the six-day war but I haven’t even lifted my little finger against you.

Okay. Okay. The light dawning on him, he continued. Ok. So who are you and what have I done to incur your wrath?

Do you remember the letter I sent you?

Yes.

What was your response?

I was cold, arrogant, haughty and condescending.

What else?

I was insensitive proud and full of my own self-importance.

Very good. Anything else?

I was a fool, walking in delusion and had forgotten the pit I was dug from.

Bingo. We have a winner.

So now what?

So now you can help me swamp out the hog barn, bury the dead, clean sewers and dig to China.

Really?

No. But I could use some help with this weeding.

So Chuck and Raphael worked down on their knees pulling weeds and sweating under the warm Midwestern sun the good Lord had put up there to grow flowers and weeds and our characters.

When we get done there are caramel apples waiting for us, said Raphael.

Chuck swallowed hard. Great! He said with what he hoped was ringing enthusiasm. The end.

Dichotomy

(For Ramona Muller. Lips that touch Diet Coke will never touch mine.)

If you come one inch closer I will stab you in the eye with my fork, Said Fat Frankie

You don’t want that pizza, Said Slim Frankie

Yes I do.

Well I know you don’t want all of that.

Yes I do. I want all of what’s on my plate and most of what’s on yours.

On my plate are salad greens with lemon and olive oil dressing.

You’re right. I don’t want what’s on your plate.

I thought you were going to be good.

I’m starving over here. Don’t talk to me about being good.

I thought we agreed we were going to lose weight.

Yeah. First thing Monday morning.

How bout first thing meow.

You’re doing that cat thing again?

It’s cute.

It was cute once or twice. Now it’s played.

So how bout you put half that pizza back and I give you some of my salad.

How bout you die.

We had an agreement. You—rather we want to buy a new leather motorcycle jacket and rock a hungry James Dean look. We want to lose weight so we can be healthy and rock that white tee shirt in the tight jeans and black leather jacket with the slicked back hair look right?

Yeah. I want to look like that. That’d be cool.

I mean you already got those cool pair of sunglasses.

Yeah.

So lets have a glass of water and some celery.

How bout you get away from me.

Have a little self-control would ya. We make all these promise and then you get a little hungry and you turn into a different person.

Look slim one you made all kinda promises I have no intention of keeping. I’m in to salt and sugar and fat. And I don’ t turn into a different person. I’m the same one I’ve always been.

That stuff will kill us.

But we’ll die happy.

Happy or sad we’ll both be dead.

How bout some zucchini slices.

Yeah delicious. Just let me slam down this pizza and if I got any more room I’ll wolf them right down.

I got a nice fresh apple over here.

Cover it in caramel and get back to me.

Oh… and nuts too.

We are never gonna lose weight.

Sure we will. I’m starting Monday.

Don’t you care about your cholesterol?

Of course I do. I take a pill for it every day.

It would help the pill if you didn’t wash it down with a half dozen fat slices of ham.

Ham comes from God. He made the pig.

He also make heaven and we’re gonna go there before our time if we don’t stop eating all this crap.

Maybe you’re right?

Really? You think so? You agree?

Yeah.

Great! What changed your mind?

I’m full. The end.

Dirty Groupon © a Bad Billyam Yeadorn & Mike Anvil story 2011 Frankie Chocolate

He paused for effect. They were eating right out of his hand. You coulda heard a an rx20 drop. Bad Billyam Yeadorn, swept the crowd with his steely gaze searching for true believers. At this point they were all on board so he waiting a moment longer then brought it home. “And that my friends is why you should always wear booties, use an acid rinse and pet the dog BEFORE YOU START THE YOB! The overflow crowd rose to their feet and thundered an ovation. Sweeping Billyam up on their shoulders they trotted out of the classroom chanting encap, encap, encap. Billyam just finished giving the keynote speech for the opening ceremonies at Customer Appreciation Day at Ron Jon, the nation’s largest vendor of cleaning supplies.

Every year Ron Jon has a customer appreciation day where they put on the dog and fed all those hungry carpet cleaners and try to coax one or two into buying a truck mount or three. There are number jugglers, fools, and pretty girls. They even give you a $20.00 voucher to spend on anything you want in the store. Never mind you can’t buy anything you want for $20.00 it’s still a nice gesture. There was an atmosphere of gaiety and joy as people mingled with old friends, looked at company reps demonstrating their wares and tried to avoid Mikey C’s gaze. If you made eye contact with Mikey you bought a truck mount. Those were the rules. Probably why everyone was wearing sunglasses. The joy and gladness flowed like root beer on a warm summer day. But Anvil wasn’t there.

They’s grilling hamburgers bout now.

I heard they’s grilling cheeeesburgers.

Nick and John are probably working the grills, smiling and swapping lies with the clientele.

Yeah, bout now young Billyam has finished up his last bike-riding story and is working the crowd, glad handing and smiling all around.

You know, said Mike Anvil to Little Johnny, his partner, I heard they’s gonna be doing something special this year.

What’s that?

Vidalia’s?

The sweet onion?

The very same. I heard Johnny had picked up a 50 lb sack and was gonna be caramelizing them over a slow flame to smother them burgers in.

Smother them cheese burgers too? Asked lil Johnny.

Yep, so you couldn’t even see em.

And cold cokes too? Asked the lil one his mouth drooling.

Ice cold my friend, ice cold.

Arrgh said lil Johnny.

Double Arrgh said Mike Anvil, the huge body builder carpet cleaner.

At that very moment John was in fact caramelizing his first ten pounds of fresh Vidalia’s. He was surrounded by laughing, joking men, the dregs of society, the scum of the universe, the lowest of the low, yes dear reader, John and Nick and Billyam were surrounded by carpet cleaners, technicians and janitors, all come for the free eats and that $20.00 bribe.

Years ago Nick and John had stumbled on to the law of reciprocity. That law says if you do something for someone they feel inclined to do something for you. How it played out was John was caught hustling a game of pool with a couple of red neck boys, a big biker man and three skinheads. He hollered across the hall at Nick, “Nicky, a little help here.”

Nick, looked over the boys confronting his pal and decided they didn’t look all that tough so he waded in with his oversized knuckles and that night’s dance was on. The law of reciprocity came in when the six guys came back next week with black jacks, saps and a lead pipe and caught the pair as they were leaving Brickzie tap on Friday night. They wuuped em again but caught a few lumps in the process and while waiting for their wives to go their bail had time to figure out this give and you get thing.

Maybe it was young John came up with the idea, for he was young and tender back then, maybe it was Nick but one of em figured out, “We beat hell outta those idiots and they returned the favor.”

Tried to return the favor said Nick, tonguing a spot where a molar had been.

Okay tried but I think we’re on to something here. What if we showed our customers we loved em.

We do love em but how would we do that?

I don’t know what is it every carpet cleaner loves?

Getting paid?

Besides that.

Dirty carpets?

No. Food. Let’s feed em and give some money.

Wait a tick. I thought they were supposed to give us money.

They will. We give em good food and show em some stuff to buy and a voucher to buy it with and maybe they’ll return the favor.

And they did and the first C.A.D. day was born. Customer Appreciation Day.

Every year it had grown till most carpet cleaners in six states cleared their books and locked out that day to go mingle and eat scrumptious burgers and hob knob with their pals. Everyone was at this party. Everyone. Everyone but a chuckle headed Mike Anvil and lil Johnny who had the misfortune of running their first ever Groupon offering a week before C.A.D.

It was bad. It was really bad. Customers were calling in from all over. The office manager at the Fluffy Bright Carpet Cleaning Company bout had a melt down. All six lines and seven girls answering them were being worn to a frazzle. In seven days they booked 8,000 jobs and everyone was threatening to mutiny. They finally set limits. No sir, we will not drive to Indiana or Nebraska to clean your carpets with this offer.

When the dust settled Alie, the office manger got everything on the books. If they worked 24/7 they could hire on six more techs and have everyone cleaned by November.

But that meant long hours. All was good till Alie dropped the bomb.

I worked the schedule seven ways to Sunday and it all fits.

But we didn’t schedule any jobs for C.A.D day right? Asked Anvil hopefully.

One little job in Clarendon Hills. You should be done by 10:30 am.

Mmm said Anvil. Done by 10:30, jet up to Roselle bout the time Johnny is grilling them burgers.

Burgers and grilled onions said mouth-watering lil J.

Sounds like a plan. Let’s do er.

And it all went swimmingly till the lady of the house saw their work.

These carpets look amazing. I want you to do my sofa.

What sofa asked Mike the hunger bitten? He’d had a light b-fast in hopes of punishing the grill at Ron Jon’s.

I have a sofa in the basement.

That’s not a sofa, that’s a sectional.

Oh, is that what you call them. Okay, a sectional. Come to think of it I’ve got six, and three love seats and a fainting couch and…

Anvil felt like fainting. He paused and listened to the wind. Was that heart felt laughter and good times he heard? That scent on the breeze, was that magnolia and honey suckle or was that a hot dog grilled to perfection? He saw them there, the fun happy crowd. They were so happy some of em took off their sunglasses and Mikey C. had em lined up six deep to buy the latest truck mount. Nick was telling corny jokes and Johnny was laughing cuz he got there at 4:00 am and finally got a parking space. They was laughing and joking and carrying on, good timing like you wouldn’t believe. But Anvil wasn’t there. He was swamping rats and upholstery in a massive basement due south of there.

To get production he skipped the upholstery tool and brought out the floor wand. Lil Johnny would hose things down with a hydroforce and Anvil would use the wand to knock em out. If it wasn’t for the burst hoses, the truck breaking down and a dozen other things they mighta even made it. In the end alls they got for their troubles was aching backs and a paycheck six men couldn’t lift.

Driving home, bone weary the lil one asked Anvil, how’d we do Mike?

How we did was we did without is how we did. No burgers is how we did.

We make a boatload of money though, right?

Screw the money. I wanted them grilled Vidala’s.

Me too.

We’re gonna be so busy I don’t know when we’ll see day light. We’ll make more money than Rockefeller and it’s all that dirty Groupon’s fault.

Bastards.

The end.

Do the other thing

(For Ray who borrowed the expression from C.S. Lewis)

Thou shalt worship me and bless me and hold me as holy and don’t sin and do good pretty much all the time. And if thou do-est these things then I will bless you and keep you and knock your socks off with gladness and all kinda things. And if thou dosen’t do-est these things then I’ll do the other thing.

That’s how you see the big guy Little Johnny? Asked big Mike Anvil. It was Friday night and the work was done and Mikey and Johnny took their place at the bar at Brixie’s, the local dive watering hole. It wasn’t they were lushes or liked to get soused or anything like that. It was more social time. Half the time they’d order root beer or club soda. Once, a long time ago some bikers made the mistake of mocking their choice of beverage. That happened only once. After that few of the bikers make Otto’s their rat hole of choice. The others gave up drinking all together.

Yeah. I think that’s the way he rolls, said little Johnny, an iron fisted brute six inches shorter than Anvil. He was nursing his third and last beer.

So you do good and he’ll hook you up. You mess up and what, plagues of locust and firestorms and such?

He might start out with a sliver in your thumb or you lose your keys or get a speeding ticket first to get your attention.

What kind of God do you serve Johnny?

Same as you.

I don’t think so. I think you got your signals crossed and you’re worshiping Zeus. Jesus ain’t like that, like quid quo pro.

Sure he is, said Little Johnny. I think it’s you who’s got their signals crossed. See Jesus was God in the Old Testament. On Mt. Sinai that was him with Moses and the ten commandments. Only he was wearing his get-tough robes so he could whip the children of Israel into shape. Then when he came down and became baby Jesus he took those robes off and put on his meek humble robes. He’s got a lot of robes.

Yeah? I heard he’s got one that the train fills the temple.

No. I think that was the big guy’s big guy. I think that dude with the long flowing white beard is the Father not the Son.

How can you know for sure? He did say I and the father are one, said Anvil.

