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.

The Comma

The comma crawled up from the bottom of the page and considered an appropriate destination. How about before a conjunction? Yes, that would be a sweet little spot to plant a pause. But wait—is that a dependent clause after the “and”? And won’t that be a problem? Many commas end up living their lives there—until an editor comes along and hits the deadly delete key. Ha, maybe this page won’t be edited. Maybe this page will become a safe haven for ill-placed punctuation. The comma sighed, knowing it had a duty to maintain a degree of grammatical integrity. With some resignation, the comma moved to a new location properly nestled before a conjunction that preceded an independent clause, and the surrounding words breathed a sigh of relief.

But what about all these dashes? And what about all these sentences starting with the words “and” and “but?” Would the page never be correct? And then a voice echoed from high above:

“Will you shut the fuck up? This is a graphic novel. It’s a COMIC BOOK. We don’t need to be so perfect.”

Ha, okay—fair enough. But the comma was still glad it had moved.

DIGITAL DIRT

“Johnson, we were going to hire you—but then we googled your name and didn’t like what we saw. So you’re out.”

“Out? Well, uh, what did you see?”

“Pictures of you drinking. And laughing. And having fun. You don’t look busy at all.”

“Well, those pictures weren’t taken at work—”

“Exactly! You were in a bar. You were playing in a band. That’s an outside interest and we can’t have that sort of thing.”

“Uh, doesn’t everyone have outside interests?”

“Of course! But we keep them secret. Why, I happen to collect Nazi war memorabilia. I’ve got three hundred SS daggars and a boot worn by
Heinrich Himmler.”

“But you said you wanted someone creative—”

“Creative? Yes! But only if you conform to the image of the company! And our image is very neutral.”

“You mean ‘bland?’”

“EXACTLY! WE ARE BLAND!”

“So you want a creative person who’s very bland?”

“YES! That is the essence of corporate America. You can think all you want to—just as long as you think like everyone else.”

“Okay. I’ll apply at a different place.”

“Of course you will. Now send in the next person.”

Anatomy Of A Horror Movie

“They’re coming! Run! Hide!”

“Where?”

“Down in the basement—it’s dark and scary and there’s no way out!”

“No! I have a better idea. Let’s go outside! I have a car that never starts!”

“Wait! Let’s try the old, abandoned mineshaft! That should be safe!”

“No! Let’s head for the creepy catacombs under the backyard!”

“Or maybe the crypt in the ancient burial ground!”

“Or the warehouse filled with guillotines!”

“Hey, how dumb are we? Do we deserve to live?”

“Of course not! Unless they need us for the sequel.”

End Of The Line

“Johnson, I’m afraid we have to let you go.”

“Let me go? What? Where?”

“Out there into the land of opportunity.”

“Oh, so in other words, I’m going—”

“Into the parking lot. You’re fired.”

“What?”

“Canned, you nitwit. Terminated. Chopped. TOSSED OUT ON YOUR OBSOLETE ASS!”

“Huh, all right… But I’ve been here for twenty years!”

“Yes, and we appreciate your service. I never said it was an easy decision, even though it was a piece of cake—you’ve outlived your usefulness and the company needs to cut costs and that’s life.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say—”

“You can say ‘goodbye.’”

“Uh, okay. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye to you, too, Johnson. And good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

ALIEN SEX

The captain’s yeoman, Bunny, came running into the control room of the starship Grope.

“Captain, there’s an alien in your bed!” she said.

The captain paused and put down his bottle of whiskey. “Really? Is it male or female?”

Bunny hesitated. “I think it’s female—it’s wearing high heels.”

“Ha.” The captain scratched the cleft in his chin. “Our last security chief wore five-inch pumps, and he was a guy. And I still wonder about all those panties that disappeared from the washroom.”

“The alien is watching Oprah,” Bunny said. “And reading a Nora Roberts novel.”

“Oooooh, okay.” The captain leaned back in his leather armchair and grinned. “So it’s a female.” Then he leered a bit. “Is she attractive?”

Bunny looked away. “Maybe,” she said. “In a magenta-colored, tentacle-flailing kind of way.” Then she blurted, “Did you find my ruby earrings in your room? I can’t seem to find them, and I had them on that night we—”

The captain laughed. “I mean, will she eat me after we do it? Because some of these creatures are into that kind of thing. They kill the guy after they do it—for no reason at all.”

Bunny sighed. “She’s very sexy, and she’s not going to eat you. In fact, she’s writhing around with her legs open, waiting for you to jump on top of her, okay? Are you happy now?”

“Yes!” He jumped from his chair. “Where is my pangalactic birth control kanoodle?”

Bunny scowled. “It’s right here, sir.” And she pulled out a pistol.

POOM!

And shot the captain in the chest.

“UGH!”

The captain grabbed his heart, and then he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Bunny frowned and tossed the gun onto his dead body. Then she shook her head and considered her evening plans. After all, it was the weekend—and once again she didn’t have a date. But did she even care? She was tired of caring.

She smiled and picked up the captain’s bottle of whiskey. Maybe she’d go see if the alien girl felt like having a few drinks.

Spaceship Romance

The spaceship was smooth like a cigar. Are cigars smooth? Maybe not. Maybe the spaceship was smooth like a piece of porcelain. But it was smoking like a cigar. It was smoking like a cigar and about to crash. How will our hero escape? Through the door. Wait, wait—that’s too mundane and totally lacking in drama. Maybe he will escape through the garbage chute, and he’ll end up with a mouthful of trash. So our hero is crawling through a smoky garbage chute, trying to escape from his burning craft, and his mouth is filled with greasy chicken bones and a rotten banana peel and he’s slipping and sliding in spilled, rancid beer and he’s not going to make it. And he’s trying to spit the refuse from his mouth but his eyes are filling with smoke and his nostrils are filling with stench and he’s gagging and choking and he says, “MMMMMMMF! MMMMMMMF! UGH!” and then he pukes and now he’s flailing around in stink and drool and puke and everything is starting to go black. But then one of his flailing arms hits the JETTISON TRASH button and he’s shot from the chute—KABOOM!—and he’s whistling through the unpolluted air of a distant world while the ship streaks toward its impact with a local mountain range and just as it explodes—KAPOW!—our hero splashes down into a crystal lake of cleanliness where he’s rescued by a beautiful yet lascivious mermaid who tends to his wounds. They have wild sex on an overgrown lily pad and live happily ever after. The end.

METEOR

I was soaring above the world, and I knew it wouldn’t last. The wind was a storm that tasted cold and alive. The tentacle-flames burned a smile in the air. So long.