Stacy Archives

October 16, 2006

Stacy: Don't Drink the Water

“Order! This meeting will come to order!” The sheriff banged a makeshift gavel (his prized pearl-handled .357 magnum) on the podium, and the crowd instinctively ducked. He scowled.

“Now quit it, I ain’t gonna shoot y’all. Not YET, leastaways.” The townsfolk shifted uncomfortably, and muttered to each other. The sheriff glared harder at them.

“What’s that you’re saying there? Speak up!” They quieted, and watched him warily. He hitched up his belt and tried again.

“Now, I want to know whicha you ate Farmer Johnson’s sheep…” he began, but was interrupted by hissing voices.


“Goddammit,” he muttered. “Not again.”

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October 19, 2006

Stacy: Hysterical History

He walked down the long drive to their mailbox, whistling. He couldn’t recall when he’d been so happy. His career was hot, and his agent was talking Oscar for his last role. Angie was happy, with her collection of kids. Hell, he loved them, too, even the ones that weren’t his. Yes, life was good.

He opened the mailbox, retrieved the usual junk. A black envelope caught his eye, it’s silver lettering proclaiming it was from Future Fixers, Inc. A sheet of paper inside read:

Save the future… kill your wife.

He shrugged and went off to find the shotgun.

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October 23, 2006

Stacy: Colorful

Red was pissed.

"Why am I the color of anger?" he muttered. "Look at me… I'm gorgeous! On flowers, I set hearts aflutter! On underwear, I positively sizzle!"

"Oh, shut up," groaned Blue. "How much longer can you complain about this? Just look at me... I'm the color of depression, for fuck's sake.”

Red grumped. “Whatever. I need a change, to go in a completely different direction.”

“Call Yellow,” suggested Blue. “I hear he’s kinda bored with himself, too. His number is 565-590.”

“A switch, an alteration, a metamorphosis!” mused Red.

"Well?" snapped Blue. "Orange you going to call him?"

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November 2, 2006

Stacy: Uniform Angst

I don’t want to look in the mirror...

Christ, why can’t they actually make these damned things to fit. I’m a girl, dammit, I have hips and tits!

I know this thing is sagging in the crotch, I just know it. Won’t look.

And this helmet, what in the hell is that even for? This is a cheese factory for fuck’s sake… I can’t just wear a hairnet?

Stupid bureaucracy. I bet this is all because of that jerk over in Wrapping. Some idiot gets their crank folded into the gruyere and we all have to pay the price. Typical.

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November 3, 2006

Stacy: Kerowacky

The road is my woman, my mother, my blood. She fucks me, nurtures me, powers me. She is neverending, going forever forward, backward, sideways, in and out. Even up and down. We drive all night, all day, and forever. The sky shifts in colors, blue pink purple, red green yellow. And sometimes orange. The wind is a razor, a feather, a sneeze. The towns and cities are a blur, a magnet reversed, the anti-flypaper. Driving, riding, passing time, smokes and bullshit. Car, truck, bus, doesn’t matter, we can’t stop moving. Never stop moving.

Unless, like, we run out of acid.

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November 6, 2006

Stacy: Your "Lost" Is Someone Else's "Found"

Bright lights, rending metal, and I knew nothing else.

I opened my eyes to a bright, warm place. Stretched to the horizon was a line of people, silent, staring ahead.

I walked for a time, past the neverending queue. Occasionally, I’d look into a face, but all eyes were on the misty horizon.

The line ended abruptly next to a pair of gates, one white, one black. The old gentleman standing between them peered at me curiously over half-glasses.

“I’m sorry,” he said, mournfully, “but you’re lost.”

“Not really,” I said, slipping back through reality to the land of summer

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November 7, 2006

Stacy: And They Wuz Right

“C’mon, let me see…”


“Oh, come on, how bad can it be?”

“You have no idea. Grade school, elementary school, high school, college… every single shower, every single changing room. I have been made fun of my entire life, and I just don’t think I could take it from you.”

“Look, I love you, therefore I’m pretty much a sure thing, but if you don’t take off your pants, we can’t get this show on the road. So to speak.”

“I love you, too, babe. Swear you won’t laugh?”

“As if. Now drop ‘em.”


“Jaysus, Mary and Joseph…”

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November 9, 2006

Stacy: Initiative

“Jerry! Hey, man, what the hell are you doing?”

“Jerry, come on, quick fucking around! You’re going to get hurt doing that…”

“Run, you're supposed to RUN!”

“What the…? Jerry, turn around, RUN!!!”

“WHOAH! Hoooly shit, did you see that?”

“Quick, somebody call 911! Man, give me your shirt, I’ll see if I remember how to make a tourniquet…”


“Damn, would you just look at that mess.”

“I know, that bull really did a number on him, didn’t it.”

“What the hell was he thinking? We’re supposed to run with them.”

“Who knows? Jerry was always so goddamned literal.”

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November 28, 2006

Stacy: Til Death Do Us Part

“Poison?? You mean like that really bad 80s perfume?”

“No, love, real poison…specifically fugu, the Japanese blowfish. You just ate it.”

“I did? Oh, that nasty raw fish appetizer. I wondered why you suddenly wanted to have sushi, after all these years.”

“Well, darling, it wasn’t until now that you were worth quite so much to me dead. You see, your aunt died yesterday. The lawyers say you’re going to inherit ten million.”

“Wow, Aunt Tinkie died? She was my favorite aunt, too. Oh well. It’s a good thing I had the cook put tetradotoxin in your champagne. Cheers!”

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November 29, 2006

Stacy: Crazy Love

Her hands shook slightly as she punched in the numbers.

9 for the number of times he cheated on her.

0 for the number of times he apologized.

4 for the number of times she’d been suspended for botched jobs.

1 for the number of times she’d been fired.

0 for the number of times he said “I love you.”

She hit ENABLE and closed the cover of the control box. She threw a dusty tarp over the device and climbed the stairs to the alley.

She checked her watch. Plenty of time to make the 4:05 flight to Bali.

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