Yeah and in John he said I am in you and you are in me and we are all together. I’ll bet he was just dying to say coo coo kchoo.

John Lennon said that.

Yeah but just look at it in John. It’s right there and it had to inspire Lennon. Maybe he was reading the bible and he sneezed and it all came together.

Come together. Over me right?

Come together over me. Yeah. That was one weird song.

So back to the Father…

And the son.

And the son. You think maybe if you tow the line he’s got your back? Maybe only a bump or a blister gets though cuz this is a veil of tears.

That’s really unspoken Mikey but yeah. In a nutshell that’s it. The bible does not say if you follow Jesus then he’s got a plastic bubble around you and only an occasional toe stub gets through so to keep you humble and such.

But…

But between you and me and the wall I like the think that Jesus got my back. Washed in the blood has got me heaven. I got the Holy Spirit to guide and instruct me each day. I got you for a buddy to keep the vampires off my neck. I’m plenty strong to do my job carpet cleaning. I figure I got this whole thing sussed.

But…

But I still got a lot of questions for him that he ain’t answering. Like do we gotta shave in heaven or do we all got beards.

I can’t grow a beard, said Anvil. At least not much of one.

See, there you go. What if every one can grow an amazing beard and I got this weak kneed Nancy wisps like I got now.

I’m sure that…

And what if on the other hand I want to shave and then I gotta do it for time without end. That razor’s gonna get really dull. And whose gonna sell me new blades and shaving cream? I tell ya Mikey there’s a whole lot of stuff he has not said how it’s gonna go down and I am seriously concerned what if he didn’t get it right.

Really? You’re talking about the guy who invented day planners and reminder bings on your phone it’s time to take the dog to the vet and microbes and atoms and galaxies and such. You really think he’s gonna have an oops moment like wow I did not see that one coming. You think maybe he should consult with you on the minutia of things that rattle around in your little pea brain and cause you to stay up at night?

Maybe.

Paul said eye hasn’t seen nor ear heard nor has it entered into the heart of man what God has prepared for them that love him.

Yeah well Hans Solo told Princess Leah he could imagine quite a lot and Solo’s got nothing on me. I think the big guy could do a lot worse than running a few things by me. Just to sorta sound things out. Hey I’m human and I know what humans like and need. I could be a sorta consultant. The Father or the son are thinking about how to make something or design something and they could invite me to sit in on the initial plans and I could tell em, well I think it should be done in blue with a lot of chrome. You know, that sort of thing.

That’s brilliant chief. Probably the best idea he’s had all day. All them elders and heavenly hosts got nothing on you dude. Maybe he should take you home now. I mean Jesus said I go to prepare a place for you and shoot, you don’t want him to get it wrong. Maybe we all should be praying the King takes you home pronto sos you can get started right away giving him that much needed advice.

Mm, maybe not today.

Why not Einstein?

Well, I ain’t finished my beer yet.

You could probably improve on that too up there.

Yeah well it can’t be today.

Why not?

I gotta feed my cat.

You don’t have a cat.

Yeah, but I might get one. The end.

Do you want fries with that?

Scotty, this may not be a very good story but it surely is better than a sharp stick in the eye. Maybe.

Your pal,

F. C.

Spawning salmon swimming upstream all in a rush to fit through the narrow sluice gates that were the front doors. That’s what Jimbob Lemuel thought when he looked at the congregation of the Mt. Holyoke first Presb. Reformed Evangelical Church of God in Christ on Sunday morning as they swarmed the second of three services. There was plenty of room at the first service. Tons of room at the third service but evidently the saints felt like goldilocks they were too early or too late and the middle one was jusssssst right. So they packed em in that second service and you could lay across the seats glomming up three or four at a time to catch up on your beauty sleep just in case you really needed to at the other two. Jimbob would never do anything so gauche. He wore dark glasses in church and as long as he didn’t do the head bob no one really noticed or if they did they just let him be when he nodded off Sunday mornings.

Across from Jimbob or J.B. as he preferred to be called because was a lot cooler then being called James Robert, across from him on the other side of the spawning salmon was Scott Zorro. Zorro wasn’t his real last name but J.B. called him that on account he had a rakish stare that made you wonder did he actually have a secret identity or what. Scott did some kind of a high level profile job which he explained to J.B. once or twice but him having ADHD he forgot what it was and in his mind just put a little placard above Scott head that said, “Important confusing job.”

Along with doing his important job and being a greeter at Mt. Holyolk Scott was an elder. In fact, he was the head elder which didn’t give him the ability to walk on water but hopefully gave him some wisdom to hear things out and try with the help of the other elders to steer Mt. H. in the right direction.

It’s a funny thing being an elder and even stranger being the head elder. People think you got all kinda powers and authority you don’t have. Usually it was one or two small things but for some reason this Sunday they came at him in droves with shields up phazers blazing at warp nine.

In the midst of the thickest part of the spawning Pete one of the old saints came up to him and said, “Scott. I really like the new intern J.B. She really knows how to sing and I want you to put in a word with the pastor and get her on staff next year.”

“Hi Pete. Yeah she’s great but I don’t have any authority over who they put on the music team or who they hire. That’s really up to Donnie the music pastor.”

“You’re the head elder and I know you pull a lot of weight around her so can I count on you twisting Ron the senior pastor’s arm on this one?”

“Actually his name is Roy and he doesn’t have any say so on the music end of things either. He sticks to preaching and caring for the flock.”

“Ok. Great talk. See you next week,” said Pete and ambled off to his old clunker and a Sunday afternoon nap.

Zorro scratched his head and asked Jimmy across the human stream, “was I not clear?”

“As Mud Zorro. These saints are from Chicago and they figure if you want to get something done you gotta put in the fix. Do you owe Pete any favors or chits he can call in?”

“No and I don’t roll that way.”

“Too bad he does. I think you better get some dirt before you go home.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure but from here it looks like someone just took some tire shine to your blackwalls.”

“What? Who? Why would someone shine up my tires?”

“I’m just spitballing here but I’d say someone who wanted to do you a solid so you owed them something.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Not to someone old school from Chicago.”

“What do I do?”

“First you grab a handful of dirt....”

Next week Pete came sliding up and winked at Zorro. “Anything happen after church,” he asked with a cheese eating grin on his whiskered puss.

Zorro should have got an Oscar for his performance. “Hi Pete. Yeah. Now that you mentioned it some vandal rubbed mud all over my tires. Just look at this picture I took.”

Pete’s smug little smile vanished in confused consternation. “But I thought… I mean…that’s not how…”

“I’m walking to church now so they can’t strike again.”

“Oh. Ok.” said sad Pete and shuffled away as chitless as a newborn baby.

“Yo Z-man. You dodged a bullet on that one.”

“Yes. Thanks J.B.”

Then during that week’s spawn someone slipped him the Chicago handshake only instead of passing him a double sawbuck or half a yard they slipped him a note. He looked to see who it was but they had vanished like an Alderman at a formal inquiry. He read the note.

“Scott. When they redo the parking lot striping please make sure they add three inches each slot as my door on the drivers side is a little bent and swings out wide and I’ve dinged up so many cars it’s either get it fixed or find a new church. Come to think of it I could use some of that deacon’s fund to pay for it. Also if you could toss in a little extra. I had a dream last night and it mighta been the Lord giving me this week’s Powerball numbers. That or it was the extra anchovy and pesto pizza I had just before bed but I am feeling lucky. I know you got clout in these things so do me right brother. Signed X”.

“I’m not even on the deacon fund committee. Why does he think I can get him some money to fix his car?”

“You’re the head elder aren’t you?”

“That’s now how we work and you know it James Robert!”

“I prefer J.B.”

“And I prefer to be hit up for favors that are first of all not in my wheelhouse to influence and second of all inappropriate to begin with. Who do these people think I am. Superman?”

“No. you’re better than Supes. You’re the head elder.”

“Stop it!”

Well we could just leave this story right here but where’s the fun in that?”

Word got out on the street that Zorro was feeling generous and granting favors so pretty soon a whole bunch of the salmon were slipping him notes and giving him knowing looks and one or two tried to actually shine his shoes while he was greeting till he came in sandals and finally bare feet.

He wore old clothes so they couldn’t compliment him on how he looked so by the end of the summer the homeless guys were offering him cigarettes and spare change. At least they had shoes.

The last straw was when Sarlene one of the homeless people asked him could he pull her car around and check the timing belt because it was making a tick ticking sound. “No problem-o” shouted Zorro. You want fries with that?” Such was the life of Scotty Z. The head elder at the Mt. Holyoke first Presb. Reformed Evangelical Church of God in Christ Mt. The End.

How to be an abject failure on Substack

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I did writing it. If you like it, you can find tons more right here. And there are even more, here. So, you have lots of great reading to get to.

Thanks,

Your Frankie.

So, Paul the apostle said you have ten thousand teachers in Christ but not many fathers. So, let me play the father role now and show you something you only think you know how to do. Fail!

Here on the Yellow Submarine Stack, you have all kinds of people telling you how to succeed. They’ve brought over their ten million followers from other sites and sit on top of Substack like kings and queens over their domains. And they can do the same for you. Make you rich, thinner an even more beautiful than you are. And from over here, you already look pretty good so man o man do they got their work cut out for them.

Success oozes from their pores. Confidence is theirs. Victory is won. They did the heavy lifting and fought your battles for you so you don’t have to. They have all the answers and you only have to give them some of your money each month to join their illustrious ranks. Sounds good. Sound too good. I mean I’m a schlub. I have no friends. Have b.o. bad breath, one tooth in my mouth, and could lose forty pounds. Make that sixty pounds. Let’s just be honest honey. I could lose sixty pounds and no one would even notice. But they are gonna turn that around. I just have to give them some of my money. Granted, I don’t have any money but if I get some, I will need to give it to them to begin the metamorphosis and begin my best life now. That’s the pitch and a lot of people are throwing that curve ball right across the plate.

But I’ve got a new gig I’m super excited about. And I’m damn good at it. How to be an abject failure on Substack! How to crash and burn in zero easy lessons. Lessons are hard. Then there is that humiliating test at the end to see if you learned anything at all. But cheer up friends. With my course there are no tests at all. You all pass the minute your check clears, your visa is not declined and the check is in the mail.

Failure. We all do it. None of us like it. But we’re all so good at it. It’s time to embrace your humanity and learn to fail like a champ. A champ not a chump and I’m just the boy to show you how to do it.

In lesson one, “The School of wishful thinking we’ll learn how to daydream of riches beyond Elon Musk’s. We’ll look at Han Solo who told Luke Skywalker “I don’t know kid. I can imagine quite a lot. So, go heavy or go home on the wishing for things but not really working to earn them. And you can just forget what Pat Riley and Jesus Christ said. Riley, famous basketball coach told young people over and over again, “You can have anything in this world you want. But no one is gonna give it to you.” Forget that noise. And Jesus? Ha. What did he know? Forget he is God’s only begotten son. Forget he is the Messiah, the Christ, the savior of the world and Lord of all creation. Forget he created everything. Even these silly thoughts I’m spewing out. Ok, maybe he didn’t create all of these but everything else. Forget Jesus said, “Whatever you sow in your life you will get back.” Nonsense! He’s up in heaven. What does he know about life down here on earth? Sure, he lived here for a while but come on man. That was before the internet and toaster strudel pastries. I’m here to tell you you can have it all, and do nothing to earn or deserve it. But first you have to learn to fail epically. And baby if there is one thing I know how to do, it’s fail!

Fail in the morning. Crash and burn at mid-day. Go down in flame for dinner. I can show you how to do it all. I write hundreds of stories and have close to three hundred books published. And no one buys them. I’m over seventy years old and have learned how to fail like few men have. And no one listens to me. I’m over weight, under loved and need a nap. And you can be too. All of it.

Did I tell you about chapter two? How to throw stones at successful people. Denigrate them and bring them down to my level because they worked hard and got somewhere and I only sat with my potato chips and dreamed of their success—but without all that nasty hard work! Hard work is for others. Not you and me.

