Walmart Warriors

The writhing ball of arms and legs swept across the waxy floor. Dresses and skirts and shirts were grabbed and pawed and manhandled. And then the mob moved to the shoe department. Nike, Reebok, Bandolino, and Anne Klein—the decimation was complete.

Suzy glanced around and tallied the score. Six people trampled, and dammit, nothing left in the right size. Hopefully, her husband, Dan, was doing better in the electronics aisle. He was on a mission to obtain the Wii and maybe a plasma television. He’d been preparing for days—working out, lifting heavy bags of beer and potato chips, and jogging to the corner store to get cigarettes instead of driving. And then she saw him.

He had the Wii under one arm and the TV strapped to his back. He was huffing and puffing and swinging his free fist. But they were clinging to him like leeches on the side of a sagging boat—disheveled woman spilling out of their double Ds, grungy guys in T-shirts flashing their ass cracks, and a few little brats with screaming red faces. And they were dragging him to the ground.

Suzy was seized by rage. Who were these trashy inhabitants of the hotdog bar trying to mug her man just short of the check-out line? With eyes like burning waffle irons, she screamed “HI-YAH!” and dove into the fray. And as the grunting heap of humans crashed to the floor, she noticed a blinking sign on the wall that said Peace On Earth.

Suzy snarled. What kind of moron had said those words? Obviously, someone with no concept of Christmas.

Give Thanks

“Is this how you celebrate Thanksgiving? By watching football?”

“Not entirely. I also eat a lot of food.”

“What about the Pilgrims?”

“Uh, I don’t know… What channel are they on?”

“They’re not on a channel. They’re dead.”

“Oh. Well they should try to be more interesting. It’s hard to get on TV when you’re dead. Unless you’re Larry King… So what did the Pilgrims do?”

“They had a big feast to thank God for killing most of them but not all of them.”

“Cool. And then what happened?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Maybe they went shopping. Christmas is only 29 days away.”

“Right.”

RIGHT HERE

She looked at me with emerald eyes that had once been blue. It was no big deal—I’d changed her eyes myself. And since she was a robot, it didn’t really matter what color her eyes were, anyway.

“What do you mean my eyes don’t matter?” she said. “I have feelings, you know. I have a limbic cortex the size of a cantaloupe.”

“Right—sorry.” Damn. Now she was upset.

“I have hopes and dreams,” she continued. “I have desires. I have a contrivance of squishy flesh capable of producing mind-splintering orgasms.”

“All true, all true.” I was trying to escape gracefully. I was contemplating the beauty of a splintered mind.

“And I can make a pizza faster than any goomba fucktard from Brooklyn. With or without sausage.”

Well, she really had me now. She knew all my vulnerabilities.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said. ” I sometimes forget how real you can be.”

“I’m real,” she says. “I’m as real as anyone else. Because I am right here.”

How could I argue? She was totally correct.

She was right here, and I was glad.

A Brief History Of Civilization

The savage had no boss. He had no bills and no morning obligations. He did not pray to coffee, donuts, or television. He did not lament his lack of air conditioning, and he did not spend his Sunday afternoons watching men in tight pants move a leather ball across a field of watered grass.

The savage died young, but he died happy. Except for that spear through his kidney.

That was a real bummer.

The Art Of Negotiation

“So how is everything?”

“Great! I feel great!”

“Oh, so you’ve been to another one of those sales seminars? Where they talk about being positive?”

“That’s right. And it was great! I’m smiling like a simp! And I feel—”

“Great! I know! Because they taught you how to negotiate.”

“Exactly.”

“And how to deny reality.”

“Well, denying reality is the basis of all negotiation seminars.”

“Yes, you need to deny the fact that some people will cut out their eyes before they’ll give one small inch.”

“Hm, yeah, true.”

“Because they’re so stupid.”

“Right.”

“It’s like talking to a pile of rocks.”

“Exactly!”

“And really, we’re talking about a lot of people.”

“You know, you might have a point…”

“It’s usually best to just throttle them all.”

“Hey, that’s great! I like that idea! Uh, can you teach me a good choke hold?”

“Sure, I know a few.”

