David Archives

December 5, 2006

David: Adaptation

Hestia wound up a stay-at-home mom in Ohio. Apollo is lifting weights and riding the surf at Venice Beach. Hera got elected to Congress for New York. Hermes is majority stockholder in Fed Ex, but spends his time working at free clinics all over the world. Vulcan and Venus broke up ages ago. Last I heard, he was in Japan, heading up someone’s R&D department.

Now, Venus, she’s made a name for herself recently. With her gender-surpassing good looks and smoldering sexuality, Hollywood was the only place for her. I still don’t get why she married that Brad Pitt, though.

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December 6, 2006

David: The Big Day

Standing at the altar, the groom surreptitiously glanced at his watch.

The best man whispered to him, “Now’s your chance, Steve. You can still make a break for it.”

“Knock it off,” Steve hissed in reply.

“I’m serious, dude. She’s crazy. Run while you can.”

“That’s my fiancée you’re talking about.”

The door at the rear of the church opened. A bridesmaid hurried up the aisle, carrying a note. She gave it to Steve. It read:

“I can’t go through with it. You’re not the man for me. I hope you can forgive me someday.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Thank God.”

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David: The Big Day

Standing at the altar, the groom surreptitiously glanced at his watch.

The best man whispered to him, “Now’s your chance, Steve. You can still make a break for it.”

“Knock it off,” Steve hissed in reply.

“I’m serious, dude. She’s crazy. Run while you can.”

“That’s my fiancée you’re talking about.”

The door at the rear of the church opened. A bridesmaid hurried up the aisle, carrying a note. She gave it to Steve. It read:

“I can’t go through with it. You’re not the man for me. I hope you can forgive me someday.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Thank God.”

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December 7, 2006

David: Violation

“Every night,” she muttered, pouring the wine. “He does it to me every night. And then he expects me to lie next to him and go to sleep as if it were nothing.” She opened the box of rat poison and picked up a spoon. “I’m totally justified in doing this,” she continued as she scooped out a heaping spoonful of the hazardous powder. “Any woman in my position, who’s been through what I have, would do exactly the same thing.” She dropped the poison into the glass and stirred until it dissolved. “This should teach him not to snore.”

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December 8, 2006

David: Coming soon to U-62!

[A woman screams in an alley. Her shadow falls across a building.]

[Later, the police swarm around.]

“Anything?”

The forensics guy shakes his head.

“Get me Dead Ted!”

[music sting accompanies the title: Dead Ted: Zombie P.I.]

“Rrrrr,” says Ted.

“Thank God you’re here, Ted. The victim was stabbed 48 times, beaten with a crowbar, and set on fire. Nobody saw or heard anything. What do you make of it?”

Ted sniffs the air. “Brraiinnnsss.”

The Detective looks at the body again. “You’re right! Her brain’s been removed. How did we miss that? You’ve done it again, Dead Ted!”

“Uuuhhhhnnnnn.”

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December 11, 2006

David: Eski-Mafia

“We got a problem, Don Muklukbuknuk,” said the henchman.

“What is it, Chukbuknukluk?”

“It’s dat diamond merchant, Bukmukshukpuk. He missed his payment again. Dat makes three.”

Don Muklukbuknuk sighed regretfully. “Take Schmukbukrukluk and go put him on ice.”

“On ice, boss?”

“Yeah, you got a problem wit’ dat?”

“No, boss. But, we live above the Arctic Circle. Pretty much everyone’s on ice already.”

Don Muklukbuknuk shook his head. “I’m workin’ wit’ morons. Whaddaya think I mean when I say, ‘Put him on ice’? Put da bum on an ice floe and push ‘im out ta sea.”

“You got it, boss.”

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December 12, 2006

David: Creepiest. PSA. Ever.

Hi, I’m Satan.

At this time of year, western civilization is positively atwitter in anticipation of the upcoming midwinter festivities. Hey, I don’t blame you. The idea that people can love one another unconditionally and give unselfishly of themselves is powerful. It’s only right that you should chase your bliss.

I know what you’re thinking. No, seriously, I do. You’re thinking I’m evil incarnate and must therefore be, as the kids say, “up to something.” Well, relax. I just wanted to take a moment to remind you of the reason for the season, and what you’re up against.

Happy holidays.

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December 13, 2006

David: Fruit Flies Like a Banana

He burst out of the basement and shouted, “Of course! My entropy vector is inverted! Honey, you’re a genius! I have to go.”

She looked up from the magazine she was reading. “Entropy vector? What are you talking about?”

“This is confusing for both of us, I think. There’s no need to insult me.”

“Insult you? Look, I don’t know what lamebrained project you’ve cooked up down there, but it doesn’t give you the right to run up here and act like an idiot.”

“Honey, guess what? My time machine works!” With that, he ran back down into the basement.

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December 14, 2006

David: Lingo

The words crackled out of the radio’s speaker. “I say again, there is a fat man in your bathtub.”

“Sarge?”

“Stow it, Kowalski, and get a visual on that ridge.” The private crept up to the edge of the foxhole and peered out through binoculars.

“Tanks, Sarge! I make it three R-91’s.”

“Damn it!” growled the sergeant. He lifted up the handset to his ear. “The banjo is angry at midnight.”

The voice on the radio said, “Confirm?”

“Midnight, damn it! My dog has fleas! The weather is nice in Barbados this time of year!”

“Frosted cherry poptart, over.”

BOOM!

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December 15, 2006

David: ...A Boarding Party!

“Men!” shouted Cap’n Blackjack Barbarossa. “We’ve got her sighted on the horizon!” The pirates cheered. “That fat Spanish galleon be ours for the takin’! By nightfall, we’ll all be as rich as kings, or Davy Jones take us!” The crew cheered again. “Now get to work!” he ordered, and the men rushed about to make ready for battle.

They were in gun range by mid-afternoon. Cannons flared, and a lucky hit took down the Spaniards’ mainmast. The pirates swept their deck with grapeshot, decimating the crew. Grappling lines were thrown, and the buccaneers swarmed aboard, cutlasses swinging and pistols flashing.

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