Last month was tough. I wrote thirty stories each day — short stories, short fiction, or flash fiction. My process is simple. First, I let my faithful companion, Thor, choose which ones he thinks I should publish.
He’s a tricky character.
He likes stories about murder, and satirical humour, mostly. Once he’s chosen his favorites, my second reader, Leopold, culls through those Thor has shortlisted.
The most outrageous, outlandish, ridiculous, and absurd on the face of it, idea has been concocted by a tiny turd from the Netherlands. By giving a TED talk (and the preposterousness of that focal point for fancifulness knows no bounds and is not going to be discussed further here), whoring the idea on social media, and raising millions of dollars from gullible goons, an idea was hatched to put plastic into the ocean in order to remove plastic from the ocean. I’m not a scientist. I’m just an individual with an abundant supply of common sense. But a cursory glimpse…
Will we make it to the year 2050?
No. At least not in the way we think of humans occupying the planet. It won’t be nomadic bands led by warlords of popular Mad Max ruminations. And of course it won’t be the tech bros living on their 900-meter yachts or in their pseudo-Eden bunkers in New Zealand either. No. They and their entourages will have murdered one another or committed suicide once the reality of the end becomes apparent. Besides, the complex technologies of the 21st century will no longer be operable. Supposed gourmet, long-life tinned goods will have turned…
…Tonight, at dinner, don’t mention to my mother that you give me head. She’s still quite old-fashioned.
..What! How on earth would that come up in the course of conversation?
...I’m not saying that it will come up. What I’m saying is just don’t mention it. She’s an old-fashioned kind of lady.
..What are you talking about! Who would bring that sort of thing up? Is your mother going to bring it up?
…No. No. No. It’s just that I don’t want it mentioned. I’m not trying to get into an argument with you.
..Why would I mention it? In…
Never, ever will I support Joe Biden.
I would rather see the world destroyed by the orange clown. At least then we have a chance to rebuild from the ashes.
Much has been said about the rich getting richer. Well, now it’s happening on a scale unseen in human history. But during the eight years of the Obama reign, this was the plan. And make no mistake, a Biden presidency would simply return to the Obama trajectory — a slow but steady return to feudalism, where most of us are serfs.
And say what you will, at least the orange…
The disease isn’t contagious. There’s nothing to worry about, except for the prejudices still deeply held by a lot of the public.
What happened to your arm?
It was an accident.
What kind of accident? (I couldn’t for the life of me imagine the accident that had taken his limb, though I’m sure there was an explanation…)
It was a hunting accident. When I was a child.
I was just wondering because, when I came in, Sister Carmichael — I believe her name was —
— had what at first I thought was a clubfoot. But actually, as I…
GOOD-MORNING, BRITAIN (IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE ‘GREAT’, IF EVER). THE MAN WHO WANTED YOU’S DEAD, IN ORDER TO SOLVE A MYRIAD OF TROUBLESOME ISSUES AT A STROKE — THE HOUSING CRISIS, UNEMPLOYMENT, DEFLECTING BREXIT SCRUTINY — IS ALIVE AND WELL. HAVING BEEN TRANSFUSED WITH SURVIVOR BLOOD, HE LIVES, TO ONCE MORE LIE, BLUFF, STEAL, CHEAT, ATTEMPT ANOTHER MASS — ER, MINOR — MURDER SPREE, SELL YOUR HEALTHCARE SYSTEM TO THE YANKS, AND CONTINUE TO PROCREATE WILLY-NILLY.
CHANTING THE MANTRA OF ‘SAVE THIS’, ‘SAVE THAT’ — THINGS HE ONCE, AND WILL AGAIN, CHANGE TO ‘SELL THIS’, ‘GUT THAT’, ‘CUT…
We’re the older generations. Your parents, grandparents and great grandparents. We’re your old aunts and uncles. We fought the great wars. Started them too. We took away the hope of Europe. We crushed you with unsurmountable student debt. We destroyed the planet. We stole your futures. We elected right-wing buffoons and clowns who deny science. We stole a woman’s right to her own body. We raped maids in hotel rooms, molested little boys and girls in the name of religion, and maintained a system of sexual abuse that was as common as running water in a pay-to-play Hollywood system.
And She Died For It
My grandmother voted for Donald Trump, and she died for it. A shrewd woman, eighty-seven years old, all of us in the family were sure she’d make it to over 100, died from the Trump pandemic of 2020.
Often in our interactions with her, we’d listen politely to her views, most of them outdated, borderline racist, or confusing of truth from lie. But because of love, each of us gave her a pass.
What were we to do? At 87, she’d been around the block. A successful businesswoman, from the 1950’s, until her retirement in…
Watching the news from Europe — democracies with marginal to adequate national health services — I can only marvel at the laughable notion that the United States is prepared for this threat. The effects of the virus here in Europe have already altered travel, work, international relations, and more, as the nations of the EU and the UK await its full impacts. While the death rate has so far been low, the pockets of infection are popping up in unexpected places. …
From the hot, humid South, writing about uncomfortable truths and our present-day insanity. Voted handsomest man in Éire. Crime thriller just completed.