FRIDAY

It was a long day. The clock was moving like a corpse. The minutes were like hours, and the hours were endless. I was drifting in a sea of suspended time. I was floating in a void of unavoidable boredom. I was dreaming of an opening, a streak of light, a little hole I could squeeze through and escape. And then it came. It came at the end of the afternoon. It came not a second too soon, and I jumped in my car and drove home.

Black Widows In Love

Her eyes were like pairs of bursting stars. Four pairs. And her cephalothorax was ever so slinky. I approached her with my pedipalps quivering.

“Nice web,” I said. “Do you spin your stuff here often?”

She clicked her mandibles and rolled three of her eyes. Obviously, I wasn’t the first arachnid to try and tickle her trochanter.

“Seriously,” I said, ” I’d like to share a little of your silk.”

She yawned. I bristled.

“Look, baby, are we gonna mate or just stand around all night killing mosquitoes?”

I was getting annoyed. After all, I knew she’d probably eat me afterward. I was just following my nature. My damned, idiotic nature.

She reared up from her position, displaying a gorgeous view of her red, hourglass-shaped abdominal mark of death. Then she laughed and said, “Ha, you’re the third guy who’s been by here tonight, and the truth is I’m a little full. In fact, I’m stuffed with male spider meat. I need a break, okay? Come back tomorrow.”

I sighed with disgust. I knew I should’ve left my leaf a little earlier.

I also knew I’d return.

Interview With A Werewolf

I interviewed a werewolf. My questions are in black. His answers are in a bloody shade of crimson.

So, why do kids love Halloween so much?

Ha, that’s a dumb question. It’s all about the gratuitous sex and violence. The sweet taste of murder, the wild orgies in the woods.

Uh, I was thinking more about free candy. You know, Mild Duds and Smarties.

Oh, okay. Well, I hope it’s not about that. Because trudging around for five hours to fill a sack with three bucks worth of candy wouldn’t be so intelligent, right?

Are you saying kids are stupid?

I’m saying it’s about the thrill of the hunt… What will I get at this house? Something cheap and lackluster? Or something I can really sink my teeth into? But also, yeah, kids are stupid.

Halloween has become very popular with adults. Why do you think this has happened?

Because it’s pure fun. No relatives. No religion. No presents to buy. Just a partying good time.

Are you saying we don’t want to see our relatives?

Ben Franklin once said, “Fish and relatives both stink after three days.” I think he was being generous by about two days and 22 hours.

Have you ever eaten any of your relatives?

A few. But there’s always a backlash. My mom is still enraged about the time I devoured Uncle Tyrus.

Did you regret it?

Sure. The dumb bastard had Alzheimer’s disease. I spent the next six months forgetting to howl at the moon. Very embarrassing.

Happy Halloween.

You too.

A Love Story

Can a man buy love with a piece of jewelry? The guy at the jewelry store seemed to think so. But that damned diamond was so expensive. So I robbed a bank. Well, okay—it wasn’t a bank, it was a credit union. And I hated to shoot two people in the process, but what could I do? I was in love.

When I gave her the little box, I could she was upset.

“What’s wrong?” I said. “Don’t you like it?”

“Oh, I love it. It’s so beautiful. It’s just that, well…”

“What?”

“Do you know my friend, Sheila?”

“Sheila? Uh, no.”

“She’s the friend who had the little dog that drowned in the dishwasher.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean—no.” Because I never pay attention to stories involving friends or major appliances.

“Well, anyway, Sheila works over at the credit union on 23rd Street. And some guy shot her.”

Damn. Damn, damn, and god dammit to Hell. I knew I should have robbed a bank.

“Oh, honey, that’s terrible,” I say. “But won’t she recover? I mean, it was a low caliber weapon. Uh, right?”

“Yeah, she’ll recover.” Then a long sigh. “But I’m just not in the mood for love.”

I cursed and considered the irony of the situation. Relationships are so complicated.

Cold Apartment

The page was a wasteland of blank space. It was a frosty, white desert full of nothing.

But wait—here comes a character. Here comes a beautiful girl. She’s got a face like a flower and curves like a sports car. What does she want?

Does she want to dance and gyrate her hips and seductively peel off a few layers of clothing? Does she want to strip off her parka, her ski suit, her sweater, her long johns, her shirt, her camisole, her bra, her pantyhose, her socks, and her hiking boots?

Actually, no. Because it’s freezing in here. And I really wish someone would turn up the heat.