I've been posting my unpublishable slushy stories on this website. It's my fun page of fiction.
Here is a Chronological list of Stories with the type of transformation involved in each story.
I write a blog of story ideas that I am working on or thinking about.
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>Incoherent And Random Thoughts
July 4, 2008
Two goombas sat at a Formica table. A platter of steaming linguini di pomadoro crowned with meatballs sat on a platter next to a basket of over-garlicked bread. At the other end of the diner, a door opened and the smell of cheap air freshener and urinal cakes followed Porfirio Ruiz's short black hair, electric-blue silk shirt, and white tie to the table. He motioned to sit. Reedy pulled a chair from a table and sat with his legs around the backrest. Blantan stood behind him.
"Petunia tells me yous want to talk." Ruiz tucked a napkin into his collar, rolled the linguini against his spoon and shoveled a wad of pasta into his mouth. The ends flicked red sauce everywhere.
"Your name surfaced during our investigation of Zack Savage's death."
"I'm not a moron. Savage didn't give you my number. Only two people know that number. One is so brain damaged he can't remember how to jackoff. The other is no longer my son." Ruiz drank a half glass of wine and sopped up his chin with a piece of bread. A goomba refilled the glass.
"Sentimental," Blantan sniped.
"Go piss up a rope, moron. I don't give a shit about you or Savage. I paid the friggen Pope a ton of money to let me adopt those two kids and then I had to build a friggen cathedral to disown them. He crossed himself as he ate. "What's dey done now dat Daddy has to bail them out?" His words and mouth distorted by mouthfuls of linguini. He belched, garlic breath.
"Your son Jack was genuinely concerned," Reedy said, trying to understand Ruiz's attitude.
"He was?" Ruiz put his hand to his chest in mock concern. "He's the one without brain damage. When they hooked up with that idiot. I kicked their asses out, disowned them. No sons of mine are ever going to become jackasses." Ruiz swallowed a whole meatball.
Dear Mister Bollarian,
I am sorry to report that while you were away Sneezix, your dog, died.
He ate burnt and rotted horsemeat. He got out the front door when the firemen came and when we found him again, he was eating the dead meat. The meat was Marigold, your Appaloosa. Marigold got scared and ran into her stall and burnt-up in the fire. Sneezix didn't know it was Marigold when he ate her.
It took two fire brigades to put out the barn fire. It was sparks from the library roof that caught the barn on fire. Those floor-to-ceiling drapes in the library were 20 feet tall and that decorator used some weirdo fabric that just went up like a torch. It was a very pretty funeral until the candles around the coffin lit the drapes, and burnt the roof, and destroyed the barn with Marigold inside. And your dog ate the dead horsemeat and died.
All the mourners said your wife looked almost alive. You see, your wife stroked out. Your Daughter called Undertaker Fred and he laid her out in silks and laces with candles and flowers. During the wake, your mother-in-law flung herself on the coffin, the catafalque broke under her weight and knocked over the candles, lit the drapes, burnt the roof, sparks jumped to the barn, the barn burnt. It killed the horse. Sneezix had run outside away during the excitement and on his return, ate the bad horsemeat, and died.
The doctors said an aneurism exploded when your wife saw your teenage daughter in bed with the pool boy in her mouth and his cousin bubba up... But I don't have to tell you. It's on YOUTUBE. Look up "Deep Debby." It's won a webby award and your daughter is accepting the trophy today.
The lawyer will explain the details. He's meeting you at the airport with the FBI. He bailed your daughter out of jail so she could call the undertaker. The undertaker laid out your wife out in a fine coffin and supplied the flowers with too many candles, and arranged the wake where the mourners got drunk, where your mother-in-law flung herself overcome by grief and knocked over the candles that lit the drapes, caught the house afire, sparked over to the barn, scared the horse inside where it burnt to death. And the day after, your dog found a burnt haunch, ate the rotted horsemeat and died of food poisoning. I am so sorry your dog died.
Other than that, nothing happened. I will be happy to house sit again next year.
Dear Mister Algernon,
I apologize for the sheep incident at your farm last Friday. You see, all Earth creatures are a bit strange. These sheep were the first creatures we noticed on our scan. It's not that Kryzflitz doesn't have four-legged ruminants and fields for grazing, it does. Our ruminants (Blookas in our language) have horns, scales and webbed feet. Only the dreaded Gorg beast has a furry white coating and that coat hides six limbs with sharp claws.
