52 Short Stories

When Americans Think Of Scotland They try to recall what's the difference between it and Ireland. And whether or not it's part of Britain or England or whatever the UK is. They don't even bother trying to picture where it is on a map -- that's just stretching the powers of memory too far. And that's fine. That's the way the people of Scotland want it to be. The last thing they want is for Americans to go messing around with their affairs. Because then they might start to notice things...things that aren't easily explained. Like fog -- that talks to you. Britain's much better at explaining away their phenomena when the Yanks comes to visit. That's because Americans have always known that -- whether it's supposed to be called Britain or England -- it's a place that a long time ago was a contemptible place (although an American would probably use a different adjective) that tried to take their money, but nowadays it gives them many of their favo...

"No, I don't know what I want for dinner because I'm not even sure I've ever eaten dinner before.  In fact, it's possible that I'm incapable of consuming food.  But I guess, the shrimp in marinara sauce sounds good enough."     That used to be a typical daily conversation for me in the beginning -- if we go ahead and change a few details. Namely, that I was living alone in the woods and had never heard of "sauce" let alone marinara before, but of course I knew about shrimp -- no, wait...my mistake, that can't be right, let me start over. Some people think it would be rather nifty to have lived ten thousand lives. And maybe that could be true if they were all reincarnations and you couldn't remember any of them. Or even if you could remember a few of them, it was only  a few of them, and they were relatively neatly organized in your mind. You might say, "Oh yes, in this my current life, I had Mrs. Gellstahlt as my 2nd grade teacher. I...

 "I went to the bathroom at the little one's school the other day," Carl Finklebakker, President of Wooden Pallet and Shipping Enterprises , said to an auditorium full of all, every single one of WP&S Enterprises' employees. "There was a paper printed in the bathroom, this was in one of the teachers' restrooms, not the children's because of rules and such," he continued, "and so I couldn't help but to read this sign, flyer, what have you -- call it what you like, it said the following, well rather first, let me describe the image associated with it because the whole experience was rather very profound for me, the image was of Elmo, the furry red puppet from Sesame Street, and he, she, whatever Elmo is, Elmo was sitting on a hopper, struggling it seemed to have a bowel movement. And the text on the sign said, 'Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, so that's why I poop on the Company's time.'" Carl paused. He observed so...

Dear "Gail Neiman", All my favorite writers are dead,  so I am reluctant to make a declarative statement regarding any feelings I may have regarding you and your works. Some of my favorite writers died before I was born (ex. Mark Twain, JRR Tolkien). Others died before I discovered them (ex. Michael Crichton -- whose work by way of Spielberg was known to me long before I knew of Crichton). And others died before I could meet them (ex. Ray Bradbury and Terry Pratchett). Finally, some I did not discover until after they had died, even though we walked the Earth for a long time together (ex. Ursula K. Le Guin). My point is Mr. "Neiman", it is likely that I am not in anyway metaphysically linked to their deaths, however, I do completely understand, if given the circumstances, you are not interested in attending the upcoming writer’s conference that I am hosting. And to be on the safest of sides, I extend this invitation to you as an attendee and not as a guest of...

Really kid, are you sure  you want me to give you a unicorn? They aren't as great as you think they are. They're quite dangerous really and... UNICORN, UNICORN, UNICORN! I want a sparkly, pink unicorn. "And then," I said, "in a matter of minutes there was little kid blood everywhere." My boss did not look up from his paperwork. "I just, I think it would be better if I could be assigned a different object to inhabit. You know, not a shiny pink unicorn statue. Something more ominous like a bent and twisted pewter candelabra or a even something boring like a lichen covered stone." "What's wrong with your current object?" "I just told you. It's getting kids killed. All these little girls, they see my statue and instantly have 'unicorn,' on the brain, and when they pick me up, that's the only thing they wish for." "We're in the business of wish granting, McClaighleigh, not saving ...