SCI-FI TRICKSTER by philip nobert
Truck stops had crap food and shit crappers. Wendell wondered why women even bothered, "pack a ham sandwich for chrissakes." He said, to nobody in particular. Forty-six years to life made a man's mind meander with aimless viscosity, like so much soup in the vat.
19.10.08
WICKED COOL by philip nobert
Some days, when you wrestle with axioms, it isn't particularly watershed to realize that most people are overtly ambivalent to how the little green blades of prairie grass bend to the wind's whim..as if, in a language only the skies regard, the oneness of it all flows. "Very nice Al. Now put your pants back on and get in the freakin' car." Alice hated being late to church, especially on Thursdays.
Some days, when you wrestle with axioms, it isn't particularly watershed to realize that most people are overtly ambivalent to how the little green blades of prairie grass bend to the wind's whim..as if, in a language only the skies regard, the oneness of it all flows. "Very nice Al. Now put your pants back on and get in the freakin' car." Alice hated being late to church, especially on Thursdays.
9.10.08
TIME HONORED by Philip Nobert
Oh he knew. The rare air he played in made it so. So it was a bit of a surprise when he found himself three sheets and a couple of comforters to the wind, face up in a Toledo bowling alley. And not the good, computer keeps the score kind, no, this was a forgotten shit-hole, full of toothless wonder and flat ale. "No dessert for you Pete", he thought. Then he wept.
Oh he knew. The rare air he played in made it so. So it was a bit of a surprise when he found himself three sheets and a couple of comforters to the wind, face up in a Toledo bowling alley. And not the good, computer keeps the score kind, no, this was a forgotten shit-hole, full of toothless wonder and flat ale. "No dessert for you Pete", he thought. Then he wept.
25.8.08
PEER TO PEER by Philip Nobert
It was a dark and stormy night. So Freddy stayed inside, slipped on the jammies, made a little cocoa, did a crossword, guzzled some blow. Gotta love London.
FLINT MICHIGAN By Philip Nobert
Wishes were a bitch for a beast of burden. "What's a girl to do?" Talia wondered aloud to the nearby clay pigeons The scream seemed to rile her to consciousness. Damn birds.
CHECK PLEASE! By Philip Nobert
The on-going fight for sanity enveloped judge, jury, judy, and duty...in that order.
It was a dark and stormy night. So Freddy stayed inside, slipped on the jammies, made a little cocoa, did a crossword, guzzled some blow. Gotta love London.
FLINT MICHIGAN By Philip Nobert
Wishes were a bitch for a beast of burden. "What's a girl to do?" Talia wondered aloud to the nearby clay pigeons The scream seemed to rile her to consciousness. Damn birds.
CHECK PLEASE! By Philip Nobert
The on-going fight for sanity enveloped judge, jury, judy, and duty...in that order.
19.8.08
Lucky Ducky by DP
Shootin’ ducks is like life. You hide in a boat, drink beer and shoot at the fat ones.
The Oven Stuffer Boaster by DP
TJ Maxx and Oxycotin are Sally’s rides. She’s home by three to meet the kids. Has dinner on the table at six when John comes home.
“Hope I don’t lose another tooth tonight” is all she can think while she’s using the carrot scraper on the cat’s tail.
Rubberface Jumps Ship by DP
Everyone cried when Jim Carrey killed himself on Letterman.
Until they realized that it wasn’t a joke.
Then they laughed. Hard.
Wail, My Countrymen by DP
“I call Sportcenter ‘Aisle Six’, because that’s where they keep the douchebags in the CVS.”
Ditchdigger Blues by DP
“Diggin’ditches and nailin’ bitches son.”
“Wake up Craggy Joe. 8 bones an hour and we smell like death.”
“Death smells sweet when you’re living the dream.”
When Frank brained Joe with his shovel. We just buried his ass. After we raped him.
Shootin’ ducks is like life. You hide in a boat, drink beer and shoot at the fat ones.
The Oven Stuffer Boaster by DP
TJ Maxx and Oxycotin are Sally’s rides. She’s home by three to meet the kids. Has dinner on the table at six when John comes home.
“Hope I don’t lose another tooth tonight” is all she can think while she’s using the carrot scraper on the cat’s tail.
Rubberface Jumps Ship by DP
Everyone cried when Jim Carrey killed himself on Letterman.
Until they realized that it wasn’t a joke.
Then they laughed. Hard.
Wail, My Countrymen by DP
“I call Sportcenter ‘Aisle Six’, because that’s where they keep the douchebags in the CVS.”
Ditchdigger Blues by DP
“Diggin’ditches and nailin’ bitches son.”
“Wake up Craggy Joe. 8 bones an hour and we smell like death.”
“Death smells sweet when you’re living the dream.”
When Frank brained Joe with his shovel. We just buried his ass. After we raped him.
THE MOTHER FUCKER by John Massé
No one immediately noticed the tack hammer protruding awkwardly from Nancy’s skull, like some magical rubber-grip unicorn horn. There was surprisingly little blood around the wound, and it certainly didn’t seem to stop her from happily swinging in her tree, singing little made up magical songs only a magical little girl could dream up in her steel-flavored mind.
