I can’t believe it! My entire troupe has been banned from the local hospital! We all went into the Emergency Room because one of the guys had a cut on his finger that needed stitching up. One look at the expression on his face and we all knew he needed moral support.

So off we all went, just to keep him company, you know? And then, what do you know; they kicked us out!

Apparently they don’t allow mimes in the ER who aren’t sick or injured. The nerve!

Transformation – Part 1?

Today we take off the bandages. Patient L63’s transformation should be complete.

“How long has it been since the patient came to us?” I ask my assistant.

“Forty-three days, Master.”

“Would you please stop calling me ‘Master,’ Ogor?”

“Yes, Mas… I mean Doctor.”

“Thank you. So, forty-three days should be enough, right?”

“By your calculations, yes, Doctor.”

“Okay, let’s get at it.”

We peel back the bandages slowly. Meticulously. About half-way through I notice Ogor has begun to tap his foot.

“Whatever is it, Ogor?”

“What’s what?”

“You seem nervous.”

“Not at all, Doctor.”

We continue to work until there is just one bandage left across the patient’s face. As lift it with my tweezers, the patient opens his blue eyes.

“Wait!” I exclaim. I go to the patient’s chart. “Patient L63 has brown eyes. What is the meaning of this? Ogor, double-check the patient’s toe tag!”

“It’s um… It’s um, Patient M63, Mast… I mean Doctor.”

“But this patient isn’t ready! And Patient L63 must be chomping at the bit to get out!”

Just then, a groan came from inside the freezer.


I only knew Tiny from the Internet, so I couldn’t tell for sure if he was really tiny in size, or if his name was one of those ironical-type names. If so, he might have been huge.

Tiny and me were friends in the kind of way you just sling comments back and forth on Facebook and such. Once in a while, we’d say something like, “We should get together for a beer one day,” but it never happened. At least I don’t think it happened.

You see, Tiny disappeared ’round about a year ago. He’d taken a break from the whole online crap for a couple months before, so I wasn’t too worried, until one day when a stranger showed up on his Facebook account. At first they tried to pretend to be Tiny, but I knew. There were little things, like the way words were spelled right that Tiny always spelled wrong. Stuff like that. When I called the character out, they finally said no, they weren’t Tiny and that Tiny had died.

Then three weeks ago, I found the note in my mailbox. It was from Tiny. Said he’d been in town for a month already. It’s a small town; chances are I’ve seen him around and not known it.

Strange thing is, I never told him where I live.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.


Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?
We both know your heart is hollow
with a lining of artificial sweetener
and a crust constructed from the ashes
of all the victims who came before me.

“How nice to see you again.”
Your smile hides the snarl
that will wither me, I know
’cause I’ve been here before.
I’m the idiot who comes back for more.

The chase ends here, my fake friend.
You’ll fool me no more with your saccharine ways
The jig is up
and I’ll bury you alive
before you slither back into my life.

#SoCS – Volunteer

I should never have volunteered to drive you home. It would have cost me less to throw you in a cab than to have to clean the upholstery of my car, but then who would have carried you into the house? I’d hate to think the cab driver might have just dumped you out in your driveway and left you there to freeze, or worse, drown in your own vomit.

I threw my back out, you know. Carrying you up the stairs at the front of your house to get you inside. Why the hell do you live on the second floor? For God sakes, you could have at least had the decency to move into a ground floor apartment. And then there was Rex.

You told me your dog was friendly. Yeah, right. So why have I been sitting in the emergency room for three hours, again, for the second time in the last three days? Oh right. You didn’t know he’d somehow contracted rabies. Sure thing.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I still have a huge lump on my head from the cast iron frying pan your ex-wife hit me with, when she found out I let you get drunk in the first place. I know, I know. I shouldn’t have told her. But how was I to know your last words to her were, “Of course I’m going to AA meetings”?

I did think you had a lot of nerve to invite me out for a beer to make up for it all. And there you are texting me again…

I nede a rid hoame. At teh bar.

Hehe. Go fuck yourself.


This post was written in stream of consciousness and left unedited. If you’d like to participate in Stream of Consciousness Saturday, just click the link and see how!

Dear Diary – Millions

October 21/16
Dear Diary

“Of all the millions of fish in the sea, you’re the one I want.”

You know how many guys have said that to me over the years? Of course you do. You’re my diary. I should go back and count. Because all of them? Were lying.

Today Jimmy said it. Jimmy of all people. I could look into his blue eyes and almost believe it.

Should I, Diary? Is he really “The One”? I guess we’ll see.


“My mom is old,” said Billy as he plowed his truck through a pile of sand alongside the curb.

“My mom is ancient!” said Tommie. He ran his car head-on into Billy’s.

“What are you boys doing?” asked Tommie’s mom, coming up behind them and scaring both.

“We’re just talking about how beautiful our moms are,” answered Tommie.

Tommie’s mom smiled. “You can keep that up.”

Tommie shrugged and his mom walked away.


“You’re all angles. One minute you’re here and the next you’re 180° the other way. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well, I’ll tell it like this: once you’ve spend a year underground doing various things for a drug overlord…”

“A what now?”

“You heard me right. A drug overlord. Why else would I be underground?”

“Oh I dunno. Digging a tunnel for a subway maybe?”

“Is that what you thought I was doing all this time? The railroad is my life!”

“But you said…”

“What? That I was digging a subway? What else would I be doing?”

“Were you digging northward or southward?”


“Right. Westward it is.”


Waiting tables is a thankless job. Oh sure, the odd customer might mumble a “Thanks” without looking at me while he tucks the check into his wallet, ready to make his exit. What do I have to look forward to? The next guy, sitting at the same table, ordering the same food, mumbling the same “Thanks.”

Until I get out of here at night. That’s when the fun starts. See, I don’t work until close, so sometimes I leave before my customer does. When I know it’s going to happen, especially when a patron is really obnoxious, I mention that he left his lights on in the parking lot. He then turns to look in the general direction of his car, and tells me he drives the whatever… the green Toyota, for instance.

Strange how many flats we get at our restaurant.


i arise with a sigh
leave you lying in bed
trip to the kitchen
start up the perc-drip
curl up on the sofa
knees to chest
sweet dreams of last night
of your breath on my lips
weight of your body
slip into heat-thoughts
back to the kitchen
on a cloud of contentment
pour rich black pleasure
and my cup melts
with desire sips
may this morning
never end