Michele Archives

August 12, 2005

Michele: I Kissed a Man in Reno Just So I Could Die

In what used to be Reno, she met Connor. He had asserted himself as an aggressive leader of bands of thugs; people destined to be rulers of this new, bleak, post-war land.

He was ugly and mean, but he had the spark, the signs of color and life that she had spent seven months walking across an ashen, washed out wasteland to find.

She knew that Connor, brutal and emotionless, would likely kill her when they were done. It’s what she hoped for. She just wanted the taste of passion, life and the living on her lips one last time.

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August 15, 2005

Michele: Bye, Bye Love

Merlene spent nearly the whole drive to the marriage retreat weekend complaining about every bump in the road and song on the radio. Dirk wondered why he was doing this at all.

“I have to pee.”
“Ten minutes away, Merlene.”
“Pull over. Now.”
“Here?”
“You deaf? I said pull over.”

They both got out of the car. Merlene squatted by the side of the road, pants around her ankles.

“Be useful, get the TP from the trunk..”

Dirk went to the car, but not the trunk.

The last thing he heard was Merlene’s wild cursing as gravel and dust sprayed her ass.

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August 16, 2005

Michele: Into This World We're Thrown

The only time Brad goes outside is 4am, avoiding the ridicule of those who stare and point at the mute man with the crazy eyes.

This morning, there’s a woman in the road. She’s been thrown from her car, the wheels of which are skyward, spinning. The woman is conscious, totally aware that she’s slowly bleeding to death on a pile of dog-piss colored snow.

Brad focuses. In an instant he knows her favorite song, where she works, that she cries during sex.

He leans down, kisses the dying woman on the mouth.

Her pain is gone. She dies, peacefully.

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August 19, 2005

Michele: Roll Over, Paul Krugman

We flew through a dark sky, enjoying the feel of soaring like birds, when we saw a ledge on a white mountain. On the ledge lay an enormous coffin, partly covered with dirt. An inscription read:

Paul Krugman. Died 1812.

I said, “Whoa, Paul Krugman lived before! I wonder what he wrote about in 1812?”

One of my fellow flyers tipped the coffin over. Krugman's corpse came tumbling out and flipped over the ledge, bounced down the mountain and landed in a grassy field where it stood up, dusted itself off and proclaimed, You have not heard the last of me!

[This is actually an old dream. Last night's is none of your business]

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August 20, 2005

Michele: And Out of the Darkness

I heard the crash, but I’d spent the day burying bodies and was too tired to investigate.

When I finally rolled out of bed, I saw the grill of an Impala in my living room. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel. My postman, a feral dog and a small child were making quick work of his skin and bones.

The kid looked at me, sized me up and went back to chewing on the driver’s cheek.

A few days ago, I might have run or screamed. Not today.

You’ve seen one post-plague zombie dinner, you’ve seen ‘em all.

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August 21, 2005

Michele: Stoned in Love

“That’s my third broken heart this century. I’m such a loser.”

“Aww, you’re a great guy...”

“I’m a flying monkey in a fez.”

“Need I remind you she’s got no arms?”

“But she’s got that face.”

“I’ve seen better.”

“You’re a bird. What would you know?”

“I know beautiful. I used to crap on the most gorgeous statues when I was alive.”

“Whatever.”

“So, you going to Apollo’s party?”

“So I can watch her stare at his package all night?”

“Man, you’re really pining.”

“Can’t even kill myself.”

“It’s called eternal punishment for a reason, bud.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

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August 24, 2005

Michele: The Kids Aren't Alright

“Boris, there’s something just not right about our boy Jack.”
“Let’s take him to a doctor, then, Greta.”

And so the doctors examined Jack.

He wiggled around and they gave him Ritalin.
He frowned and they gave him Prozac.
He counted the buttons on his coat and they gave him Zoloft.

And some Lexapro for good measure.

They went home and waited for Jack to get better.

And Jack smiled.
He smiled big.

“He seems happy, Boris.”

Then he smiled bigger.
He smiled so much, he was never not smiling.

“Boris, there’s something just not right about our boy Jack.”

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August 28, 2005

Michele: Little Bastard

On his eight birthday, little Jimmy Haversham lost a bottom tooth. I was perched in a tree when it happened and I saw him threaten the poor boy whose errant elbow caught Jimmy’s mouth.

“I swear, you will die!” cried Jimmy.

That night, Jimmy wrote a note to me, the tooth fairy:

Don’t give me stupid qawters. I want big muney. Or I will skwish you under my shoo lik I did to that litenin bug.

And so Jimmy Haversham, bad speller and rotten kid, woke up with a couple of maggots dropping eggs where his tooth used to be.

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August 29, 2005

Michele: Boom Boom, Out Go the Lights

“Let there be light!”

And lo, the earth was lit. Again.

“What the hell is that, Gabriel?”

“It’s light?”

“A light bulb? We are going to re-light the world with a GE 60 watt?”

“It’s 60 magical watts!”

God eyed the pull-chain hanging from the heavens.

“And this will just....hang here?”

“Just make a sign that says ‘do not touch or world will go dark’”

‘Remember the ‘do not eat’ thing? Adam and Eve?”

Gabriel sighed. “They’re just going to fuck it up again, you know.”

“No. They’re not.”

God pulled the chain and led Gabriel through the darkness.

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September 5, 2005

Michele: Ode to a Weenie

i think that i shall never eat
a substance more devoid of meat
than the hot dog i ate last night
but damn, i did eat every bite.

hot dogs are the food of gods
despite the arteries they clog
in the oven, on the grill
floating in a watery swill
mustard (yellow), sauerkraut
that's what summer is all about
pile them high upon the plates
don't talk to me about nitrates

no turkey, tofu, chicken filler
real meat hot dogs are what's killer
so please don't call me a big ol' meanie
when i won't share my all-beef weenie.

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