The Box

Stories for your uncle Harry. 

My new invention

Okay. I just built this. It took me all day. And a couple hours on Saturday.

Spelled with an 'f'

A planet spins on the edge of our solar system. It is remembered in folklore. As the planet X, slipping near the earth on its way passed the sun. Bringing death and destruction. It is the apocalypse. The end of days. Its real name is Jack
Frank Sinatra. Standing outside on his front lawn. Dressed in a suit. With a fedora. Looking up at the star lit sky. There’s a blond over in the corner of the lot. Sitting in a lounge chair. Drinking a daiquiri. And Frank saying what a nice evening it is. And the blond responds. What’s that supposed to mean.
A book about a philosopher. Spelled with an ‘f’ in the new world. His thoughts. On the planet jack. Which is the inside of his head.

Sinister and crazy

The sinister and the crazy meet. Waiting for the company to show up.

The Mystery of Edwin Drood

I am a corpse. On the ledge of a small blue planet. In the suburbs of the Milky Way. During the first days of the third Millennium. I have always talked. I wake up talking. I talk in my sleep. I interrupt people when they’re talking. I talk during movies. I talk with my mouth full of food. I do not talk while I am being intimate with a woman. Not unless I’m asked to. I can’t stop talking. I’m looking at God straight in the eyes. Now. God has a receding chin. No wonder he’s always wearing a beard. And he has very little personality. God is a chartered accountant. With a second set of books. God is a mortician. Drumming up business. A compost preparing us for decomposition. Or God is a publisher. With a musty smelling manuscript growing in his lap. I am looking my creator straight in the eyes and I have a story. It begins in a bottle.

The Moron

The Moron. A free book which would be a bargain at half the price. Download it now.

War

We loved to fight. We were Catholics. And they were Protestants. Were Irish, Italian and Polish. We didn’t know what they were. Didn’t care. And then mere pitch battles between students became an all out war between the two schools. Catholic and Protestant. No one who witnessed those days could ever feel more joy in his heart.
Read War.

Arab Spring

I hope good comes out of all this violence. But how is that possible.