So culturally, we have no equivalent of a "sheep in wolves clothing" other than fuzzy white beasts capable of ripping your hearts out and cute, adorable scaled pets we slaughter for food much like your world has lamb and mutton. We wish to assure you that the sheep did nothing to attract our attention. It would be a mistake to punish them. Dumb beasts might be capable of sarcasm but not spite. Wild Blookas can be quite rude and nasty. Your sheep merely bleated twice before the, uh, accidental firing of our heat weapon.
Again, we deeply apologize for the incident and hope that some day in the future we can make up fir the loss of your pet sheep.
Gribble and Geegax
PS. Our exhaust cooked that wild flying thing that was floating on your lake. We hope you don't cook ours.
A Flash and Slash Vampire Story
"Dio mio, what's this? A thief and murderer," she said. Her accent melted the thief's resistance and raised his flagpole.
"I'm no thief. I took what was mine." The thief's pasty-white body showed through holes in his hoodie and jeans.
"And you are going to tell me, the great Francesca Molinari best detective in all of Italy, that you, Raggedy Man, own something in this apartment?" she looked around at the faux marble columns, the faux murals, the faux furniture. The room had that grand feel but on second glance, the details gave it away as faux.
"Yes cara mia, I stole my words." He pointed to the entry. "I wrote them. I conceived them. They're my darlings, my lovelies." He clutched a ragged pile of paper to his thin body. His hands trembled. His lips quivered. He sobbed.
"You mean you are responsible for the body laying in the faux marble entry? Why, shades of Medici, we walk over dead bodies all the time in Rome."
"Silly woman... He's a moral lapse, a soul-sucking were-creature, a zombified golem. He lacked compassion," his voice trailed off into sobs.
"Com mortuis in lingua mortua. You shot him to death with THIS? A paintball gun? That is what it is, isn't it? A murder weapon?" She took the pistol and looked down the barrel.
"I didn't know he had a bum heart." Several paintballs whizzed past Francesca's head and splattered on the ceiling. Golden droplets of paint rained down on her silk Versace dress.
"Be careful, it's got a hair trigger," he said. Francesca handed the gun to her subordinate.
"Heart? Editors don't have hearts, mi corazon. They're already dead." Francesca smiled a pointy, toothy grin surrounded by her luscious, blood red lips. Raggedy Man screamed. Not that it helped him.
A Quickie Snake Transform
Day after Labor Day, Andy hid in the hay bales next to the lion cage as Circus McManus retreated to our Okefenokee camp. The trapeze act, Todd and Todd, found him as we passed Birmingham.
"Why'da run, musclehead?" elicited a familiar story -- drunken father, lecherous uncles, pregnant girlfriend. A new American native -- Andy Running-Stupid. I, the Great McManus -- magus, alchemist, psychic -- know all, see all. I checked the Amber Alerts -- nothing.
I opened beers. Runaways like beer. I drank. Andy drank. My pet boa, Green-eyed Reggie, drank.
"Your pet boa constrictor drinks beer?" Andy asked.
"Green-eyed Reggie's not my pet. He's my drinking buddy and assistant," I said. We talked. Small talk and then serious talk: cars, tits, rock music, vaginas, dreams, Paris Hilton and why he thought circus-life was cool. Andy couldn't keep his blue eyes off Green-eyed Reggie.
"How do you train a pet snake?"
"He gets pissed if you call him a pet. His name is Green-eyed Reggie."
"Snakes don't have feelings." Andy petted Reggie's head. Reggie hates that. He slithered over to the alphabet blocks and positioned the blocks to spell b-i-t-e m-e.
"Damn! That's a well-trained snake." Andy had the knack of talking shit and insulting Reggie. He raised his middle finger. The snake spelled a-s-s-h-o-l-e.
"Green-eyed Reggie likes Proust, speaks English, French and Portuguese, writes our ad copy. His act is three years old, too old. Next season, he wants to be Hercules, the strong man," the Great McManus said.
"Your snake needs muscles like mine to be Hercules." Andy flexed both arms. He had the broad shoulders, big arms and thick chest of a Greek god.
"You wanna be my assistant for a year or two?"