Everyone else promises success. I promise something you’re already good at and I excel at. Failure. Where nothing you do is ever good enough.

So, if you’ve had enough of that silly prosperity gospel come on over to my site. Learn to fail like a world class pro. Operators are standing by. Say goodbye to victory and success. Say hello to failure. And not just any failure. Epic Failure. Try remorse on toast. With a bit of marmalade, I have it with regret every morning. It’s not the breakfast of champions. It the breakfast of chumps like me. And it can be yours too! I believe in you. You’ve dabbled at failure before. Now come walk fire with me. Your pal in failure. Frankie Chocolate. The End.

Soon

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

“You want me to do what?”

“Race. As the final evaluation of your writing skill, we want you to race around this building four times.”

“How would that prove I can write?”

“Oh, we already know you can write or you would have never made it this far in the interview process. This is just one final little test our CEO thought up to weed out the Nancy Girls from the Wolverines.”

“Don’t you mean the weak from the strong or the brave vs the timid. Something like that?”

“See! We knew you could write. Ok. You ready?”

“No. Who am I racing against? A bunch of track & field stars?”

“Kindergartners.”

“Kindergartener’s can’t race. They’re too little “

“Yeah, we’ve found that out. But the boss is firm about their age.”

“Can they write?”

“Some of these kids still got diaper rash but they write like Hemmingway.”

“Hemmingway?”

“Hemmingway on a good day.”

“Wow. That’s gonna be tough to beat.”

“You’ll do fine. You ready?”

“No. I haven’t run in forty years. I’ll break a hip or something.”

“No time like the present to get in shape.”

“I don’t think I can do it. But thanks anyway.”

“You want to be a writer?”

“No.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I am a writer. You hiring me or not does not validate me. The two hundred books I wrote did that.”

“Yeah, and we loved them. So, come on. The race is about to begin.”

I walked outside the little red school house where my interview had taken place. Half a dozen little kids were milling around. Playing with pill bugs or worms or something. They didn’t look too tough. Maybe I could beat em?

“Go!” Shouted the dweeb interviewing me. I started to run. They started to run. Around the building we went. Then a second time. Then one of the kids stopped. He looked at something in the grass. A snake or frog or something and stopped racing. He walked away towards the taller grass. Mmm, one less perp to be beat.

But then the first strange thing happened. One of the little kids. He looked like he was maybe 12. Tall for a kindergartener. He starts running seriously. It was like watching a cheetah in slow-mo. He ran effortlessly. He passed me like an evening breeze. Like he wasn’t even trying. When this gazelle glided by me my heart leaped to see the beauty of his running. Then it sank because there was no way I would ever, ever, ever match or beat this young man’s speed. I was sunk and I knew it.

I raced on anyway. Then the second strange thing happened. The gazelle stopped running. Stopped walking. Just began to amble around aimlessly. He was no longer interested in running or winning. Something distracted him and he was out of the race.

Really? Wow! This guy cleaned my clock and now he drops out? Maybe he could only write like Faulkner or Asimov? Who knows what goes on in the mind of a tall kindergartner?

I dug deep and ran on. And with all these kiddos dropping out and losing interest as it turns out I won the race.

“I won God. I beat everybody else. I won against all of them sir.”

Then I woke up. It was just a crazy dream. Only it wasn’t. I realized it was all just a dream but I was still happy I won the race. I got the job. So, I told God, “I did it sir, I beat all those kids in my dream.” I don’t win at a lot of things so I like to crow when I get the chance.”

Then Jesus said to me, “You beat them because of your persistence, Frankie. They were better writers than you. More skilled. More talented but you won out over all of them because of your stubborn persistence. Good job Frankie.”

“Huh?”

See, I hate persistence. I want what I want not when I want it but rather I want what I want even before I know I want it. I want today’s distractions and desires yesterday served up on a gold platter, never mind any of those silver platters, thank you very much. But try as I might to deny it, living for Jesus these past 50+ years has taught me patience and persistence. Just last week I asked him for the zillionth time for something I wanted very much but he hasn’t given it to me yet. I been asking him for it for over 40 years. That’s a long, long time to be wandering in the desert of desire with no oasis to slake your thirst.

Two days ago, he answered that prayer and I was so surprised even as I was holding it in my hands I refused to believe and accept that it was real. That it was really there. I don’t want to be patient. It used to be when I had a problem I used to sit down in the mud puddle and tell myself, “I’m gonna sit right here in this mud puddle and not do one more thing until someone comes along and helps me.

And you know what?

No one ever came.

I’m right here. Getting cold. Sitting in this stupid puddle. What’s wrong with you, you’re not coming to help me? What’d I ever do to you?

Nada.

After a while I got up and went home and figured out how to do it myself. But I was angry that no one came to save me. Why didn’t God send someone to save me?

He did. He sent Jesus to die on the cross to save me from my sins. From time to time he sends someone to help me with this or that. But a lot of the times he holds back help cuz he wants me to grow in patience and maturity and persistence and the only way you get more of those things is going through all the crap that stretches your faith. And man I hate it.

I been a Christ follower for over 50 years now. When I was with him for 35 years Zig Ziglar was still alive. I read his book and Zig said his life completely changed in 1972 when he gave his life to Jesus Christ. I looked at the date of his conversion. I became a Christian the same year, two months earlier than Zig.

“God, what’s up? I been serving you just as much at Ziglar has, chasing hard after you every day since April 1972 but you ain’t blessed me like you blessed him. What’s going on?

He showed me what was going on. Suddenly I was in a field. Jesus was with me. It was night. I looked down and before me on the ground was a single grain of sand. Nothing special, just a single grain of sand. Then he and I shrunk down. As we shrunk down the grain of sand rose up. When we finally stopped shrinking, we were next to the tiny bit of sand. Only now in comparison to us it is as big as the great pyramid of Egypt. And at the base of that now monstrously large wall of silica was a tiny golden glowing light. My faith.

He said if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed you could move a mountain. Compared to my tiny spark of faith, a mustard seed was the Goodyear Blimp.

“That’s all I have? You should kill me!”

“You need more faith,” he told me.

Faith comes by hearing and hearing by the word of God. So, I read the bible and pray every day. And sometimes when I’m brave, I ask for more faith. But not often. Usually, that means going through some really hard things to stretch the little faith I have. So, I don’t pray that very often.

But here I’d won the race and God was telling me it was time. Or almost time. For him to answer my prayers he told me to pray years ago. “Frankie I want you to pray three things.”
“Yes sir.”

“Pray I will fill the world with your stories. Every people, every tribe, every tongue, every nation.”

“Nation. Got it sir.”

“Pray that you will nurture and encourage people.”

“Encourage people. God it sir.”

“And I want you to pray that you will grow and develop as a writer. That you will become a great writer.”

“Yes sir.”

“So, I pray for those things each night as I go to bed. Sometimes my mind drifts but I get ‘em all out. Then I drift off and begin that night’s adventures in dreamland.

And God gave me that dream about racing against little kiddos to show me, “The persistence I’ve given you through all I allowed you to go through will pay off soon.”

“Great. Now I only have one little problem. Two if you think about all that loot I’m gonna make as a world class author. I gotta pray God will help me not to be a complete idiot with mad cash. A partial idiot I’m expecting. Just not a complete one. That’s one thing. The other is his use of the word, “Soon,” The bible tells me, “A day with the Lord is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like a day. So, are we talking soon as I’m already 72 and not getting any younger up in here sir so this week or midweek next I’m gonna get the call, and the book and movie deals which would be very nice sir.

Or are we talking God inhabiting eternity and he can raise the dead or make old men young again like he did with Abraham. So maybe I’m 96 and can’t see good or can’t hardly hear anything anymore and my nurse or caregiver taps me on the shoulder and hands me something. I don’t know what it is but I take it anyway hoping it’s not a snake or a big spider or something bad. I lean back in the direction the hand came from and ask her or him, “What’s this?”

“It’s Tuesday. It’s pudding day.”

And I get very excited cuz I love pudding but I still gotta be careful so I ask them. “It’s not butterscotch, is it?”

“No. It’s chocolate.”

Then I say, “Praise the Lord. I love chocolate pudding. Now if I can only find my spoon.”

So, that’s not the kind of soon you have in mind for me is it sir? Like soon meaning just before I fall over dead you bless me with amazing book sales and movie deals and stuff and I ask the pudding boy. What’s he going on about? Did someone write a book? I thought about writing a book once. And by that time, by that, “Soon,” I forget that I’m closing in on 240 books on Amazon now. That’s the kind of, “Soon,” I’d rather not have if it’s all the same to you sir. Amen. The End.

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

Prolog

The wind blowing through autumn brown leaves crinkling and tossing them about on their vines sounding like old women gabbling about old men told her of his approach. The vines were old; ancient out of time and memory, thicker than the trunks of great trees they sat in stretched out rows planted long before the ancient village rose up around them. They produced wine so rich, one glass would take your breath away and three would leave you naked and oblivious in your tent. The heady wine traveled in goatskin bags down the mountain on donkeys then camels and ships and found its way into every port.

In her tent, almost as old as the vines, Leah gasped for breath and muttered on her pallet while bony stick fingers fretted with the quilt and worried unseen threads. Swaddled in furs and blankets she was always cold. In the center of the tent a charcoal brazier radiated heat but she was still cold.

“He’ll be here soon”, said Sarah her nurse who looked older than the vines and thinner than death and disease.

“The vines?” Asked Leah.

“The vines told me”, the nurse replied.

“How soon?”

“This evening.”

“Have one of the young men kill a calf and two lambs. Get us some yogurt and cheese and have the women make fresh bread. These valley folk are not used to our thin air and they’ll be hungry as wolves.” She paused, looked into the fire for something that was not there, coughed, then continued. “I hope he brings me some honey.”

“Almonds too,” said Sarah. “I could make some almond cookies. I haven’t had any since Seth died.”

“Let hope he brings both,” said Leah. “Get my winter cloak and help me sit up in the chair. It wouldn’t do to lie down when a king comes to call. Raise the flaps. The heat will be too much for him. And please put some water on for tea. Thank you, Sarah.”

For six days, he and his men had climbed out of the plain across The moon, close enough to touch rose like a silver fingernail clipping. He came to the door of her tent. Sarah pushed back the flap and let him in. Bundled in furs and sweating like a camel, he quietly approached the dim figure in the chair. Her hands like dried twigs stretched toward the glowing coals in the brazier.

“How are you, Leah?”

“Old.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be nine hundred and seven come spring.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Flattery for an old woman?”

“Not flattery. You look good for your age. No one looks better.”

“No one else is nine hundred, Nimrod.”

“I brought you something.”

“Did you bring me some honey?”

“It took six men to haul up here but yes I brought you casks of it.”

“Sarah was hoping for a few almonds.”

“I brought the old crone her almonds too. Enough to make almond cookies till the end of time.”

Sarah, listening at the tent flap narrowed her eyes then smiled at the thought of a river of golden brown nuts flowing from coarse woven bags and ending at her feet. She went off for flour and baking utensils.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starved. We’ve had nothing but salted goat, pemmican and dates since we set out from the valley seven days ago. I managed to shoot an Ibex but he was tougher than my sandals.”

“Sarah made you a decent meal. Not goat. Pour us some tea will your highness.”

He poured them both some strong brown tea made from grape leaves and other herbs that flourished at this altitude. The breeze slipping in through the flaps like a dog sneaking into the kitchen for something sweet brought in the scent of pines. These pines brought him back to his youth.

“Leah, it’s never been like that between us.”

“You mean since I raised you and taught you better than you know now?”

“I mean the throne will never come between us.”

“I raised your father and his father before him.”

The king said nothing. Quietly sitting by the brazier, sipping the tea he’d drunk for a hundred and sixty years. She needed to talk. He’d give her time. All she needed. It was worth it for what she’d give him if he were patient. If he were only patient.

“I’m old, your highness.”

“Leah, please…”

“I’m old, Rex. Soon I’ll be gathered to my fathers.”

