Jim Archives

October 18, 2007

Jim: Who Needs Six Flags?

Bobby Mills was a born entrepreneur.

For example, when the suspension finally gave out on his rusted F-150 pickup truck, Bobby could have just had the shocks and struts replaced. But he didn’t.

Instead, for a buck a ride, he loaded the neighborhood kids into the truck’s bed and drove them up and down old Millstone Road. The gravel made for a fun ride but all the potholes made it downright exciting: definitely worth a dollar. Bobby had to stop, though, after little Randy Thibodeaux flew out of the truck.

But Bobby made enough cash to pay for the repairs.

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October 19, 2007

Jim: When All Weapons Fail

Deep within his castle - long believed to be impervious - Gonar the Merciless listened while one breathless messenger after another described the single foe’s relentless advance toward the throne room.

Gonar shifted on his throne of skulls and eyed the mystic armaments lining his walls. Should he use the Fire Sword of the Three Wizards? The Arcane Mace of Oblivion? The Halberd of the Ice Lord?

Too many choices, and not nearly enough time!

Massive, blood-encrusted doors slammed wide and, unaccompanied, a little man marched to the throne.

The man peered though thick glasses, smiled, and extended a subpoena.

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October 26, 2007

Jim: A Day In The Garden

“Oh dear!” squeaked Leticia Bristlebottom, her gossamer wings flailing wildly as she zigged to and zagged fro. “Stupid, stupid me!”

A monstrous pudgy hand grabbed for Leticia, which she barely avoided. One of those enormous fists would crush the life from her.

“What was I thinking?” she chided herself. “Everybody knows roses make me sleepy. And the petals are so comfortably soft.”

Once again, she narrowly escaped a clutching hand. From behind her, a voice boomed, “Pretty.”

Suddenly, a tree root lifted and tripped the chasing toddler. Leticia darted safely away. “Thanks, Mother,” she whispered.

The land sighed, “You’re welcome.”

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October 29, 2007

Jim: At Francissimo’s Pizzeria Emporium

“Look-a,” the waiter says past a bushy moustache as contrived as his accent. “This is-a the way we serve-a it in Italia.”

“It’s disgusting,” I tell him.

“I can-a tell you’ve-a never been-a to Europe,” he insists. “People don’t-a think this is-a disgusting over in-a Europe.”

“Now see here. Here in America, we just assume that when we order ice cream, that it’ll be frozen. Hence the word: ice.”

He shakes his head. “Okay-a. But that’ll-a cost-a you more.”

“Forget the damn ice cream. Just bring me a beer.”

The waiter sneers. “I suppose-a you want-a the beer cold, too?”

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November 1, 2007

Jim: Sparks

The summer sun crept across a pale blue sky, searing the high plains. The parched air - trapped between the throbbing sun and golden grass - hung heavy and swollen, almost solid in its utter stillness. Even the usual chirruping insects became lethargic in the heat and stuttered into silence.

Dry sand scraping his belly, Kangee crawled hand over hand through the tall, yellow grass that blanketed the crest between the shallow canyon and the great valley beyond. Behind him, in the tiny canyon, Kangee’s older brother, Enapay, stood still as stone and held the bridles of both Shu-u hunting

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November 2, 2007

Jim: Or...

The hologram displayed a girl wearing really big earmuffs. Luke stared as she endlessly looped, “You’re our only hope,” while bending over in a furtive half-bow.

“Obi-wan?” the farm boy asked the malfunctioning robot. “Could she mean Old Ben Kanobi?” Then he shook his head and grinned. “No way,” he decided. “That old coot doesn’t even wear pants.”

The robot spun its muffin top and issued an irritating stream of bleeps, bloops and whistles.

The farm boy tightened the robot’s restraining bolt. “Don’t worry,” he assured the robot. “I’ll fix your voice synthesizer right after I wipe that broken recording.”

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November 5, 2007

Jim: The Quarry

The tempest raged, blowing up clashing waves from all directions and frothing the decks of the mighty brig, Soul of Nantucket, with thick sea foam.

Sails strained against dangerously creaking masts, yet the ship kept its course through the harrowing seas. “Ye’ll not escape me this time,” swore the ship’s able captain, massive arms wrestling the helm. From under ponderous, white eyebrows, he squinted into the storm.

A cry rang out from the main crows nest. Men instantly grabbed wicked harpoons and leapt into their boats.

The captain saw his prey and grinned. Thar she was, the Great Yellow Duck!

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November 9, 2007

Jim: Sometime During The Fall

A Germanic warrior surveyed the columns of smoke and grinned, “The sacking of Rome is nearly complete, my Lords. The roundheads are all dead or running away.”

The Chief of the Vandals looked up from scratching his name onto a marble column and nodded. “How many Cs are there in 475 A.D.?” he asked thoughtfully.

The Goth Warlord, dressed in the somber black of his people, moaned and sighed. Then he asked, “Why do you call them ‘roundheads’, Oethgar?”

“It’s a name Grimhelm the Red started using,” Oethgar explained. “He thought of it while we were looting the Caesarian section.”

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November 13, 2007

Jim: Norse By Norsewest

Theft, rape and murder meant little to the Ostengaard Vikings. After all, that was how they made a living. Yet breathe even the slightest blasphemy about the Gods of Valhalla and you would be staked next to the fjord at low tide, to slowly drown when the waters rolled back in.

The lisping Olaf the Pink was well known for being a little…different. So it came as no surprise when he was staked out for Ostengaard’s one true sin.

“Wait!” he screamed to his executioners. “I jutht thpent the day thkiing! That’th why I thaid I wath a little Thor!”

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November 15, 2007

Jim: That'll Be $200

“Mister Smith! I’m glad you could make it in to see me on such short notice.

“What? Oh, yes. The reason you’re here is because I didn’t think you should be alone when we discussed this.

“Yes, yes. After, what is it? Eighty-four sessions? We’ve certainly spent a lot of time talking about your desire to be accepted. I know all about the social blunders and ruined relationships brought on by this driving need of yours. And you’ve ignored all of my advice.

“That’s why I’m recommending that you find yourself another analyst.

“Oh, and Mister Smith? Stop calling me.”

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