"You bet your ass, I do." Andy leaned close, all excited. I grabbed his hand and Green-eyed Reggie's neck.
"Good! You can learn the act in the off-season." I made the magic. I exchanged their souls. Andy's eyes bulged and turned green as my assistant took possession of his body. Green-eyed Reggie's eyes turned the blue of Andy's eyes. Now, Blue-eyed Andy the pet boa constrictor would learn to be part of the circus from the ground up.
Something From Uranus Saves the World
The asteroid closed its orbit. They watched it, ugly black by day and uglier yellow at night. Across the continents, penitents dressed in sackcloth. Knelt in ashes. Prayed for deliverance. The astronomers named the asteroid Astaroth, a prince of Hades. The common people had better names. Some called it Daffodil. Others called it Party. Many called it Siva in Ashes, Siva the destroyer. Some prayed for salvation. "Time, has come." the prayerful said, bowing before the sky-bound death.
Sir Isaac Newton wasn't a god but his laws governing the movements of asteroids would not be denied. The oceans ran high. City after city destroyed. Winds wiped clean the deserts. Fires blazed and darkened the sky. Storms brought ice to the tropics. The land itself bulged and spit fire in gravity's embrace. Death hovered.
Above them, a huge, double-cheeked spaceship with its round entryway flew undetected past Jodrell Bank, Aricebo, Palomar, and Keck. It flew unobserved by Cerro Tololo, Effelsberg and Hyde Park. In the skies, Zlogonje ignored the unworthy penitents, the clueless. His ship scanned for the five brothers, his minions.
"Time I am. I have come to engage all people. With the exception of you, five-fold glory of my loins." Zlogonje spoke. Everyone and no one heard his voice.
The spacecraft floating above, spoke. "I, Zlogonje from the planet Uranus, have arrived to save the Earth. Mankind will survive. But there is a price for deliverance from Astaroth. The energy will transform your bodies. Innuendo, you will have four eyes and two anus. "
The voice an evil one spoke from the Heartland of America. "No more butt smells. Let us die." The brothers of five-fold glory silenced the blasphemer before his words echoed once on the plain. Thus with a particle beam, Zlogonje destroyed Astaroth and remade mankind in his image.
News You'll Never Hear Again Times 3
Nobles to retire
Tears and Jeers were heard today as the crowds filling Piccadilly Circus alternately praised and reviled the Nobles as they announced their retirement effective immediately. Pipe bands played a sad tattoo of funeral dirges and slow marches as a casket for each noble was brought into the central square and sent on its way to Buckingham Palace. In interviews after the announcement, Helium's tenor voice could be heard propositioning teenage girls. Neon was instantly attracted to the lights of the circus. Through a spokesperson, Argon left word that it would see governmental office. Krypton slipped away and watched the other nobles with green envy. Xenon announced plans to rival the moon and light up the night. And last but not least, Radon just beeped loudly and ate all the food in could get its hands on.Weather blamed for potholes
Streets last week bloomed potholes as the cold weather broke and the temperatures reached into the forties. A dozen city repair crews hit the bricks today in an effort to reduce the damage done by the coldest weather in the last decade. Drivers cheered as policemen removed barricades from the intersection of Sliberty, Cranshaw and State Streets permitting three-way traffic to resume. Police closed the intersection only two weeks before after two cars lost tires and a truck dropped an axel. Mayor Flartski asked that driver not park on alternate sides of the streets to let the repair crews finish the job.Bulls' time running out
"Our new bull, Fernando, has fallen down on the job, twice," says Susie Cimbola, treasurer of the Four Cities Four H Club. "The first time was two months ago when he mounted Miss Marjorie Morningstar's cow Bessi and slid on the ice and the second time was last week when Extension agent Phillip "Festus" Harbinger brought the his prize winning cow, Audrey, and left her overnight. Billy Hoskins and Sally MacDonald from Mating Consultants watched from the hayloft and reported that the Bull seemed uninterested in the cow except for two opportunities when Bessy lowered her guard and flashed the bull.
"If that bull don't get to his business soon," Farmer Jones declared, "then we'll be forced into manual manipulation or worse. Either Pastor Ferguson will be forced to pray over the animals or Festus will bring out the electro-ejaculator."
Film at 11.
13,600 words more or less