David Archives

August 30, 2007

David: Next, On Springer

“You can’t tell me what to do, Mother! I’m a grown woman!”

“’Grown’?! You’re barely out of swaddling. I refuse to let you see that horrible man again. He’s old enough to be your grandfather.”

“He’s not horrible! He loves me. He’s asked me to move in with him.”

“Absolutely not! You can’t— I can’t…. I’d wither away without you.”

“Mom… you’ll be fine. I’ll visit all the time.”

“Please, don’t….”

“It’s time, Mom. Let me go.”

“Fine. Go. Break your mother’s heart.”

Watching her daughter leave, a tear fell from Demeter’s eye, and the first leaf of autumn dropped.

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August 31, 2007

David: Arranged Marriage

All right, here’s a story, kids. Once upon a time, your lazy, no-account father was rampaging across the countryside, raping and pillaging, when he came upon a tower in the middle of Goddamned nowhere. It was the very tower my bitch stepmother had locked me in years earlier, because she was jealous of my perfect teeth or some shit.

Anyway, your shiftless, drunken father smashed his way through the wall, completely avoiding the tests of worth ensorcelled into the door. The rules said I had to marry the asshole, or die.

And that’s where babies come from. Go to sleep.

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September 4, 2007

David: Progress! Industry! Science!

George stared vacantly at the beaker, which was ever so slowly filling with fluid from his test apparatus. His eyes glazed over as he followed the miniscule rising of the meniscus. He imagined he could see individual molecules diving into the ocean of the beaker, then clambering up the sides in a futile attempt to avoid being absorbed by the collective.

But it would be worth it on that day in the misty future when his genius was recognized, when he would receive the-- dare he imagine? Yes, dare!-- Nobel Prize for his work making food coloring 0.04% less carcinogenic.

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September 5, 2007

David: How Could A Just And Loving God Conceive Such A Thing?

“Did you know they have spiders in Australia the size of small dogs?”

“No way!”

“Way. They’re, like, facehugger-sized. Imagine waking up in the middle of the night because you feel a tickle, and discovering an Alaskan king crab sitting on your chest.”

“Oh, God…”

“Except, instead of eye stalks they have those eight spider eyes, and those mandibles waving back and forth an inch away from your nose.”

“You are totally freaking me out right now.”

“They say if you bug-spray them, it only pisses them off. And then they jump at your face. So, have a nice trip.”

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September 6, 2007

David: Beyond Human

The advent of artificial organs was a boon to that half of the population whose bodies could accept them. Rejection was binary; if someone rejected so much as an artificial skin graft, then lungs and livers were forever denied them.

It became briefly trendy to trade out boring natural organs for the sweetest hotrod bio-accessories. Lungs with superchargers, over-clocked pancreii, alternative spectrum eyes, anything the fashionably surgery-minded could imagine. Hips for the hip.

Then they passed laws requiring those who could accept artificial organs to donate their natural ones to those who couldn’t.

They took my heart in San Francisco.

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September 10, 2007

David: The Injustice Society

Doctor Doom banged the gavel. “This meeting of the Misunderstood Philanthropists’ Association is called to order. Elphaba, read the minutes from the last meeting.”

The Wicked Witch studied her Grimmerie. “Meeting started at 7:12. Old business: interfering do-gooders, the fools at the institute. New business: showing them all. Meeting assumed adjourned at 10:38 as attendees fell to recriminations, baseless boasting, and maniacal laughter.”

Doom continued, “Our first order of business tonight is the induction of new members. Ladies, gentlemen, and others, presented for your consideration: Arvin Sloane, Gaius Baltar, and Lord Voldemort.”

The applause was thunderous. Literally, in some cases.

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September 11, 2007

David: Family

The ninth Earl of Sandwich, his son Hoagarth, and his daughter Bunhilda took a trip to Hawaii.

“Daddee,” whined little Bunhilda, “why aren’t these called the Sandwich Islands anymore? I’d like it ever so much to have islands named after us.”

“I bet it was pirates,” sneered Hoagarth, who was at that age when everything was pirates. “They used these islands as a base, which brought shame on our family name. Grandpa Rollo probably got it changed to rescue our honor.”

“Bun, Hoagie, look! Our hotel,” the Earl announced. He knew the disgraceful reason. It involved Lafayette, that French dip.

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September 12, 2007

David: Oh, He's Our Shortstop

“I enjoy a good marathon.”

“Marathon? You mean that stuff they spray to kill fruit flies and gave all those Vietnam vets cancer?”

“No, you’re thinking of malathion.”

“I thought malathion was that drug that if you take it when you’re pregnant you get flipper babies.”

“No, that’s thalidomide.”

“Thalidomide? Are you sure? I thought that was that town in ancient Greece where they had some big battle and then a guy ran 26 miles to tell the general his side won and then he dropped dead.”

“No, that’s a marathon.”

“You like running 26 miles and dropping dead? Why?”

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September 13, 2007

David: It's Always Something

Lao Feng lay on his death bed, performing step 999 of the Thousand Steps to Enlightenment, the review and recitation of his previous 998 acts to his fellow monks. Only step 1000, abandonment of the flesh, would come after.

“Step 475: I stood humble in the face of my greatest achievement, the completion of the meditation wall.

“Step 476: I accepted that all matter is transient with the destruction of the meditation wall.

“Step 477: I… I…”

The brother prompted him. “You took neither food nor drink for a month to purify your body and soul.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s it.”

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September 14, 2007

David: Bunk!

Randi waited on the rooftop opposite the stage door, sniper rifle in position. Decades of debunking charlatans, only to have their careers swindling a gullible public thriving, had taken their toll. The million-dollar dare had lost impact. More direct action was necessary.

Doug Henning had been first. Not all rainbows and frizzy hair now, was it? Tricking the tiger into attacking Siegfried—or was it Roy?—didn’t go quite as planned. Tonight’s target: David Blaine.

The stage door opened. Randi aimed. Blaine stepped out. Randi fired, flinching involuntarily. He looked; Blaine was gone.

Randi heard a step. He turned. “How?”

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