“You’ll probably bury me.”

“I thought that once. Especially the way you lived but not anymore. Now I know I’ll die.”

“I might be able to…”

“I’ve heard about what you’re doing down on the plain. About all you’ve accomplished and some of what you hope to do. I’m not for it Rex and you know that. It’s not how I raised you.”

“I’ve conquered them all, Leah. Even the mighty Gibborim who were valiant and of great stature, greater than the Nephilim and more numerous. Come down with me and see what I’ve done. What we’ve accomplished. Even you would be amazed. I’ll give you any room in the palace you desire.”

“I know why you came back.”

“I came to see you.”

“Liar! Do you think I could live nine hundred years and not know human nature? Especially the cruel nature of the boy I raised?”

“Nine hundred and seven years, Leah,” he said in almost a whisper.

“Not till spring. I know about the blood.”

The ruler of nations shrank back as if smitten by an invisible blow.

“You couldn’t possibly know.”

Staring into the glowing coals she said nothing.

“It was those damn grape vines, wasn’t it?”

“It might have been an angel from God whispering in my ear the things you say in your bedchamber. You could burn the vines Rex but even a king ought to be scared of a messenger made of fire.”

The old vixen was three steps ahead of him to know what he’d just thought about the vines. He’d have to play it straight or he’d lose everything. He’d come too far and the risks were too great to lose now.

He sipped his tea.

“It’s not just the blood Leah. It’s the oracle. I need to hear it again.”

“Would you obey it?”

“I might if I understood it.”

“If you know to do good and don’t, it’s worse.”

“Leah, I’ve stuck my finger in God’s eye so many times I don’t think there could be a worse for me.”

“You’re wrong, Rex. My grandfather used to say among the living there is hope for better is a living dog than a dead lion.”

“And what exactly does that mean anyway?”

“You know Rex, I’m not really sure anymore.”

“I always liked the one about the pig’s snout. How does that go again?”

“Like a jewel of gold in a swine’s snout is a fair woman without discretion.”

“That’s it.” He laughed.

“That expression describes most of your wives.”

“Ah.” Said Rex slowly. She was right and it stung more than it should have.

“Tell me the oracle.”

She paused for a long time then in a different voice said, “Hand me your dagger your highness.” She stretched out a bent claw.

Handle first he handed her the Saber tooth tiger handled knife.

She drew a short line across her palm and caught what fell in a small brass pot precious as burnished gold. Sealing it with a stopper, she wiped it with a cloth and handed it to Rex Nimrod, king of nations. Wrapping her hand in a cloth soaked in Myrrh and Aloe that had been prepared beforehand she sat up a little straighter. Taking a long drink of tea Leah stared into the fire. Rex placed more charcoal on the ashes. Red and blue flames danced across the coals, the aromatic scented wind coming through the flaps teasing it up.

She stared at the flames then began the ancient story going back to the beautiful garden. Nimrod shuttered when she spoke of the angel with the flashing flaming sword guarding the east side of the garden.

“Why did he put an angel only on the east side? Why not on the other three sides as well?” he asked her.

“Those ways were blocked.”

“By what?”

“There was one way in and out of the garden.”

“Why only one way? What was there on the three other sides that would keep a man from entering? Not mountains. Men can scale mountains. Not valleys, they can be conquered easier than mountains.”

“Have you forgotten your lessons so soon Rex?”

“I’ve forgotten nothing. Let me think. “A river watered the garden and separated into four headwaters. There were four rivers. The Pishon, the Gihon, the Tigris and the Euphrates. The Gihon wound through the southland, through Cush, the entire length of it. The only river that could possibly be is the Nile. The Tigris and Euphrates are not far from here but geographically this makes no sense.”

“The names our fathers gave to these rivers were borrowed from the original rivers. Look at them now, Rex. Do they meet anywhere?”

“No. They don’t.”

“Before the flood most of the land was close together. He moved it around after the flood. During Peleg’s lifetime, he divided the earth into vast sections then spread those sections across the face of the deep, some close some so far away we may never find them. The original garden with the tree of life is gone, Rex, washed away when the rains came for the first time. “

“Why? Why should it be gone? He asked her. Other trees survived the flood or their seeds did. Trees and plants survived. Why shouldn’t that tree survive?”

“Those trees were meant to survive. The tree of life was not.”

“What makes you so sure, Leah?”

“It wasn’t his plan. It was too dangerous. Man was not meant to live forever.”

“Once, he was.”

“Yes. Once but the fall changed that so, he put the angel with the flashing sword in the east to guard the way of to the tree of life until the flood. The other three sides of the garden were closed off by the rivers that flowed from garden. He knew men would one day find ways to cross the rivers to get back to the tree. Before that could happen, he sent Noe’s flood. Then he made sure when the water drained away, it uprooted the garden and everything in it was carried away. The tree of life is gone. Buried under miles of silt and boulders. You’ll never find it because it’s gone from the realm of men.”

A cruel smile gradually covered his face. “Then you don’t know everything. You’re right about the flood washing the tree away and burying it. But you and God have underestimated my determination. In a burial cave that predates even the flood, we’ve found sealed clay jars with the clan seal of Cain upon them. Hundreds of them scattered about the vault as if it were once flooded then tossed about when the waters subsided. Inside the jars were clay tables. I’ve deciphered them. Among other things, it lists where Cain hid his wealth and he had a lot of it.”

“A lot of good a buried treasure map will do when the very ground and mountains have been moved. You’re wasting your time,” she said derisively.

“Cain must have known the flood was coming and how it would change the land so, he left directions to his hoard not based upon existing landscapes that might change but on things that will never change.”

“There is nothing that does not change, Rex. Even the stars grow old and die.”

“You’re sharper than you know, Leah. You’ve hit upon it exactly. The stars. He left directions to his hoard using star charts. God could have destroyed the entire earth and it wouldn’t have changed the stars.”

“I’ve never thought much about Cain and his line.”

“You should have, Leah. I have.”

“What did you find using his star charts?”

“The accumulated wealth of someone who lived almost as long as you Leah. You care little for gold but he was consumed by it. A treasure so vast we stopped trying to count it. That treasure is fueling the expansion and building down on the plain below. It will help me to realize my goals and dreams. All of them.”

“A mad man with unlimited power and unlimited wealth? This cannot end well.”

“That’s just it. It will not end. Not now. Not ever, if I can get my way.

There was something else in the clay jars, Leah. Something more valuable than all the gold of all the kingdoms of the world.”

A deep seating dread came over the old woman as a wisp of panic stirred in her. A dark thought flitting though her like a moth casting itself against the glow of lamp. She pushed it from her mind and shut it out but it was too late.

Rex realizing her fears plunged a dagger in her heart when he shouted, “Really? You know already? Your grasp of the situation is beyond belief. Not even I could have guessed it. No one could match the swiftness of your insight. Yes. We’ve found the tree. The one tree. The original and you were right. It was buried beneath miles of clay and rock. The star charts showed us the way. They mapped out the original site of Eden.

From that site in the east, we looked at the flood plains and had the general direction but needed more so, we dammed the river, flooded the valley, cast a hundred full-grown live trees into the lake then broke the dam. Some of the trees snagged but the majority, Leah, the vast majority raced to one spot then stopped, as if something below was anchoring them there. We marked the spot and waited for the silt to dry. Everything near that site flourished. The grass was greener; the trees grew taller and fuller. We had our site and began to dig. That was two years ago. We’ve used the rock and debris to build the Ziggurat and the city. Three months ago, we found it, or what was left of it buried under a slab of granite Michael, the Arc Angel, would have trouble lifting.”

Leah said nothing. She trembled uncontrollable.

“I’ve brought you a piece, Leah. Look.” From a gold chain hanging around his bull-like neck he opened a filigreed silver oyster. Light like pearled rainbow filled the room with a soft glow. In the oyster was the tiniest of slivers from something that might have once been wood.

Leah gasped transfixed by the beauty till Nimrod snicked the hasp shut and the glow that had filled the room gradually dissipated like the curl of smoke from an extinguished incense brazier.

Securing the locket beneath his doeskin shirt, he continued. “We’ve been trying to propagate it but with no luck. That’s when someone suggested you. Your blood is the oldest on earth and the closest match to our ancestors. I think it will have the right properties to revive the tree and cause it to sprout. If it does, our worries are over.”

“If it does your worries have just begun with no hope of ever escaping this life and entering the next one.”

“I’m not in a hurry to enter that life. I’m fairly certain what you taught me is true about our good and bad deeds following us.”

She stared at him. “The wicked shall be turned into hell and all the nations that forgot God.”

“Yes, Leah. The wicked. Those who refuse to bow the knee, the heart to him. I am wicked and know it. I know what waits for me in eternity and I plan to avoid it for as long as possible, even for eternity, if I can.”

“Until he destroys this world by fire.”

“Yes, Leah. Until the end of all things. Only God lives forever but I can come close. Man was meant to live forever, Leah. For all eternity.”

“Yes, he was but not here. Not like this. Eternal life here would be eternal hell without the hope of death for release. That’s why I’m against what you’re doing down on the plain.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think I’m different. I think if I lived forever I’d grow in wisdom and could better lead my people.”

“You might grow in madness with no chance to ever escape.”

She stared at the fire then continued the ancient tale.

“…When Methuselah had lived 187 years, he became the father of Lamech…”

The tale was long and dry. They finished the pot of tea and Sarah brought more and they finished that as well. His men had feasted and now slept the dreamless sleep of exhausted men. His own plate empty except for the scraps and bones sat on a small folding table at his right hand. Shooting stars traced ghostly white lines far above their heads as the night wore on. Three more times he recharged the brazier and three more times his head bobbed before its warmth. He woke with a start then nodded off again. She continued.

He stirred again. Here! This was it. She was almost there. He sat up and threw off his cloak forcing himself awake. She droned on. “Then God blessed Noe and his sons, saying be fruitful and increase in number and fill the earth. The fear of you and the dread of you will fall on all…” she droned on but he stopped listening. This was it. The part he needed. The part that counted the most. Be fruitful: He and his people could do that. Increase in numbers: They were doing that now. Fill the earth. No. They would not fill the earth. They would not be scattered across the broad face of the world. The world was wide and wild. He needed his people close to him. He was strong. A mighty hunter and he’d oppose God himself if it meant reaching his goals. He gripped the brass vessel in an iron fist and stood up ignoring the old woman who continued staring into the fire and reciting the ancient tale. The cold mountain air shocked him as he passed though the tent door into the night as stars wielded overhead and completed their evening dance.

After a night of fitful dreams and flaming swords, he ate breakfast then ordered his men to unpack the rest of the honey, almonds, balm and other gifts and exchanged them for many skins of clear well aged wine. This was their pay for the journey up the mountain and back. As many skins of wine as each man could carry. Each skin was worth a noble’s ransom so, they loaded themselves up till they staggered.

“We’ll never make it down the mountain like this,” complained Nimrod and finally decided they should just take a cart. They loaded it high and then just a bit more. He bade Leah goodbye and stared down at the plains far below. From up here he could see the tiny form of the ziggurat, the palace and even beyond the river. The city. His city.

The breeze that met him carried the scent of pinesap, grape vines and the promise of early snow. It would be better not to be caught by one of those hellish snowstorms up here. Memories like storm driven crows circled around him. Life was simpler up here. For a moment, he wondered why he ever left. He saw his city again and remembered why.

He headed down the path, his men following. A week later, Nimrod, wearier than he had been in years was back home and this is where our story begins.

Starlight gleamed on the silvery rocket on the plains of Shinar. It stood on gracefully curved thrusters its proud tip pointed toward the wide band of stars men would one day call the Milky Way. Yellow light glowed from the portholes. The door in its side was open and the automatic ladder was down inviting him to begin his journey to the stars.

Nimrod was tall with the strength of three men. Something that might have been demonic fire or space madness burned at the edges of his deep blue eyes as he faced Professor Robert Carlson in the shed at the edge of the launch pad. Carlson shorter than Nimrod, slight of build had brown hair that always looked unkempt. He wore a small check print shirt, dark slacks and a white lab coat.

