King George And The Second Boston Tea Party

The Boston chapter of the Tea Party asked every newcomer to show identification. Too many liberal reporters had painted them in a bad light.

The old man was stopped at the front door. "ID please."

"I don't have any."

"Why not?"

"Because ID's are a plot by the socialist government to try and rob us of our freedom. Before you know it, they'll have us locked up in death camps."

"He's one of us."

Sweet success. First the time machine, and now this. George may not be royalty in this century, but his divine right to rule was still recognized.

The Perfect Trap

“And then I’ll have ten spicy tacos with another fifteen taquitos and a side of guac.”

“That will be one dollar sir.”

“This is incredible!”

His dollar was halfway to the register when he was thrown to the ground by a cataclysmic force.  Suddenly, the force directed itself outwards, and the walls and ceiling separated into dense gray powder, quickly carried away by the tremendous wind.  Around the perimeter where the building used to be, the mightiest of the Aesir stood looking inward.

Walking over to Loki, Odin grinned over the prostrate trickster.

“I can’t believe you fell for this!”

The Perfect Gentleman

His ties always match his shirt and jacket.

When picking up a date, he knocks on the door. He never honks his horn or yells at her balcony.

When ordering at the restaurant, he allows her to chose her own dish.

You would never know how considerably rich he is.

The only time he curses is in the telling of a story. And even then, not if any minors are present.

When you make a mistake in his presence, he tolerates it graciously.

When he gets a woman pregnant he always pays for the abortion.

He is the perfect gentleman.

Carrier's Cross Hospital For Charitable Cases

Only the poorest, most unfortunate souls go to die at Carrier's Cross Hospital For Charitable Cases. But die they do.

The institution instills such fear into the neighboring denizens that they suffer severed limbs and advanced stages of the most grisly diseases rather than cross its threshold.

Nurse Wembley laments their reputation, for every one of the doctors and custodians care for their charges with the utmost diligence. Most are in fact volunteers, as they receive only the tiniest contributions from the city.

The majority of their budget, therefore, must come from selling cadavers to Carrier's Cross Butchery and Deli.

Powering A Greener World

The turbine blade arced high into the evening sky over Runsfeld.  Though it was over a hundred meters long and traveling at great speed, from the ground it looked just like a petal, carried soundlessly on a capricious summer updraft.

The Republic heavily regulated all pollutant energy sources, generally reserving them for government use, and without cheap fuel, it was too expensive to run the machines that could repair the wind farm, especially for rural Runsfeld.  Still, they needed the electricity the turbines provided.

When the errant blade finally collided with Runsfeld’s vegon cafeteria, it was nothing like a petal.

Putting Her PhD To Work

Megan loved when someone asked about her job, especially a man.

"I perform all the routine maintenance on board the Alanwich Industry spacecrafts. I ensure the safety and reliability of every major and minor system, including propulsion, navigation, life support, and gravitation. I check hull integrity before every flight. I monitor the amount of deterioration on both external and internal components and replace any that have worn down. I wash the windows and surveillance cameras to maintain maximum visibility.

"I even keep the toilets clean, if you can believe that."

"So basically you're a janitor."

"You mean a space janitor."

The Brassy Blood

The following is a warning to all those who get bad mileage:

Out on the ocean, liquid misery

Kingdom of whale lords

Kingdom of spite

Beyond all freedom, right or knowing

Beyond all but winter, arrested night,

There is a bulwark of rock and metal

A stock of madness between sea and sky

That pillars the halls of mighty morning

That clothes the dry emperors in their lie

Out on the ocean, the laughter is growing

It dances on coastlines

It lingers in mists

The coal-hearted kobold has waited and waited

But soon will collect the blood payments we’ve missed

The Wind

When the wind began, we expected a black and thunderous storm riding down from the North on its top. That was three months ago. No rain. No clouds. Nothing but the wind.

The old men spoke of a similar wind, many generations ago, that ripped the soil off the earth faster than a hunter skins a rabbit. We ignored their cataclysms, but the wind continues beyond all reason.

Now, we are all lashed round trees and stakes to stop us from blowing away. There is no siren song, lilting in our ears. Just the wind, wearing away at our souls.

Famous Last Words

Stanley Ash paused at the doorway. As with everything, he wanted his departure to be appropriately dramatic.

"This may be the last time you ever hear from Stanley Ash"

The applause was polite. Stanley Ash knew instinctively he had underwhelmed.

He ignored the sycophantic drooling of his assistants. He rejected the escort back to his penthouse. He refused to utter a single word to anyone, and with a wave of his hand, emptied the room. He was silently composing his next speech, determined to win their hearts, not just their obedience.

Ironically, no one saw Stanley Ash alive ever again.

A Greener World

The children followed their teacher into the meadow where they had their classes.  Their school desks were the rocks of the field.  Their blackboard was the open sky.  The teacher stooped to touch the grass with both hands, signaling that the morning recitation was about to start.

“Our lives are connected with the Earth.  If it sickens, so do we.  To preserve all life, we must dedicate our own lives to sustaining the health of this planet, and to our Green Republic, which guards its gardens.”

Today’s lesson would teach the children how to report polluters amongst their family members.