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Started reading
April 15, 2024
Her voice was the aural equivalent of a chocolate chip cookie dipped in ketchup--distressing on a spiritual level--and
Her voice sounded like two angry cats scratching a moist chalkboard,
was definitely not a kid, but hardly felt like a proper member of adulthood. Stuck in that awkward age between two generations that want nothing to do with me, and nowhere left to go but dead.
“Yeah, this happens from time to time. It’s not that unusual, really. It would seem as if somebody has cut the phone line.” “What!?” he screamed. “Somebody has cut the phone line,” I said a little louder.
I got the point. He was in a stabbing mood.
Whether or not you are a hallucination is absolutely none of my business, and I’ll leave that up to you to decide.
“And you said, ‘half’? Of a pig?” “I said ‘half of a pig.’ An actual, literal pig. A swine hog.” “You serious?” “As a heart attack.” “What do you mean by ‘half,’ exactly?” “It’s only the front half. And it seems very upset about the whole thing." “You mean, like, exactly half?” “I don’t know; I didn’t measure it.” “Where’d the back half go?” “Can you, maybe, like, send somebody out here?”
I know this might be an unpopular opinion, but I don’t really care for cults.
take comfort in the relaxing familiarity of monotony. But there’s an entire ocean between these small islands of worthwhile moments, and little survives the trip intact.
A couple gnomes showed up right outside the back door, and I left them where I found them because one of them was holding a steak knife and I don’t need that kind of crazy in my life.
He began the last part of his well-rehearsed speech with a big dumb smile, saying “...and that is why the Mathmetists are working on a bomb to destroy the entire planet.” I honestly didn’t see that coming. Maybe I should have read the pamphlet.
“You guys are a murder cult?” I asked, just for clarification. “Hey, whoa, come on. That’s such a nasty word.” he said, holding up his hands defensively, “Try to think of us more as a murder religion, or maybe a murder ideology. Murderology, if you will.”
So I did what anybody else would do in my situation. I ignored it and hoped the problem would go away on its own.
crap, I thought, is she reading my mind? “No, I can’t read your mind, Jack.” Oh thank God.
“You’re putting words in my mouth, and I don’t like when other people put things in my mouth.” “Nobody’s going to put anything in your mouth.” Paul interrupted, saying “Actually, one of the steps in the ceremony is literally putting something in his mouth.”
If I had known he would eventually be stuffing another Kieffer into the trunk, would I have still loaned him the car? Probably. But I at least could have put down some newspapers or something first.
“Yeah, I guess you’ve got a good point. It’s just that, he’s really creeping me out and I think he’s like eight feet tall and his arms go down to his knees.” There was a short pause on the other line. Then, “That’s not illegal.” “Yeah, you’re right.”
Deep down, I was always rooting for the animals to rise up and take over the zoo and force all the humans out Jurassic Park style.
Same jack
“These aren’t raccoon scratches.” “You’re certain about that?” “Unless Rocco has a butcher’s knife I don’t know about, which I will admit is a totally valid possibility.” Dr. V looked at me over the top of his glasses and asked, “You named the racoons?”
“Things involving butts! Horrible, horrible butt things!”
Kieffer responded by getting impaled through the torso with a projectile flamingo.
“Just so I understand, you stopped on the side of the road. At night. Out by the woods at the edge of town. To pick up a hitchhiker. In the rain?”
“Well, if I accidently kill you, that’s probably my bad. If I accidently kill you twice, it’s a hell of a coincidence. But if I accidently kill you three times? Three times? Well, that’s on you. You gotta take some personal responsibility. You know what? I’m glad he’s dead! Going around, getting himself murdered all over the place.”
“Hey, I have a question for you.” “Yes, there’s weed in the tea.” “No, I already knew that. I had a question about the internet.”
Without my memories, what even am I? Am I even me? Without memories, we’re nothing but empty vessels.
The gas station always felt like a place outside of time, not really connected to the rest of the world but still technically part of it.
part of me questioned the wisdom in letting a former member of a murder-cult have free reign over the cash register.
Not surprisingly, once they learned I had no insurance, the doctor’s medical opinion switched so fast it gave me whiplash.
The new deputy, Arnold,
Isn't This the second time hes said arnold was the "new deputy"?
clam-clapped both of my hands in his direction like I were operating invisible sock puppets and repeated myself. “Hand plants, deputy. What part of that don’t you get?”
But after the principal hanged himself in the janitor’s closet, the vice principal took over
Just glossing over that fun fact i guess
“Hey guys, I gotta go. I think I hear a baby crying somewhere outside.”
I consider myself to be a grown man (more or less), and I have no doubt that if it ever came down to it, I could take a baby in a one-on-one fight.
That’s a big old nope sandwich with a side of hell naw slaw. I’d heard enough. I did my part, and if there was a magical flying intangible forest baby somewhere out there, I’d leave it to the professionals to figure out where it went.
“Kieffer,” I responded, “You seem to have gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle here.”
I felt extra terrible setting a fully developed Kieffer plant on fire, but what choice did I have? The last words he said before the flames overtook him will haunt me to my last day: “Heyyy, mannn, nottt, cooolll!”
“There’s a guy on the ceiling. His skin is all gray and he’s just lying there on the ceiling.” “I’m not hearing a question.” “Oh, my question wasn’t about that. I just noticed it. It’s weird.”
