JeffR Archives

May 24, 2007

Jeff R.:Hand-me-Down

Sarah's face turned ashen as Paul came down the stairs. "What's wrong, mom?" he said.

She didn't respond, didn't even breathe until her body had to choose between answering or fainting. "That shirt..."

"What about it?"

"Why are you...that was..."

"What's all the fuss about?" boomed Nathan's voice from upstairs.

Blood returned to Sarah's face as she dragged Paul upstairs, by the collar. "This is Martin's shirt."

"He used to get his clothes when Marty couldn't wear them anymore," argued Nathan. "And it's not-"

Sarah slapped Nathan across the face as Paul scampered downstairs and out the door.

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May 25, 2007

Jeff R.: Say What You Like...

"So what is it that you United Nihilists believe in?"

"Nothing."

"What, like the absence of God in a cold and unfeeling universe?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh?"

"We don't believe in the universe."

"So you're solipsists, then?"

"No, no, we doubt our own existence too."

"But that's basic Descartes: Cogito, Ergo Sum and all that."

"We doubt both the fact of our thinking and the logical inference process itself."

"But you do believe in coming to people's doors and interrupting them during their dinners."

"Well, not so much believe as consider it a good way to get out of the house."

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May 30, 2007

Jeff R.: Clever and Classless and Free

The Copper Syndicate bastard wore a smug look, meaning that he thought he owned the police union, or at least had rented them. He was probably right about that, too. Our teamsters alone couldn't stand up to a police assault, true, but it's not like they'd be alone. Everybody needs coal, and everybody needs stuff hauled. Everybody including the Magnificant People's Anachro-Syndicalist Republican Army, so our boys would be packing some serious hardware: field artillery, man-portable rocket launchers, even a few tanks back in the trucks. If Copper wanted a fair contract, fine. If they wanted a fight, even better...

See also: Something to Be

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June 6, 2007

Jeff R.: Good Help is Hard to Find

I was livid. And my family had to bear the force of my anger, since the contractors had gone home for the day by the time saw what they had done. Somehow, though, I got through the night without inflicting violence on anyone.

The next morning I stayed late so I could meet them before going to work.

"You gotta problem?" their leader asked me when I came out to meet them.

"Of course I have a problem." I said.

"What's wrong?"

"The driveway. It's supposed to be paved and smooth, but look at it: it's all dusty and gravel-y."

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June 13, 2007

Jeff R.: War Story

So no shit, there I was taking the kids to the zoo, and we're checking out the big cats. We look at the lions and tigers and even a puma, and we're heading onward when I spot a sign: "Beware of the leotard."

So we all laugh at that misspelling, and we're about to go when Junior says "But what if we do see a leopard?"

"Son," I say, "Don't worry. I've handled worse in the 'Nam than some oversized pussy-cat. There won't be any problem."

So we get moving. And that's when Olivia Newton-John jumped out of the bushes...

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June 14, 2007

Jeff R.: Gumshoe's Quartina

She glided into my office
My pulse went racing from her walk
She fanned herself to beat the heat
Then opened an attache case.

"So Danny, will you take my case?"
I would, since it was my office
To save her from the cops, the heat
So she could on all charges walk.

And so I embarked on a walk,
And hurried down the old stair case,
Then noticed: in the moment's heat
I'd left my keys in the office.

They waited in my office, three large gunsels packing heat.
Advising me that I should walk away from Sharon's case.

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June 18, 2007

Jeff R.: What a Tale

You've heard the story about belling of the cat? None of the mice had the stones to actually put the bell around the cat's neck, but that wasn't the end of it. See, the cat heard the plan, and thought it a fine idea, except it shouldn't be she who wears the bell but the dog, a large German Shepherd that terrorized her. So the cat procured a bell and, while the dog slept, belled it.

It worked for a while. Then the mice got their own bells, and could make the cat flee the Rin-tin-tin tinabulation of their bells.

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June 25, 2007

Jeff R.:Ding, Dong

The mob dispersed, returning home, washing blood from hands and clothes. Saul Jobson's boy saw his father at the soap, asked what he was doing. Saul made excuses, but didn't think the boy believed, and smothered the lad in his bed, burying him out back.

Others were doing likewise, disposing of children, brothers, or wives that knew too much. By week's end they'd a taste for killing, and were settling every grudge, satisfying every appetite they never knew they had.

The bell didn't stop ringing until the last man in Virtue clubbed the last woman to death with a shovel.

From David's Pact

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July 11, 2007

Jeff R:A Practical Demonstation of Why Wodehouse Pastiche and the 100-Word Story Form Don't Really Mesh

My butler and I, have an excellent working relationship. I can ask him something like "Where exactly is the senior Mr. Beckinridge?", and he'll immediately deploy a reply absolutely dripping in wisdom like "I believe his absence is a consequence of the younger Mr. Beckinridge's having rolled a grenade into the foyer where the senior Mr. Beckirdige had been resting."

"Oh Dear. So the two didn't get along?"

"To the contrary. The elder was, by this action, spared an agonizingly prolonged death by wasting disease. It was clearly an act of love."

"With a love grenade, yes?"

"Quite right, Sir."

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July 19, 2007

Jeff R.: Loophole

It was before your time, almost before mine. Your grandfather was courting your grandmother, and being an old-fashoned guy, he was at her window near every night serenading his little heart out.

This particular night, he caught his pant leg on a nail, and it pulled clean off, leaving him down to his underwear, but she was expecting him, so he sang anyhow. And that's when the new security lights flashed on.

Now, try and imagine-and I know it don't come easy, what he must have looked like all those years ago, singing those silly love songs in his skivvies.

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