“It’s still a thing of beautiful sir. I’m sure the space flight museum would take the best care of it. I’ve also suggested to the imperial committee that it be on the first stamp struck to honor your efforts on Nimrod day.”

“Nimrod day. Don’t remind me. I’d like to brain the official that passed that bill into law. Maybe I could get it changed to Bob Carlson day. Have you sat at the end of long dusty parade and smile endlessly to the simple folk who’ve come out to see the conquering hero?”

“Men need a hero, Rex.”

“Well they don’t need me. I’m no hero. Just a man trying to do his job.

I think you’re wrong sir. You’ve accomplished more than most men do in six lifetimes. Most men would be content with a fraction of what you’ve done.”

“I’m not most men. A hundred and seventy-five years is not enough to accomplish what I need to do. I need seven lifetimes to get it all done.”

“We’re working on that, Rex. With what you brought back from her.”

“Yes. She gave it to me.”

If she didn’t, the scientist had no doubts he would have taken it.

“It’s the key, isn’t it?” Said Rex. “Her blood was the missing key.”

“Yes. Thanks for keeping it packed in snow. That really helped. There was very little degradation. I’ve got the boys analyzing it around the clock and what they’ve found so far is beyond belief. With her cell structure, I could get a clam to live a thousand years.”

“It’s not clams I’m thinking about,” said Rex.

“Preliminary test on the wood from the tree are very promising. Very promising indeed. We’ll get you up to thousand years before spring your highness and then to the stars.”

Before spring. That’s when Leah would be nine hundred and seven—if she made it. She’d die on the slopes of Ağrı Dağı, the mountain of pain with her talking grape vines and goats and sheep in the shadow of that huge ice locked boat. As a young boy, it had been open. Clear. She’d taken him up there every year as part of his education. They’d walked through the levels and she’d show him the hand hewed beams, woven baskets and clay jars that held cooking oil and tiny wooden cages that could hold a pair of humming birds and one’s big enough to hold full grown giant jaws and all those other enormous lizards that plagued the land. Why that old fool had brought them along was beyond him.

Along with the wine Rex had also brought back a huge supply of tea. He sipped his mug as Bob Carlson continued.

“We’re working on a serum based upon her DNA and that of the tree’s that will actually reverse the aging process. Just tell us what age you’d like to be and we’ll keep you there—forever. Think what we can accomplish if we never have to die.

In the last five years, we’ve learned how to extract gold from seawater, fresh water from salt. We’ve got a strain of wheat that will thrive in the desert and produce a hundred-fold crop. Starvation is going the way of the Saber-toothed tiger and when was the last time you saw one of those things?”

“I saw one once when I was kid. It was down at the Euphrates after killing an elephant or one of those enormous lizard things. Scared the crap out of me.”

“Out of you? I thought nothing could scare you.”

“Hahaha. Right. That’s what we want them to think isn’t it? No, Bobby. Only a fool doesn’t know when he should be scared. One look at those fangs, those yellow eyes and I knew there was one king I’d never defeat.”

“About your rocket sir.”

“Yes, my rocket, the Gully Foyle. “

“Yes sir. Your beautiful obsolete rocket, the Gully Foyle.”

“My obsolete rocket that will travel many times the speed of light. The rocket has been my dream ever since I was a kid.”

“It’s a beautiful ship sir. The museum would have been thrilled to get it.”

“It’s not going into a stuffy old museum before it’s had its maiden flight.”

“I know that now sir and after rethinking it I see an answer. Do you want to see me do it again?”

“No. Not really.”

“May I please show it to you again?”

He paused. After a moment relented. Okay. Show me again

Get on with this you dream killer. You’re a hard man Bobby C. A hard man indeed.”

Bobby C. smiled at the king. “What shall I get this time sir?”

“My blue mastodon bone sided hunting knife or the galaxy stone my late wife Helen gave me. You’ll find them on the desk in my den.”

“Sir?”

“Oh, it’s just a marble really but the glass blower had a unique technique where he’d put thousands of air bubbles in a swirling cone in the center of the ball and it made you think of the galaxies.”

“Very good sir.” Bob Carlson vanished. There was a popping noise as the air around him rushed in to fill the sudden vacuum. A moment later he stood before his king. In one hand was a small brown sheath holding a blue handled knife, in the other a large marble glowed softly with internal fire.

“My summer home is over a thousand miles away in Tibet. How far have you traveled using this Jaunting method of travel?” He asked the scientist.

“I’ve been to the moon six times and most of the inner planets sir.”

“You’ve been to Jupiter?”

“No sir. Landing on surface of Jupiter would have crushed me like a grape. I hovered out about half a million miles in a space suit.”

“So, if man can walk on the stars there’s no need to build space ships.”

“Sir, we can’t walk on stars. They’re hot.”

“Always a wise guy when I’m waxing poetic. Okay wise guy so, you can thought teleport and you’ve just about got death licked so, there is no need to dink around space at super light speeds with my beautiful silver space ship when you can be there at the speed of thought. Is that about it?”

“Not exactly sir, but close.”

“You know that’s a solid nickel beryl finish on there. Don’t you?”

“Yes sir. I was the one who suggested it.”

“You know it took a whole crew of men a month to burnish that thing so, it has that rich dull luster that makes it look antique, don’t you?”

“I believe I suggested that aged patina as well sir. And I completely agree. It’s a thing of beauty.”

“Okay bright boy. If you know so much you must know I’m taking the Gully out anyway. I’m going out to see the stars, son. I’m gonna gulp down wonder and awe like ugly on a Babylonian. I’m gonna swallow nebulas and galaxies like grapefruit. I’m gonna put wonder back in my life. What’s Neptune like anyway?” he asked Bob Carlson

“You’ll see this afternoon sir if you take it slow. It’s beautiful but you can’t really enjoy it without a space ship. That’s why we still are gonna need the Foyle and ships like him sir.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s cold and lonely out in space. You need a ship to relax in. To unwind. To take a shower, read a book or have a good belt of some single malt whiskey when you need one. So, we’re going to rig your ship up with a device that will magnify and clarify your own brain waves. Your mind is the real driving engine.

You can be at any part of the universe as quickly as you can think but where’s the fun of zipping like a dragonfly after a mosquito? You’re not seeing anything just zooming about. You can make an exploratory trip and map out the Horsehead Nebula in detail and be back in time for supper but life, even one as extraordinary as yours ought to be savored and enjoyed.

If it were I sir I’d take a few months or a year or two, proceed at whatever pace I liked. When you get lonely or bored, you and the ship can pop back for a conference or simply a holiday on the islands. It’s really the start of a golden age. And when you get tired you can come home or settle down for a while on some nice little backwater planet. And when you, do your man, Davis, will be there with a nice thick steak and a glass of beer.”

“Make it a glass of tea bright boy.”

“Yes sir.”

Rex Nimrod climbed the ladder up to the entry hatch. He stopped just before entering and called down to Bob Carlson.

“Bobby where does this end?”

“End sir?”

“Yes. Where will all this take us?”

“Sir we have the greatest collection of minds in the world gathered here at Shinar. We all speak one language and we all have the same mind. We have your mind your highness. We have all the resources to accomplish anything we imagine. Nothing we imagine will be impossible for us. Nothing. We’re throwing off all restraints. Antigravity, antimatter, cold fusion, then next year we’ll figure out something really hard like who made God and maybe we should remake him in our own image.”

Nimrod thought about that as he buckled himself into his seat. Carlson’s words rang true as if deity said them, “The people are one and their language is one and this they begin to do now nothing they imagine will be impossible for them. Nothing.” There was no stopping them now. As he blasted off through the porthole window he thought he saw storm clouds marshaling in the east but his screen showed clear skies.

The end.

(For Miss Sandy)

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

“Ask her for the fudge nut passels.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“No. You’re right. Ask her for the fudge nut passel whackers.”

“You’re making these things up right?”

“Absolutely not and I can prove it.”

“How?”

“Cuz when they write this down in the bible for centuries to come people all over the world will read how the Israelites cleaned out the Egyptians of gold and silver and all kinda precious things and not one jot or tittle will ever mention how you got their fudgiest goodies, their Snickers bars, their seven-layer coconut bars or any of the two or three hundred mouthwatering goodies I intend on glomming up.”

“How will the lack of any mention of these things prove these things exist?”

“Cuz the ‘Gyptians may give up their gold and silver and fancy frocks when staring down the barrel of the angel of deaths’ 44 but they really have a hard time parting with the cashew, caramel and milk chocolate turtle candies, much lets the almond bark, the coconut haystacks and just forget about the choco-covered cherries. And I want em Miss Sandy. I want em all. The Egypt boys will make sure history says nothing about their enormous sweet tooth remedy.

“Jackie Boy, You’re a celestial. Don’t you have just acres of those things back home?”

“Celestial I am,” Said Jack the Nose. Yes. But there is something about the dry Egyptian climate that makes a chocolate bar really snap with Egyptian goodness. Alpha Centuri confections can’t hold a candle to them.”

“I don’t know Jacko . I feel bad enough looting these people of their precious metals’ silks and dyed badger skins we’re gonna need for the tabernacle. Do I real need to empty their candy jars while I’m at it?”

“In for a penny. In for a pound. Of course, you do. The last thing Mrs. Pharaoh is gonna need is some pralines smothered in chocolate and nuts when she’s gotta roll up her sleeves and help Mr. Pharaoh rebuild their crushed economy. No, what she needs is grit and determination. A little sand in her coffee to get her fighting mad so they can re-erect the pyramids and swab out the Nile.”

“Woah! Are we taking those too? Cuz no one told me we were taking them. I’m gonna need a bigger cart if we gotta haul off the pyramid of Cheops.”

“It was just a metaphor.”

“I got lumbago Jackie Boy and some of those stones tip the scale at 70 tons. I’m gonna need some help hefting those suckers by evening for sure. Mid-day would probably be better.”

“We’ll leave the triangles.”

“Good cuz If I gotta haul those myself I’m gonna want the next day or two off and plenty of Advil.”

“Yeah. Ok. I’ll get right on that.”

“And I thought chocolate wouldn’t be discovered for thousands of years in Central America.”

“That’s what those Egyptian rascals want you to think. They’ve had the stuff, the good stuff from Europe for hundreds of years but have you or any other Hebrew ever had so much a taste?”

“Mmm. No. I don’t believe we have. Those devils!”

“See! It was bad enough enslaving your people for hundreds of years but to not share the fudge nut hen’s teeth, the Passel Whackers, the nut goomber, fudgies, Donkey Barks, Dog Chortles or caramel Scarab beetles is just plain rude Miss Sandy.”

“Those jerks! I’ll say it is. Let me at em Jackie Boy. Let me at em.”

“Ok, here’s the next house. It’s the Phil Schmedrakeian the governor of this province’s home. Now do it just like I taught you.”

Ring. Ring. Ring…. Bam, Bam, BAM!

“Oh bother, plagues of locust and frogs and darkness. What is it now? Collecting for the Red Cross? Yes. What is it my dear? How can I help you?”

“Hi Mrs Schmendrakeian.” My name is Sandy. We’re neighbors see and I was wondering…

“You live in this neighborhood? Oh, I doubt that dearie.”

“Sure, I do. Me and Rich and a house load of babies. Right across the swamp close to the sewage treatment land fill site.”

“Oh. Over there huh. I thought I recognize the smell.”

“Yeah well I was just talking to my buddy and he said I should come see you.”

“Your Buddy? Do I know this Buddy?” She asked haughtily, tossing her magnificently coiffured gray head of hair to one side.”

“I don’t know you know him or not. His name isn’t really Buddy. It’s D.T.”

“Like he has the D.T.’s? Delirium Tremens.”

“Ahhh. Ha ha ha. Did I say D.T? I meant D.A.”

“What’s that stand for?”

“Death Angel.”