THE JUROR by John Massé
“This wasn’t a bowel movement,” thought Reginald, “this was a revolution.”
FLAGRANT GIGGLES FROM THE GODS by John Massé
It was crass of Rachel Ray to think that just a dash of mayo could be considered haute cuisine cooking in the kitchen. Mayo wasn’t having any of that noise. He romantically threaded the silencer on the high-powered assault rifle, and wiped fine beads of white vinegar and pasteurized raw egg whites from his forehead. Oh yes, her pudgy little digits would pay dearly.
TERENCE AND THE BRICK by John Massé
The question would haunt him for years to come. Why would he respond to someone yelling, “Jesus Christ! Duck?” After all, his name wasn’t “Jesus Christ,” nor was it “Duck” for that matter. It was Terence, and now he was a stupid-headed.
THE BISHOP AND HIS KNEEBRACES by John Massé
It tasted like justice. Justice and fear. Okay, justice, fear and Clamato.
ANGELS OVER ANZIO by John Massé
“Roight bye-me guv’ner,” said pip, “eye would loike me anuva spot of tea, love?”
His friends sat around him, silently judging, with arms folded. Finally, Timothy, the mouse spoke up. If truth was to come out, it would surely have to be delivered by him.
“Pip. That doesn’t sound a fucking thing like Michael Caine.”
BELLYBUTTON BRIGADES by John Massé
She was a hooker with a heart of gold. Real gold. Obviously, she was dead.
No one immediately noticed the tack hammer protruding awkwardly from Nancy’s skull, like some magical rubber-grip unicorn horn. There was surprisingly little blood around the wound, and it certainly didn’t seem to stop her from happily swinging in her tree, singing little made up magical songs only a magical little girl could dream up in her steel-flavored mind.
THE JUROR by John Massé
“This wasn’t a bowel movement,” thought Reginald, “this was a revolution.”
FLAGRANT GIGGLES FROM THE GODS by John Massé
It was crass of Rachel Ray to think that just a dash of mayo could be considered haute cuisine cooking in the kitchen. Mayo wasn’t having any of that noise. He romantically threaded the silencer on the high-powered assault rifle, and wiped fine beads of white vinegar and pasteurized raw egg whites from his forehead. Oh yes, her pudgy little digits would pay dearly.
TERENCE AND THE BRICK by John Massé
The question would haunt him for years to come. Why would he respond to someone yelling, “Jesus Christ! Duck?” After all, his name wasn’t “Jesus Christ,” nor was it “Duck” for that matter. It was Terence, and now he was a stupid-headed.
THE BISHOP AND HIS KNEEBRACES by John Massé
It tasted like justice. Justice and fear. Okay, justice, fear and Clamato.
ANGELS OVER ANZIO by John Massé
“Roight bye-me guv’ner,” said pip, “eye would loike me anuva spot of tea, love?”
His friends sat around him, silently judging, with arms folded. Finally, Timothy, the mouse spoke up. If truth was to come out, it would surely have to be delivered by him.
“Pip. That doesn’t sound a fucking thing like Michael Caine.”
BELLYBUTTON BRIGADES by John Massé
She was a hooker with a heart of gold. Real gold. Obviously, she was dead.
BEAUTIFUL IGNORANCE by Philip Nobert
Once there was a guy, let’s call him shit. You are what you eat.
TED'S WAFFLE HABIT By Philip Nobert
There were stars. There were stripes. This much we knew. A lesser known was the stupor-driven guy with the itchy trigger. Oh he was always there, consuming the mediocrity. But then he met a sweet, sweet lady and for giggles, left the building. Ricky would've been pissed. But then Ricky drew sea lions for the sake of it...what the hell?
THE ADVANTAGE OF BEING BLUE by Philip Nobert
“The yellow seems to hurl itself from the canvas and attack the eyes with so much intention. Almost as if it’s trying to tell us something.” Saul said, to the nearby paintings and sculptures. Saul fancied himself fancy. Poor Saul. For a Janitor, however, he had really nice shoes.
PREACHER POLITICS by Philip Nobert
The slim line between love and hate seemed to cross wires with Charlie’s apathy for small wooden creatures, the kind, while jostling with an acorn or a filbert, seemed unnecessarily shell-shocked by the random rustling of leaves. Self-preservation had its price, even in the forest.
TELLING by Philip Nobert
What she didn’t know for sure was that the men in her life weren’t ever really, truly, actually, in her life.
GINNY LOVES GIN by Philip Nobert
It wasn’t so much the crying, though admittedly it didn’t help matters, no, it was more the pithy self-absorbance that seemed to fire-off, in autopilot, the moment before the applause. She was rather great in a greater good sort of way, and she knew it.
BLEEPO THE CLOWN by Philip Nobert
Clowns are funny. The painted face. The goofed hair. A prop or two. Funny. That’s always sort of been the point. But then there’s that other frequency. Whoever decided clowns are scary should be ripped in half by puppies.
