Tag: humor

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Hot Stuff!

OK, here is a little pre-Halloween warm-up. It’s based on one of my favorite gag stories. I decided to make it into a proper pre-Halloween story:


John was dead, and he knew it as soon as he appeared before the Pearly Gates. Saint Peter processed him quickly; Stating there was no appeal in his case and directed him to the staircase leading downward. So down he went.
He found himself in front of a standard corporate reception desk. It was the very type of reception desk he had stood in front of thousands of times at the many corporations in which he had worked. He even thought he recognized the demon/man behind the desk. He idled while the demon receptionist signaled he’d be with him as soon as he finished the call. Hanging up, the demon glanced at John, gave a smile dominated by sharp fangs, and said: ” Bosses, can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” John found his nervous laugh sounded a bit more panicked than he wished.

Let’s Sort You Out!

“Oh, I’m not a very good host, am I? I failed hospitality services when I was alive. But working for large hotel chains was great prep for this job. So let’s look at your file. What sins of omission and commission sent you to us? Adultery, theft, treason, gluttony – you’re too skinny for that one – false gods? He read silently for a while. Looked up and said: “Oh, you’re one of those.” John meekly assayed a question, “What do you mean by one of those?” ” You know, one of those who could never decide. You lusted after your neighbor’s wife but never did anything. Then you wanted to embezzle at your place of employment but were too chicken to do more than take pens home. You know the type with great plans but never does anything.

Clearly, you’re an omission man. You lacked the fortitude to do anything evil or good. And just stood by, unable to make up your mind. You couldn’t even give your son the Birds and Bees talk. Could you? You’d have had to commit to something. Oh yes, here it is. You were always volunteering to serve on committees, weren’t you? But you rarely showed up.” John gave a wan smile by way of an answer. ” Well, there’s nothing wrong with that; you can always point at someone else and say that they made the decision; you just went along.” The demon sniffed and expelled a slight whiff of sulfur. “One of the residents down here likes to say that there is no monument dedicated to the memory of a committee.” The demon laughed and then said. ” Right! Let’s get you sorted out. Walk this way.”

Three Doors

They entered a large room with three iron-bound doors against the far wall. “Here’s the deal. We’ve modernized around here. No more Dantesque circles; it was an administrative hell. So you get three choices. You get to choose your torment. Dramatically he waved his hand – ” will you take what is behind door number one? Door number two, or door number three?”

Door Number One

Walking up to the first door, he pulled it open and shoved John through.
Inside there seemed to be the classic situation illustrated in thousands of cartoons. Demon’s chased the damned through the flames while sticking them with long pitchforks. “Oh no, please not in here!” the demon lead him out and into the entry room.

Door Number Two

” So, John, how about trying door number two?” Opening door number two, John entered. The scene inside was as disturbing as the first chamber had been. Here the dammed crawled on their bellies through fields of broken glass while demons whipped them to go faster. John bolted through the door, shouting out -” Not there, please!”
“OK, John. We are down to the final choice after you see that you’ll have to decide which one you choose for eternity.”

Door Number Three

The demon leads John to the final door, opens it, and gestures John through. On the other side was a vast garbage-filled space. The smell defied description, but many demons and humans were sitting around drinking coffee out of elegant and dainty cups within the room. On large garbage piles sat a demon reading aloud from a copy of the Wall Street Journal.
John looked, he considered. At last, he took a cup and sat down with his fellow damned.


As he took his first sip, the gigantic demon folded up the paper, grabbed a bullhorn, and shouted, ” OK, coffee break is over! Everyone, back down on their hands and knees!” As one, the damned began sifting through the garbage. A banshee-like wail of despair filled the air as the damned picked up their endless task. Demons, softly jabbing with laser pointers, offered encouraging snippets gleaned from motivational posters and TED Talks.

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a nautical almanac

For many years, my go-to desk calendar was a nautical almanac. It was published annually, and every day contained unique material on the sea, seamanship, or practical nautical knowledge. In fact, they were so information-packed that all of the ones I own sit on the shelf for reference. Many of us had withdrawal symptoms when the author and compiler decided to cease publication.

As we searched for alternatives, we discovered how tawdry the competition had been: mere photos of pretty boats – sailors’ pornography, if you will! There was no worthy successor. Where daily we had opened a new page that promised to introduce us to a bit of nautical doggerel, coach us through a tight passage in a famous sloop, or discuss the merits of various mess cooks recipes for spotted dog* – no, I don’t mean either a real dog or a frosted cake with polka dots!

It was then that many of us realized that our passionate attachment to the sea, things nautical, coastal, or beyond soundings, was a bit out of control. My wife got me a subscription to a sailing magazine. A friend and I went to the Annapolis Boat Show in hopes of finding a “fix.” No, not that kind, a nautical fix!

Over time, the cravings have subsided. Then, the blog prompt this morning. Write about something you feel passionate about. You sick, sadistic bastard… just when I was finally over the withdrawal symptoms. I will find you; when I do, it’s the Jonah Lift over the side! Sleep with the fishes, jerk!

*This was a popular ship’s cook dessert. The recipe called for a few straightforward ingredients—similar to soda bread, with raisins as the spots.

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End of the Road

Among a close set of my friends, the term “end of the road” had a distinctive meaning. “I’ve hit the end of the road!” meant you were leaving our close little circle of travelers. Most often, it meant you were putting your pack down in your girlfriend’s apartment for connubial bliss. We’d sip a glass of fine Irish Whiskey, ceremoniously state another one has bit the dust, and get on with our lives.

So it went till my best friend died in a senseless auto accident – he wasn’t even traveling – just going to the grocery store with his girlfriend. It hit me hard. After the funeral, a few of us snuck back to the grave to ceremoniously sanctify it with Irish Whiskey and Marijuana seeds. It set seeds of doubt. Up till then, we’d been immortal. We determine the direction of our lives, not arbitrary fate.

Eventually, I, too, hit the end of the road. I had a whole raft of stories from the “old days” to tell around campfires, songs about being on the road, and bits of wisdom to spread among the uninitiated. But, except in spring, when the sap rose and leaves emerged, I did not miss it much. I did not miss it at all. Of course, I had to be careful about admitting that. I’d sit with friends and state that I’d cogitate my veritabilites and decide in the morning If I’d bum my way to Toronto.

Then, I settled in and got a degree, a car, and a career. I had responsibilities. I could no longer say I’d go here or there in the morning. Damn! I’d lost my credibility. My ambition had become circumscribed by my family, job, the workshop, the feeding time of the pets, and my own tranquility.

A snide comment at a party hinted that I was a has-been. I responded with a grin, ” in the immortal words of Tiny Tim, It is better to be a has-been than a never-was.”

Daily writing prompt
When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?
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