“Oh, Mmm. Well, that’s different. But you see we’ve already given. The governor’s firstborn Johnny Winkums, from his first marriage. I never liked him really but he’s dead now so what are you gonna do?” she said with a wistful sigh.

“Yeah well D.A. said he’s thinking maybe he needs to make a second or third pass though. You know, just to thin out the dead wood.”

“Ahh, well, I do have the really good gold and silver I didn’t give to the first group that came by.”

“Perfect. Death Angel has given me a complete inventory and as you bring it out I’m gonna need to check off each piece to be sure we don’t miss anything and upset the big guy. I mean have you seen the sword that guy hauls around?”

“No…Not really. It is that big?”

“Take off a prefect or governor’s head in one swoop.”

“Oh, my. Oh my. Give me a minute and I’ll round things up. I’ll just bring it all out and you can sort through it at your convenience. Would that be okay?

“Actually no. We’re in kind of a hurry. You know, trip to Goshen, things to steal, people to kill. Just keep the paste and make sure we get the good stuff. I got my inventory list right here.” She held up a blank piece of vellum and didn’t let Mrs. Governor see her side.

“Oh, my that’s quite a long list sweetheart.”

“It’s even got those gold studs you’re rocking right now on there.”

“Oh. Ok. Here. Catch. I was getting tired of them anyway. Ha ha ha.”

“Oh, And there’s one more thing Ma’am.”

“You’re cleaning me out girlie. I don’t see how there can be one more thing unless you want the air in my lungs.”

“No. You can keep that but bring out the Passel Whackers while you’re at it.”

“The what my dear?”

“The fudge nut goodies. The caramel gooeys . The sour gooshers and the sweet cream gomplers. The Hen’s teeth both frosted and double dipped. The Turtles, Myrtles, the muggers, frosted kuggers, triple twisted smugglers and the chocolate licorice whips. You can keep the red ones.”

“Oh my. Oh my. What a clever girl you are to know about those things.”

“Yeah. I got a list for those too so don’t get cheap on me Gerty.”

“Well, since you put it that way what choice do I have?”

“I could ring up D.A. He’s over on the next block trashing your neighbor’s cabana boy right now.”

“Raul? Oh, how utterly sad. No, no my dear. Keep your list out. It’ll all be on there plus a few things we go in from Holland this morning that probably aren’t even on your list yet.”

“Holding out on me Gert?”

“He, he, he. Never would I. I’ll just be a minute…”

And that my friends is how Jack the Nose brought up the tail end of the Israelites journey from Egypt to the promised land. And since he was the very last one his camel train loaded to the gills with goodies he got just a little wet when Moses closed up the Red Sea behind them. He took the taffy down, tasted it and decided it was better with a little sea salt on there. And that’s how we got Salt Water Taffy. The end .

Pork Chunk conspiracy © 2010 Frankie Chocolate

(for Bobby Rauch, the original Smelbert Runner)

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

Clem Robertson was not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He was homeless. He smelled bad and scratched himself in places polite people never do but he was on to something.

What he was on to was Mabel Harris. Mabel was sitting there eating her pork chuck ice cream when it dawned on Robertson there was something odd about her—other than her looks that is.

Mabel was a young girl, maybe 16, maybe 18, definitely under 21. It’s so hard to know with girls. Mabel wore enough goth black eye liner for three girls, had ratty yellow hair, wore ripped and tattered floppy sweat shirts, granny glasses and down to her ankles full billowy hippy skirts. Her face usually had a smudge or two of dirt or grease on it.

What was odd, Clem thought was her choice of snacks. Pork chuck ice cream, I mean, come on, who ever east pork chuck ice cream. That’s what started his whole investigation.

Mabel, what’s with you?

Oh, hello Clem, how are you my friend?

There, that was odd two. Mabel looked like a train wreck but underneath her ratty appearance was a river of kindness. Curiouser and curiouser. He squinted his weak eyes at the girl and continued.

I’m fine Mabes. But what about you?

What about me? She asked in a lyrical voice.

To hear her voice was to hear songbirds and water laughing in a cool brook. Something was wrong, something didn’t fit with this picture but Clem being almost as dull as me just couldn’t put a finger on it.

And then there was the mustache. Mabes had this thick Groucho mustache. Wild and wooly, dark and unkempt, it hung from her upper lip like a woolly Babylonian caterpillar.

Mabel worked in the soup kitchen at the local rescue mission. Half the down and out guys in there would have fallen in love with her except for that mustache. It’s really hard to get close to a woman when she sprouts a better handle bar than you could. It sorta made the boys feel a little insecure, you know, question their manhood. Mabel’s kindness and charity almost made up for her ratty appearance and odd diet choices—almost.

One day, Clem, his curiosity getting the better of him approached Mabel when she had one or two scoops of pork chunk ice cream left in her bowl.

How can you eat that stuff Mabes?

It’s unbelievable Clem. Have you ever tried it?

No and I don’t intend to. No one in their right mind would eat that.

I do.

Yeah, see Mabes here’s the thing. See, I been thinking, you’re the nicest girl in here. Nobody is near as nice and kind and generous. But you’re also the oddest bird in here. You got a bird’s nest sitting on top of your head, you got black circles around your eyes that would make a raccoon blush and you wear the funkiest clothes I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen quite a few. There’s a dichotomy going on here that just doesn’t make sense.

I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, she said then flitted away.

Over her shoulder she called back, “that’s quiet a word, dichotomy Clem.

Yeah well I’m not what I seem either Mabel.

Then he looked down. There was a spoonful or two of ice cream melting in her bowl. Clem took the spoon, scooped up a test mouthful and shoveled er in. His eyes flew open and a look of wisdom and a growing understanding spread over his face.

* * *

Monday it was an overnight at the warming shelter in St. John’s Lutheran, Tuesday it was at the Pads Center in Glen Ellyn, and Thursday it was back to the soup kitchen for Clem and the other down and outers.

Mabel was there like she always was, serving sandwiches and mashed potatoes today. A Jay’s potato chip truck took a spill on the Dan Ryan Expressway and by the time they got all the spuds off the highway Jay’s decided to just donate the entire load to charity. Mix in a little garlic and butter and milk and you hardly even noticed the occasionally chuck of asphalt in there.

Clem, always one to err on the side of caution, took his teeth out, bowed his head and gave thanks for the meal and roadway he was about to receive. As he ate his meal he watched Mabel.

What if you were to fix her hair? What if you were to change her cloths? What if she were to lose that mustache? Mmm. If you were to do that she’d be tolerable. No, she’d be more than tolerable. She’d be down right decent. Mmm.

It all came undone a month later. It was raining really hard and all the homeless folks were dog tired and soaked to the bone when the mission finally opened their doors. It was so humid Mabel’s mustache drooped. Clem followed her outside after everyone was served. She was putting trash in the dumpster. When the awning back there, full of water suddenly collapsed. Whoosh, down came gallons of water soaking young Mabel. Then Clem saw her. The dirty face was washed clean. The grease and oil were gone, the ratty hair, which turned out to be a wig was gone. The mustache was gone. Before him stood a beautiful young woman looking like a drown rat.

Mabel, is that you? I hardly recognize you.

It’s me Clem.

You’re beautiful Mabel.

You think so, she said with a small worried laugh.

I know so but what I don’t know is why a girl as pretty as you would go out of her way to make herself look so very unattractive.

That was it. Mabel broke down and cried, her lovely wet shoulder rose and fell as she emptied her heart of its burden.

It’s the dream police Clem.

Those guys? What are you worried about…oh. Oh I get it. The king’s thugs who round up all the pretty girls for the contest.

Yeah, the contest no sane girl wants to win.

Win a date with the king. A night in heaven, followed by an eternity of cramped living quarters with three hundred other wretched girls and no chance to date Todd Hamilton or any other dream guy because I’m property of his royal slobness. Who wants a life like that?

I knew you weren’t what you seemed, said Clem.

How could you Clem. I covered my tracks.

It was the ice cream Mabel.

The ice cream? Oh yes. Now I remember…

You left a little in your bowl and I tasted it. Those were not pork chunks in there, those were ground up Skittles. You went out of your way to make people think you were eating something unclean. You’re Lebanese aren’t you?

Actually I’m Jewish. My Uncle Mort told me never to let anyone know my nationality.

Why is that?

I don’t know. He just said I should do it. I guess in time I’ll find out.

I got an idea, said Clem, what if your God want you to do something really big and he wants you to hide your Jewishess till then?

Come on Clem, I’m a 17 year old girl. Do you really think if I choose to be holy today that it’s really going to make any kind of a difference to anyone in the future? Next I suppose you’re gonna say I should let the dream police catch me.

Mabel, why do they call them the dream police?

Because you’re making the king’s dream come true.

Ah.

So Mabel and Clem sat on the edge of stoop near the garbage can. The rain let up and a block away on a loud speaker rolling van the dream police were calling out over their PA system. Step right up ladies. Win the chance of a lifetime. See the palace. See the Eunuchs, win the chance to become the next queen. Step right up.

The end.

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

Kathy was a beautiful young woman. She had long thick dark brown hair, a lovely face and was well endowed. She also had a most pleasant kind heart and dearly loved God our Father and his son the Lord Jesus Christ. I met in the commune we were living in the seventies before there was electricity or running water. The commune was a good place to learn about God but not so good a place when it came to them sharing the money we all worked so hard for. The upper guys got to use cars and take their wives out on dates. The rank and file grunts got no belts, no spending money and to work hard at menial tasks to bring in all that honey. There was no reading material except the bible. All the other stuff was “worldly,” and was not expedient. There was no TV and most video games like Slash Smashem and the Nuclear Allstars hadn’t been invented yet so no one knew what they were missing. Not much to look at. But there was Kathy and she was more than enough.

Since she was young she had grown accustomed to men staring at her and telling her they loved her. They all wanted her and I was no different. What did I know? I only saw a beautiful young women and people are attracted to beauty. She sometimes put up with my attention. Sometimes she fled or completely avoided me. Finally, one day God had enough of me moping after her and sent me a stinging rebuke. “How long will thy vain thoughts lodge within thee?” We rocked the King James version of the bible back then so hence the flowery language. Of course, he was right. Just because she was lovely did not mean I should marry her. But as a young man I didn’t know as much as I know now so back then I thought that was enough.

One day as Kathy was putting up with me she told me a story. When she was a little girl she prayed as hard as she could that God would give her a pair of wings so she could fly. She prayed and prayed and prayed and when she opened her eyes…She found a walnut. She was overjoyed, scooped it up and ran off to tell someone what she had found. When I heard that story I was envious of her relationship with God. “I want to know God the way you do Kathy.” She admonished me. “Frankie, you can’t have my relationship with God because it’s mine. It’s wrong of you to want it because God wants to develop His own relationship with you that is beautiful and unique.”

I moved out of the commune, met my wife and we’ve been together forty years. Yes sir, thirty-seven blissful years of marriage. I haven’t thought about Kathy hardly at all in all those years. But she came roaring back to mind when the killer assassins leaped at me the other day. I remote opened the garage door so I could take my van out and go clean some carpets. Just as I was hopping into the cab a terrible nose came from the back of the garage. There was nothing supposed to be moving in the garage. No one there but now there was and they were making a terrible noise in their haste to get at their long Ginsu knives so they could cut me like a thin slice of piece of salmon or perhaps fatty tuna. Ahh, get away from me you flaming devils. Jesus loves me, get back I say! Back, back back! In horror I craned my neck around hoping I didn’t present my neck as too easy a target for their wicked throwing stars when I met the assassin eye ball to eye ball.

It was Frisker the Droop. The Droop is what we call the squirrel with the droopy tail. I think a cat once got at him sometime. When he does the high wire act crossing the powerlines his tail lists to one said and it’s harder for him to perform his high wire act then the other squirrels. Droop was up on the wall with a lime in his mouth in a panic that I was gonna see where he was hiding it. It only looked like a lime. It was a black walnut. This time of year, they ripen up and the squirrels swiss cheese everything burying their loot. Frisk saw the open door and just knew here was a great place to hide his nut.