AUTISM HIJINX by Philip Nobert
“Show me a day when Bruno Magli no longer matters and I’ll hoist a single malt in your direction!” Benny offered, against leers of woodsy malcontent. This was steel-toed country and Ben was a waif amongst men with blisters and scars….and trucks and guns. A truth Benny was only beginning to comprehend. But oh, the night was still young on this Alabama Tuesday and the jukebox had Waylon Jennings for days.
COLD DAY IN JULY by Philip Nobert
“Pithy! Pithy! Pithy!” She used the word with a flagrant deference to nothing in particular. Like all women, it was a buck-oh-six outside, and she was sporting a sweater. Never really understood that.
MIRRORS by Philip Nobert
Avant Garde was the flavor of the month and as Roy’s ’95 Pontiac Grand Am, the green one with the cool spoiler, raced him to his teller job at Wells Fargo, he smothered eye-liner in all the right places. “I’m gonna sell some jumbo mortgages today.” He thought. Then he drove. Somewhere, Ian Curtis was laughing.
THE TRUTH ABOUT TULIPS by Philip Nobert
“This is just an observation but the more attention you give to miscreants the greater the probability your shields will be destroyed by level three. It’s all about the defenses Jimmy.” The guileless stare on little Jimmy’s face reaffirmed for Alan that perhaps Psychiatry wasn’t Alan’s chosen path in life.
ZARTON by Philip Nobert
When the aliens watch us from afar one can only surmise the unexpurgated greatness they place upon themselves against the witless display of compromised humanity they observe. So then, the decision to conquer earth smacked with the relative ease of deciding which soup to order at the diner. Split Pea please, thanks.
Once there was a guy, let’s call him shit. You are what you eat.
TED'S WAFFLE HABIT By Philip Nobert
There were stars. There were stripes. This much we knew. A lesser known was the stupor-driven guy with the itchy trigger. Oh he was always there, consuming the mediocrity. But then he met a sweet, sweet lady and for giggles, left the building. Ricky would've been pissed. But then Ricky drew sea lions for the sake of it...what the hell?
THE ADVANTAGE OF BEING BLUE by Philip Nobert
“The yellow seems to hurl itself from the canvas and attack the eyes with so much intention. Almost as if it’s trying to tell us something.” Saul said, to the nearby paintings and sculptures. Saul fancied himself fancy. Poor Saul. For a Janitor, however, he had really nice shoes.
PREACHER POLITICS by Philip Nobert
The slim line between love and hate seemed to cross wires with Charlie’s apathy for small wooden creatures, the kind, while jostling with an acorn or a filbert, seemed unnecessarily shell-shocked by the random rustling of leaves. Self-preservation had its price, even in the forest.
TELLING by Philip Nobert
What she didn’t know for sure was that the men in her life weren’t ever really, truly, actually, in her life.
GINNY LOVES GIN by Philip Nobert
It wasn’t so much the crying, though admittedly it didn’t help matters, no, it was more the pithy self-absorbance that seemed to fire-off, in autopilot, the moment before the applause. She was rather great in a greater good sort of way, and she knew it.
BLEEPO THE CLOWN by Philip Nobert
Clowns are funny. The painted face. The goofed hair. A prop or two. Funny. That’s always sort of been the point. But then there’s that other frequency. Whoever decided clowns are scary should be ripped in half by puppies.
AUTISM HIJINX by Philip Nobert
“Show me a day when Bruno Magli no longer matters and I’ll hoist a single malt in your direction!” Benny offered, against leers of woodsy malcontent. This was steel-toed country and Ben was a waif amongst men with blisters and scars….and trucks and guns. A truth Benny was only beginning to comprehend. But oh, the night was still young on this Alabama Tuesday and the jukebox had Waylon Jennings for days.
COLD DAY IN JULY by Philip Nobert
“Pithy! Pithy! Pithy!” She used the word with a flagrant deference to nothing in particular. Like all women, it was a buck-oh-six outside, and she was sporting a sweater. Never really understood that.
MIRRORS by Philip Nobert
Avant Garde was the flavor of the month and as Roy’s ’95 Pontiac Grand Am, the green one with the cool spoiler, raced him to his teller job at Wells Fargo, he smothered eye-liner in all the right places. “I’m gonna sell some jumbo mortgages today.” He thought. Then he drove. Somewhere, Ian Curtis was laughing.
THE TRUTH ABOUT TULIPS by Philip Nobert
“This is just an observation but the more attention you give to miscreants the greater the probability your shields will be destroyed by level three. It’s all about the defenses Jimmy.” The guileless stare on little Jimmy’s face reaffirmed for Alan that perhaps Psychiatry wasn’t Alan’s chosen path in life.
ZARTON by Philip Nobert
When the aliens watch us from afar one can only surmise the unexpurgated greatness they place upon themselves against the witless display of compromised humanity they observe. So then, the decision to conquer earth smacked with the relative ease of deciding which soup to order at the diner. Split Pea please, thanks.
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