WATCH OUT! (A Short Story)


Against the backdrop of justifiable civil unrest and a preventable, raging worldwide plague, the citizenry has had little choice but to watch “our” out of step, not watching his step, praise junkie, ignor-anus misleader. On his watch, he pigs out on junk food, while he binge watches his televised propaganda ministers; traitors all, who nurse this infant with totally undeserved praise. We cannot avoid watching this fatuous fool, who watches not his waistline; who tries his damnedest to secrete his lollygagging on the links, from the genuine article journalists’ watchful eyes; newshawks all, who, dutifully, on behalf of you and me, watch out for our best interests. Watch for updates on this interminable, breaking news…






Fortune Cookie Blog (Short Story)


Once upon a time, a reckless, feckless, heartless and remorseless,
high on his horse, horse’s ass sovereign royally mucked up a public
health matter. His neglect sickened 1.68+ million of his compatriots
and of those, 97,986+ wound up dead. Rather than going into tuck
tail and run mode, he opted to run for another term. Smugly, stun-
ningly, he stumped atop his mountain of dead bodies, where legions
of sycophantic sickos showed up to raucously cheer him on. The End?



Stay Safe… Stay Home… Stay Healthy!








Short Story: The Imposter


Once upon a time there lived an imbecilic, immature, impatient, impulsive, impractical, imperfect, imprecise, immodest, improper, improvident, impolite, impure, imprudent, impudent, impotent potentate, who committed so many improprieties with impunity, he oft imperiled his empire. He also proved to be so immitigable and immune, his destructive rampage became impossible to impair and impede; not even via impeachment. While fully worthy of imprisonment within an impregnable barred or padded cell, no such fate was imminent / impending. The End?





Eeewwww! The (Mercifully Short) Short Story


Once upon a time… there lived a bad, Bad, BAD Boy, named Oleg.

His claim to fame? Well, if you really must know, he was renown for his YUGE YAP; his incessant, incoherent, inane and insane utterances. He was also instantly recognizable, due to his orange hue and tousled, yellowish, straw-like hair strands. Although he was stunted both intellectually and emotionally, seeing how both puberty and societal expectations of mediocrity oft rule, it was both inevitable and regrettable that he’d grow physically and rise to power.

Oligarch Oleg deemed his mirror, his Window to the World. He loved only himself and was only loved by an ignorant and / or insane cadre of his subjugated sycophants and subjects. So enamored with himself, was he, that he flat-out refused to allow Stephanie, his sexually harassed, enslaved, dressed in tattered rags chambermaid to launder his soiled, odoriferous articles of clothing. Hell, he even bawled like a big baby whenever she’d fling his chamber pot’s contents out the window, which overlooked the backyard.

“What a waste,” he’d lament, while mulling over how “best” to “honor” the growing alarmingly, mountainous dungheap.

“What a waste,” she’d lament while mulling over how Oleg’s Dark Ages, choke-hold on power had caused both her genius level IQ and people smarts to languish; denied her both the wherewithal and opportunity to ever see her dreams come true.  She dared not even turn her back, to roll her eyes in disgust, without inviting his unwelcome, pawing, tiny hands.

So, just how bad was the inevitable, pervasive, decaying fecal stench? Well, even the flies had established a NO FLY ZONE over Oleg’s Palace; an airspace encompassing thousands upon thousands of kilometers.

Well, one dismal, miasmatic morn, this stink took a distinct turn for the worse. Oleg woke up with what he deemed to be a perfect, Perfect PERFECT notion worming its way into his “noodle”. Instantly acting upon this “insight”, he promptly issued his royal decree: The Endangered Feces Act of ’19! In short, this document’s legalese stated that, sans his express consent, no one harboring evil intent, would ever be allowed to touch his precious poop. Normally, that’d seem like a win-win, but…

By the very next day, Oleg launched his new corporation, namely, Kingly Keepsakes. He’d market his brand, spanking new, exclusive, product line to the masses; expect his subjects to piss away their hard earned rubles / kopeks to purchase various sized lumps of their beloved Oligarch’s poop; all encased in crystalline plastic. The available (literally) crappy novelties included key fobs, belt buckles, bellybutton charms, dangly earrings, paperweights, bookends, doorstops… Eeewwww!

The End