When I realized it wasn’t Ninja assassins just a fur faced one I was greatly relieved. I chided him. “You know you can’t hide your nuts in here. You don’t even have a clicker to open the door when you want a snack!” I turned off the van, walked to the back door and told Bomb Bradshaw to leave the garage doors open for a bit so fur face could find his way out. He left his nut so I picked up the green orb and rolled it to the edge of the driveway for him to find later. Then I thought about Kathy and her walnut God had given her. And I smiled and began my day cleaning rugs. The

End.

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

She lived at 344 Northwest Road in Lomhurst. Mona was five five. Her weight,—perfect. Her short blond wispy spiked hair wreathed a tomboy face full of mischief and promise. Her breasts were full, her waist narrow and her hips were wide. Her nose was wide; her eyes are incredibly captivating pale green eyes with a hint of blue in them.

She stood like a man, with her muscular, well-toned legs apart on the carpets and eyed Mike Anvil. Warm confidence and serenity flowed from her. She was a yoga instructor. She was also the most gorgeous astrophysicist in America.

Dark brown jeans and a matching dark brown racer back shirt, the kind with one strip of cloth going up between her shoulders and revealing lots of back and shoulder muscles. It was damp with sweat and clung to her form like the luckiest shirt in the world.

She had been planting bushes in the back yard before Anvil showed up. When she turned away from him for a moment he saw a small bit of garden soil on her right shoulder. It was most distracting. The dirt and the sweat that held it there just begged to be brushed off lightly with your hand. It was most distracting and the sexiest thing Anvil had ever seen. Reigning himself in Mike Anvil the carpet cleaner calmed himself and faced Mona Nikiski.

“I’d like the carpets cleaned. You do clean carpets don’t you Mr. Anvil,” she asked in a softly musical voice.

“Yeah,” said Anvil.

“You’ll do a nice job?”

“Yeah. It’ll be okay.”

“You wouldn’t give me a quick once over. Get my hopes up, make unspoken promises then leave me, would you Mike?”

“Mona….” Said Anvil with a pained voice.

She continued unabated. “You’re not the kind of guy who takes a girl out, shows her a good time, wines her and dines her then runs off when she’s flipped for him. You’d never treat my carpets like that would you Mike?” she said in a small pained voice like voice like warmed honey poured over barbed wire.

Anvil winced and said nothing.

“Oh, and make sure you move the couch. I think I dropped something back there.” She turned her perfect back to him then glided languidly from the room like a broken field runner slipping through time.

Anvil got out his equipment and prepped the carpet.

When he got to the sofa he got out some gliders to slip under the legs. Ugggh. This thing was heavy. Better go get the lift buddy. The lift buddy was a thick white square length of hardened steel. A three-foot fulcrum with wheels in the middle, a flat spoon on one end, and a rubber grip on the other. It was perfect for wedging under heavy stuff and slipping in a glider.

He was a fairly strong guy for his size, which was huge. He could bench close to 425 on a good day, but with all his strength, he could not force the lift buddy under the front sofa leg.

He went back to the truck and pulled out something he almost never needed. A cheater bar. A six foot hunk of heavy duty pipe to put on the end of the lift buddy. He could pretty much move a house when he stood on the end. He stood on the bar and the mountain, disguised as a white sofa, groaned upward one inch.

Perfect. Anvil deftly tossed a round white and black glider under the corner of the leg and let the lift buddy down. (2)

It flattened like a pancake but held. He needed eight instead of four but finally got them all in place and tried to move the sofa again.

Mona had turned on some soothing Yoga music and was sitting cross-legged on an overstuffed beanbag in the next room, sipping tea and watching Anvil struggle. He noticed, to his disappointment, she had put a gray hooded sweatshirt on over the racer back. The bell rang. A window replacement guy was at the door. Maybe she had was expecting him and put it on to cover up for the window guy?

Concentrate on the sofa Anvil. Huge muscles bunched and corded on his arms and back as he tried to move the sofa. Sweat poured out of face and neck. His shirt was soaked with the strain in spite of the air conditioning. The window guy came and went and Mona reclaimed her perch on the bean bag. The bulky gray sweatshirt was gone. Mike Anvil’s face turned from red, to purple to white. He ground his teeth and glanced over at Mona Nikiski. She sat with her perfect lips slightly parted in a faint, knowing smile. It was a smile nonetheless.

Anvil scowled and dug deeper. The sofa, made a strange sound like a metal ore carrier being ripped in two, and slowly began to move. A quarter inch, a half inch two feet. Mona’s smile turned into a pout.

He found her front door key where she had placed it behind the couch. Mike cleaned behind the sofa and moved it back, somewhat easier. He finished the job, drenched with sweat, got his check and headed for the door.

Just as he was about to go though it, Mona called to him.

“Mike.”

“Yeah?” (3)

“Thanks. You did a good job.”

“Okay.”

“Mike.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

“Yeah. I miss you too.”

“Do you think maybe we could…”

“Yeah. I think so. I’ll call ya.”

“I’m free this Friday.”

“You may be available but you were never free Mona. There was always a cost with you.”

“I deserved that I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

“So… we can go out Friday?”

“Eight.”

“Make is six thirty and I’ll make you that white pasta and pesto you like so much.”

“Okay. Six thirty.”

“Six thirty.”

“By Mike.”

“By Mona.”

Friday afternoon Mike Anvil got out of the shower and wrapped himself in an oversized white towel. Little Johnny had let himself in to Mike’s home and was sipping a beer. He had pulled a cold one out for Mikey. It sat on a coaster on the coffee table sweating large beads of cold.

“Rough week?” asked Little Johnny.

“Not really. Since you were on vaca, I cleaned for Mona.”

“She still sore about you breaking up with her?”

“Maybe….a little.”

“What’d she pull this time?”

“Gravity Well attached to the bottom of the sofa.”

“Ohhhh. That had to be murder. Ten men and a tank couldn’t move a Gravity Well Mikey.” (4)

“You’re telling me.”

“So how’d you do it?”

“I figured she’d try something like this since that last time when she pulled a Noale-Charged Patience Stretcher on me.”

“Those are the worst.”

“So when I smelled a rat. I slipped a Gravity Well Inhibitor in my pocket. It nulled out her Well. I grunted and went though the motions a bit. Had to hold back or I mighta put the sofa through the back wall. You know Johnny, the old soft shoe.”

“Nice. Mikey, I always thought you and her made a pretty nice pair. She’s been crazy about you since first grade, isn’t it?

“Kindergarten,” corrected Anvil.

Friday night, back at 344 Northwest Road, Mona Nikiski pouted her perfect lips and stared into her vast closet, wondering what to wear to render Anvil utterly helpless. She chose a pair of soft, black, sanded silk jodhpurs—deadly, and a ribbed black clingy racer back shirt, low cut in the front with the word Killer spelled out in rhinestones just below the ample cleavage point.

She was glad Anvil had the sense to bring the inhibitor in with him from the truck. She thought it was sweet the way he groaned and bunched his muscles for her entertainment.

Once in her outfit and perfumed she pursed and pooched her full lips, frowned deeply then wiped everything off and just went with a perfect deep red.

The End.

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

(Author’s note: I didn’t write it so much as lived it)

What things went wrong

I can’t find the dog’s lead.

I can’t find my keys.

I just changed the oil in my truck and the low oil light came on.

My blender broke

Three good clients called to say they were disgusted with my work and not to call them again.

Some devil sent me a foul mouthed email from his I-phone, it got attached to one of my outgoing emails and the client has told me never to contact her again.

Things are missing,

Things are broken.

My dirt cheap online phone company sent my office number to flavor chew in d.g three days ago and can’t send it back. They’re getting 10 calls a day and I’m dying on the vine.

Some guy seen my bible verse on the back of my van. He calls me to say how much it lifted his spirit. Gratefully I thank God and pray he’ll bind the devil who’s bugging this guy. And get this—God hears and answers my prayer. I know this cuz a short time later while I’m cutting the grass I get a bad thought. A really bad thought, then another, then outta the blue throw in some raging lust and a few mental notes about how life really ain’t worth living. If it wasn’t for that Dan Fogelberg song I mighta done something drastic.

Dan Fogelberg?

Yeah. I like him. I think it was “Part of the Plan” that came on my Ipod while someone is whispering in my ear I oughta throw myself off a cliff , but that don’t make sense cuz I’m a Midwestern boy from the heartland and there ain’t no cliff around here unless I drive four hours to Galena and I’ll be dammed if I’m gonna spend that kinda gas to off myself.

So what about Fogelberg?

Oh. I like him is all. I guess his cheery little song lifted my spirits and broke the spell cuz all the sudden it was like I was out from under this cloud of depression and could see clearly.

So what’d you do?

I prayed again.

And what happened?

I don’t know. I prayed Jesus would send a couple of rough boys to handle this miscreant.

And did He?

I don’t know. I can’t see the spirit world…but I can hope.

Ugly guy shooting pool, cig dangling from his mouth. Around him some small other plug ugly guys

Hey Baal,

Oh look who’s here. If it ain’t Eeek and Meek, the Bobbsey twins.

What brings you down here? You slumming.

No Luchias. We didn’t drop in for the ambience. We came by to see you.

Me, what for.

The big man sent us.

Gulp. Beads of sweat. What’s he want with me. I ain’t done nothing.

That’ not what he says. You calling him a liar Luchias.

How do you know you can trust him. Maybe he got some bad intell is all I’m saying. Maybe he got it wrong.

Yeah, I suppose everyone gets things wrong every now and then.

Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. You know, sometime things ain’t what they appear.

Except for the fact that He’s God Almighty and He seen you bitch-slapping Anvil around last Tuesday with his own baby blues.

The Almighty has baby blues? And was within my rights. You know how it goes.

Someone rebukes a devil from hassling some schmuck and he’s gotta expect that devil is gonna come around and give him a little grief. It wasn’t nothing personal. I’m just doing my job is all.

Yeah said the hulking big one on the left. And now wer’re gonna do ours.

Ugly looked around. All his buds were long gone.

A Mike Anvil story / Guardian

I will send the hornet before you.

Exodus 23: 28

If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different things I’ve written right here. So, you’ve tons to enjoy. Please buy them. I could use the money honey. Thank you. Your Frankie.)

Mike Anvil puttered around the three-foot tall boxwood bushes by the front porch of old Tony’s home. He rented Mike an apartment above the garage. Tony had arthritis bad and couldn’t muck around in the garden much anymore so Anvil did it for him. It was mid-summer and one or two periwinkle flowers still shone like Tanzanite in the myrtle below the boxwoods.

Pulling wild carrots and lambs quarter out of the back of the flowerbed Anvil noticed spider webs under the deck overhang. These were garden-variety webs that weren’t much more than a few strands flung hopefully across some space. They held thin long legged spiders that looked like a daddy long leg’s first cousin.

Mike was about to sweep away the silk with his gloved paw when a wasp floated down. It was blue-black, delicate and flew in a jerky manner. It hovered down to a spider web in the corner and fell into the gossamer threads.

“Stupid bug,” said Anvil. “After all these years you’d think you guys would’a learned about spider webs.” The wasp’s struggles drew out a long legged denizen from under the porch. Anvil regard the bug for a moment then stuck his prong shaped weed plucker between the victor and victim. Delicately he lifted the wasp to the top of the closest boxwood bush and placed it on a branch.

“Little guy, if you work on it, you’ll get out of those strands and be on your way.

I’d free you myself but you might misunderstand and zam me.”

In an instant the wasp rid itself of the strands and slowly flew at Mike Anvil’s head. For some reason he didn’t swat it. It circled him once or twice, darting towards his face then out again. It was trying to communicate.

“Oh I get it, you’re trying to say thank you. It’s okay. You’re welcome little guy.”

A feeling of benevolence came over the big man. The wasp came near Anvil’s face one more time, hovered there a moment, then flew into another spider web.

