Jim Archives

November 15, 2006

Jim: Read The Directions Carefully

Pop stardom’s latest diva led her entourage through the mansion. “Finally!” she squealed. “I get to see where my money went!”

Dr. Bannock jogged in her wake. “It wasn’t easy,” he panted. “Frankly, some think the technology isn’t really ethical.”

“Nonsense,” the ingénue pouted.

“Hey!” Dr. Bannock grinned, rushing ahead. “I just do what you pay me to do.” He swung open the door and the starlet rushed inside.

She ran out screaming, splattered with feces and with a dozen chimpanzees screeching behind her.

That was when Dr. Bannock, cloning expert, discovered that she wanted the apex of human technology.

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November 16, 2006

Jim: The New Marlboro Country

Ten light-years from home and surrounded by Jellies, Johnson and I squatted in our foxhole and lit up a final smoke.

Suddenly, one of those squids jumped right into the damned hole. And he had the drop on us.

“Hoomuns,” the word spat from that horrid beak. “Give smoke stick.”

A quivering tentacle grabbed the cigarette and placed it into the beak. One deep puff and the Jelly fell fast asleep.

No Jelly could resist tobacco and they all had the same reaction. We reached the Evac pods an entire carton later.

And Camel Filter Kings became Earth’s greatest weapon.

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November 20, 2006

Jim: The Wonder Brawl

Doug spat out the metallic warmth of fresh blood while more poured down his face. He pushed himself back to his feet and curled his thin fists.

Frankie grinned. “You ain’t been beaten enough, boy?” he jibed.

At three hundred pounds of near-solid muscle, Frankie was more than most men could handle. But for a frail man like Doug, conquering this behemoth was impossible.

Nevertheless, Doug stalked forward.

And stopped when a five-foot, silver haired whirlwind appeared – kicking and gouging so furiously that Frankie never had a chance.

“Never touch my son again,” Doug’s mother hissed at the fallen thug.

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November 21, 2006

Jim: Drag Racing

The old man on a motor scooter pulled up next to Jake. “Nice car,” the codger said, poking his head inside.

“It’s a Bugatti,” Jake sneered. “Fastest car on the road.”

The light turned green and Jake thought he left the geezer coughing tire smoke.

Until he heard, “Beep, beep” and watched the scooter fly past him.

Then, “Beep, beep” as the scooter soared past in reverse.

Jake floored it but the scooter beeped past him again. And then again backward.

Topping two hundred miles per hour, Jake suddenly noticed the old guy’s suspenders were caught on his side mirror.

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November 22, 2006

Jim: And I'll Die If I Want To

The party’s white noise was a pleasing mix of droning classic rock and dozens of light-hearted conversations.

“Some of us at the office didn’t think it was a good idea for Jay to host this year’s party,” Frank whispered to his wife.

“Why is that?” she replied. “It’s a nice party.”

“You’ll see,” Frank grinned.

Across the room, Jay turned on a karaoke machine. “Thanks for coming, everybody,” he said into the microphone. “Have you all heard the joke about these two guys, one in a Bugatti and the other on a motor scooter?”

The guests edged toward the exits.

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November 24, 2006

Jim: Rejected Themes

• Write about Pythagoras from a different angle.
• Why does the list of crap you put up with now include “emu”?
• Use the words flippant and befell (difficulty – no insects).
• All’s fair in love and war. Describe using nuclear weapons for both.
• Your epic battle against Children’s Services.
• Why do liberals or conservatives (pick one) suck?
• A bear shit in the woods. What now?
• A recipe for disaster (difficulty – use 3 cups of sugar).
• The Stephen Hawkings / Christopher Reeve cage match.

And the final reject is:

• Write about a Bugatti.

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November 27, 2006

Jim: They Snuck Past Your Eyes

For generations, milkmen went door-to-door, delivering fresh dairy products and sometimes satisfying certain other needs for the occasional bored housewife.

It all seemed harmless enough.

Then fathers concerned about odd behaviors from their supposed offspring began initiating DNA tests. The results from those tests trickled in to various government bureaus.

Eventually some middle management bureaucrat discovered the awful truth. Milkmen, by and large, weren’t low-level laborers. Most of them weren’t even human.

We don’t know where the aliens came from. Hell, we don’t even really care.

All we care about is eliminating those sons-of-bitches and their ill-begotten progeny.

Got bullets?

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November 28, 2006

Jim: Here's To Your Health!

“Psst! Brother! Can I talk to you for a second?

“I really hope I’m not making a mistake in confiding with you, Brother. But the look in your eyes makes me think you’re having some doubts, too.

“Why, yes, I would love a cold drink! Thanks!

“Anyway, where’s the paradise we were promised? I spend twelve hours a day tending goats and all I eat is rice. How is that better than my old life as a milkman?

“And I swear Guyana is the hottest place I’ve ever been. More like Hell than Eden, eh?

“Hey, is this grape flavored?”

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November 29, 2006

Jim: Tough Love

The vodka cleared away the clouds from the old general’s eyes. “You want to know why I did it?” he asked.

I nodded and refilled his glass.

“She betrayed me,” he began. “Me and all of those who loved her so deeply.”

“She?”

“Mother Russia! She let the West take her from us. She did not even struggle!”

“Why nuke Moscow, General?”

“Don’t you see? I thought the people would rise up and blame America. We would fight the final war and Russia would become great again!”

The firing squad took position. “Do svidaniya, General,” I said. And walked away.

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November 30, 2006

Jim: The Bodyguard

Jenkins, his face an expressionless mask behind dark glasses, leaned over and said, “We have to go, sir.”

“Damn!” I grunted, pushing away from my half-eaten meal. I trusted my bodyguard’s remarkable talent for sensing trouble so I tossed a Franklin onto the table and fell in behind him.

Jenkins suddenly sidestepped. He commanded, “Get down!” just as the first gunshot boomed in the crowded restaurant. Two more shots sounded before Jenkins could draw his pistol and drop the assassin.

Jenkins fell. “I’m shot, sir.”

While my bodyguard’s lubricant pooled under his motionless body, I called the customer service hotline.

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