Joe, a luscious long legged spider in faded bib overalls hanging from only one strap came running down the threads yelling over his shoulder, “Ma, fire up the skillet. We’re eating good this morning. There’s a gianormous black bug just a flopping around our front porch. Ma you hear me?” Joe reached out delicately to throw a web around the wasp. Then some amazing happened. The wasp reached up, grabbed Joe and stung him big time. Joe curled up into a small ball clutching his stomach. The wasp tapped him once or twice, curled him up tighter then took him and flew to the top of the boxwood. Fiddling around with the spider a bit more, the wasp lifted him, flew around Mike Anvil’s head then flew up to the flat top of one of the porch pillars and disappeared from sight.

“Joseph where’s that bug Joseph? Now where’d that man get off too?” Said Mrs. Spider. “And just look at the hole in our front porch. When I get a hold of that man. Joe, your days are numbered,” she muttered then went back inside.

Anvil was shocked. That bug wasn’t saying thank you. It was saying butt out. It was a spider-eating wasp! Imagine that. He went back to weeding till Chuck Carter walked up and got in his face. Chuck stood six, six and weighed close to 300 lbs. He was upset about a reappearing wine stain that Anvil had worked on while cleaning his carpets.

“I don’t know how you call yourself a carpet cleaner,” he said with a loud voice and flailing hands. My dog could clean carpets better than you.”

“You dog knocked over the glass of wine.”

“So what. You said you were good. You said you could get out any thing.”

“No. You said that. I said I’d do my best.”

“I want my money back.”

Cracking his massive knuckles Anvil replied, “I don’t recall ever telling you I’d give you your money back Chuckles… but I think I can give you something.”

Chuck Carter snarled and balled up his fists. Just before he lunged at Anvil he let out a blood-curdling scream and leaped into the air. Howling like someone possessed he ran down the block and dwindled from sight. Anvil looked at the boxwood. A blue-black wasp sat there preening its antennas.

“Huh,” said Mike Anvil then went back to weeding. A short time later Anvil heard a familiar engine and tires squeal up into his drive way. He knew without turning around who it was. Mona Kinski his sometimes girlfriend. Oh no. I completely forgot about our breakfast date this morning at Einstein Brothers. A car door slammed.

Brusk footsteps approached. She sounded as mad as a hornet.

Anvil got up slowing, turned around and timidly faced the blond haired Ukrainian. Smoldering green eyes and a tomboy face met his. Flailing her arms she shouted invectives.

“Uh Mona. You might want to lower your voice and stop waving your arms.”

“Why Michael Anvil would I want to do that?” She shouted even louder.

Perched on the boxwood close to her tush a wasp looked at him and cocked his head.

“You just might.”

The End.

(For Tom & Gerry, my two favorite Irishmen)

(If you like this story there are tons more here. You can also find a whole bunch of different books I’ve written right here. So, you’ve got a whole lot to enjoy. Check them out please. Thank you.)

Duct cleaning is a rough way to make a living. You have to snark around filthy crawl spaces, eat cobwebs, and get it right the first time, because you do not want to go back down there again a second time—especially for free. Bob Johannsen had his own duct cleaning business. He also cleaned carpets. In winter, things were slow, so, in the first part of December, for his twenty-sixth birthday, his two best buds, Jake and Dino surprised him, with the trip of a lifetime, four days snowmobiling in northern Minnesota. Jake had two killer Artic Cats, and Dino had his own. Bob scraped up some spending money, and off they went to conquer the world.

A thick base of beautiful virgin power, lay before them. The sky was a vibrant blue, but the weather station said a big storm was coming. They packed a hearty lunch, and raced over the snow. The air was crisp and invigorating. They played for hours, and were respectful of the keep-out signs.

After filling up their tanks and themselves, Al wanted to explore some low-lying hills to the north. They raced off, powdered snow arced like white fountains behind their growling machines. Ice crystals hung in the air and gave the scene a dream-like quality. It was a cold, clear, beautiful day. A perfect day. A day to die for.

Dark clouds appeared on the horizon. Dusk comes early in the north county. With it came the snowstorm. It overtook them.

“Follow our tracks back,” yelled Jake over the noise of the machines. The two others nodded in agreement. They raced for camp.

The wind howled and the snow came down harder. The double-beamed halogen lights lit up only a few feet in front of each machine. Jake, in the lead, flew over a sudden rise, snow driving down so hard his taillights winked out in a moment. Bob, just behind him, twisted the throttle savagely, the air schushing past his helmet. He charged up the rise, and caught incredible air. A moment later, the freight train, its roar hidden by the wind and the growling of the Cats, thundered out of the storm caught him in mid-flight. He entered eternity before the parts of his crumpled machine hit the ground. He left behind, a young, red-haired widow, and three children under five.

# # #

A ham-sized fist swung into his stinking maw, obliterating the old swine’s smug expression. A round house caught him on the left side of his face. Another savage blow and the drunk went down for some quality face time with the floor. Mike Anvil’s boot heel beat a meaty, almost rhythmic tattoo on the man’s body. Little Johnny pulled the big man back.

“Enough Mikey. You made your point. Come on, Let’s get outta here.”

The big man launched one more brutal kick at the prone figure, finished his beer, and walked out of the bar.

Everyone has skills and abilities. Big Mike Anvil’s talents lay in beating people. He was very good at it, and continually strove to improve his technique. When he’d meet that night’s meat, he’d size him up and judge his weight. When the fighting started, he could, with finesse, land him amidst a table full of lushes, and maximize the carnage.

To transform his skill into art, he’d go through the alphabet and begin each night’s brawl with that night’s letter. Tonight it was X. Not the easiest letter to work into an alcohol-soaked conversation with inebriates. Still, Mike Anvil was nothing if not determined.

He bellied up to the bar between two huge ironworkers drinking their dinner. He nursed his third beer and looked closer at the two men. The one on the right had a broken nose and numerous scars, on his plug ugly face, but looked like Barbie’s Ken compared to the junkyard dog on Mike’s left.

That guy was missing half an ear and several teeth. A deep scar ran through the blue-black stubble on his face. As Mike finished his beer, a moment of panic flitted by. How the heck was he supposed to start a conversation with the letter X? He racked his brain but came up empty. Finally, shrugging his shoulders, he said softly, “Oh, what the hell.” He grabbed a long neck off the bar, smashed it over Ken’s head, drove his fist into half-ear’s jaw, roared out, “Xylophone,” and that night’s dance began.

When Big Mike Anvil was not dusting jaws, he was cleaning carpets. His partner was Little Johnny, a wiry Italian. His dark hair was shot through with white. He had dark skin and a brilliant smile. The two men took pride in their work, and could have made a good living on repeat business, it if wasn’t for Anvil’s one quirk.

He had a lunatic passion for humiliating his clients about the condition of their carpets. If Mrs. Johnson forgot to pick up before they got there, she’d hear about it in scathing terms. If Mr. LaLonde didn’t vacuum with a fresh bag, and left some of that wispy Golden Retriever hair lying around, he got reamed.

“Trying to save money on bags are ya?” asked Anvil sarcastically. “You got the Taj Mahal here and you’re skimping on bags. What are you—Stooopid? Don’t you know your vacuum loses half its sucking power when the bag gets half full? Maybe you need an object lesson? How’s ’bout if I put my hands around your scrawny neck and cut off half your air. Be hard to breath huh? That’s what you’re doing when you cheap out on the bags.” With bon mots like these, they didn’t do a lot of repeat business. Little Johnny tried to tell Anvil to lighten up, but you know how some guys are, they just won’t listen.

It was Friday night, two days before Christmas. It had been a good week. They cashed some checks and each man had $800.00 in his wallet. Little Johnny looked at the appointment book. One last job, in Regency Square, the worst subdivision in town. Rat holes so miserable, the rats had moved out years ago. The kids caught cockroaches and had races with them, so even the bugs were scarce. After some confusion over locating the address, the cleaners pulled up in the back lot behind the apartment.

“This won’t take long, Mikey,” said little Johnny. “Then it’s off to Bruise’s Tap.”

Little Johnny grabbed the work order on an Aluminum clipboard and trotted up to the back door. A six-year-old girl, with catsup on her chin, and a green runny nose, answered the door. The smell of two day old cheerio’s in sour milk came from the sink.

“Low,” she said and unlocked the screen door. Screen door in December? Why the heck didn’t the man put in the glass, thought Mike Anvil.

“We’re here to clean the carpets,” said Little Johnny. “Is your mom or dad home?”

The six year old didn’t answer. Instead, she put a thumb in her mouth, then, with her free hand, she led him into the living room. Big Mike followed. Little Johnny stood before the living room thunderstruck. The carpet, maybe it was carpet, was all but hidden beneath more toys, clothes, and trash than he’d ever seen in his life.

Johnny gulped. Anvil would roast these parents alive. Worst yet, they allowed a kid to live in this filth. Mike Anvil growled like a bear woken up with a loud noise. His eyes flashed red, his hands cupped into mallets. Where the heck were the worthless-scum parents—off drunk somewhere he’d bet?

“Someone is gonna pay big time,” rumbled Big Mike.

Another dirty cherub entered the room, this one leading an even smaller child with it. “Three kids, living in this filth,” said Mike. “These people are ruining my Christmas. I’m gonna break face.”

A car pulled up, its tires making a squelching sound in the deep snow. A door slammed, and feet approached the back door. One of the kids took a pacifier out of its mouth and yelled, “Mommyzome, Mommyzome.”

The two men turned to the door, as a frazzled young woman, with a wisp of red hair peeking out from her knit cap, came in.

“You must be the carpet cleaners,” she said. “My baby sitter was supposed to be here to let you in, but I guess Nichole left early again. My name’s Abbie. Nice to meet you.”

She shook John’s hand. She turned to shake Big Mike’s, who stood there meekly, like a little boy. His anger had melted, his iron shell had collapsed around his feet, replaced by wide-eyed wonder. She was beautiful. In a dream, he stiffly raised his hand. She shook it firmly.

“The place is a mess. I’m sorry, but I work two jobs and most of the money goes to the babysitters. I’m not sure if you can clean the carpet, it’s pretty bad. You guys had a coupon, pay for one room and get one free. I think mine expired last week, but maybe you could give me a break?”

Little Johnny looked quizzically at Mike Anvil. What? Was he sick? He’d never seen him act like this before. But cleaning the carpets was out of the question and Little Johnny said so. “Ma’am, I can’t even see the rugs. You gotta pick up everything, and vacuum before we get here. It’s gonna take you a week to clean this place. Call us after the holidays, and we’ll try to get back to you.” He headed for the door.

A huge hand with scarred knuckles grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“S’no problem,” said Anvil slowly. “We can move the stuff off the floor and make your carpets look new. Better’n new Mrs…”

“It’s Johannsen, but I’m alone. My husband died.”

Anvil’s heart leaped to his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that Ma’am. We’ll just get started right away if that’s Okay with you.”

“What about the cost. What’s it gonna cost to have just the two downstairs rooms cleaned? I’ll pick up first.”

Mike thought for a minute. He looked at Little Johnny who stood there completely flumfloxed. “Cost, oh, didn’t we tell you? You won this year’s contest. You get a free carpet cleaning you get what’s in the jackpot, too. Let’s see what’s in the jackpot, Jonathan.” He turned to Little Johnny and stuck out his oversized paw. Little Johnny frowned a moment, then caught on, and handed over his wallet. Big Mike emptied it, took out his own, and did the same. He then stuffed the wad of greenbacks into the trembling woman’s hand. Speechless, quivering, she began to cry.

“I didn’t know what I was going to do for Christmas,” she said to him through tear-stained eyes.

As the two men walked to the back of the truck, Anvil said to Little Johnny, “ I’m good for the

money, John. I’ll pay ya back. I just sorta thought she needed a little help is all.”

“I know you’re good for it Mikey. I ain’t worried. So what are we, Santa Claus today?”

“More like Jesus Christ, Johnny, at least we are to her. Hand me that sprayer, will ya?”

The end