world war 5

by horace p sternwall

i had a dog named captain kidd he thought he was slick but i knew what he did i also knew where his treasure was hid but kept my eyeball under its lid i had a cat named omar khayyam who liked chopped liver and fried clams he said good morning sir and thank you, ma’am and thought civilization was a sham i had a horse named harry jones who listened at night to the wind moan he had a bag full of polished stones and sometimes felt so all alone i had an elephant named ed brown who knew all the important people in town he always had a smile, not a frown and never let anything get him down i had a friend named freddy lee who was always nice to me one day he drowned in the deep blue sea how and why is a mystery i could go on and on like this but you might think something was remiss on a piece of paper i will make a list of everything i might have missed

porterfield and civilization

by nick nelson

dusk was falling. professor porterfield woke from a reverie, after a long day of staring out his office window at his beloved poplar tree, and drumming his long fingers disconsolately on his desk. another day had apparently gone by, and he had made little progress on his magisterial history of the h________s. he got up, took up his hat and cane, left the office and began wending his way homeward down the shady lane bordering the campus. a single dim light was on in a window of his bungalow. his daughter and housekeeper, clarissa, was seated in the parlor in an abjectly dejected pose. clarissa sighed when she looked up and beheld the professor hanging his hat up.. did you have a pleasant day, father? pleasant enough. i had a nice lunch, though i did have to endure listening to that ridiculous puppy wetserly run on about his theories of life being a dream, and humans being programmed robots in such and such a galaxy. i have to confess, though, that i did not make any great progress in my magisterial history of the h________s. i too, did not have a very productive day, clarissa replied. i have sat here in the parlor woolgathering, and have not prepared your dinner. you will have to make yourself a sandwich if you are really hungry - although - although i suppose i could make it for you if you so desire. that is quite all right, my girl, i will be happy to make it myself - that way i will be sure to have enough mustard on it, ha ha. i am afraid my life is not much more than a gray miasma, clarissa continued, with no light or anything else on the horizon. i feel i am doomed to sit here in this gloomy parlor for all eternity. nonsense! the professor boomed. tomorrow will be another day, i will write a whole chapter of my magisterial history. and you will meet a fine strapping young fellow who will sweep you away and you will have twelve glorious children together, six lusty boys and six blooming girls. and we will save civilization together. starting tomorrow. that is not at all what i had in mind, clarissa muttered, but the professor did not seem to hear her, as he repaired to the kitchen to make his sandwich. * professor porterfield woke up. it was completely dark. someone was knocking on his bedroom door. who can that be? he wondered. he got up and went to the door but did not open it. yes? he asked. it is 78043 hours, b-7489, a voice replied. you have a 568-f exercise and proaction at b-9001. be on time, please.

world war 4

by horace p sternwall

the acrobat was alice jones she was mostly skin and bones the beautiful woman was betty lee she was really something to see the clown’s name was confucius he did his best to amuse us the desperado was jesse james robbing the mail was his road game an elephant waited in the weeds attentive to their every need the furniture was rearranged to give them space to play their games the gardener had a pair of shears and a brain between his ears a hobo walked along the track and of course his name was mac an adventuress named miss ickes taught an iceberg to do tricks and just when she reached for success she misplaced the pope’s address king arthur never slept and through the night he crept when he met lancelot on the road they conversed in a secret code maybe i am naive but i sincerely believe that casey jones is my friend and is coming around the bend

beside a waterfall

by nick nelson

sheriff george bump parked beside the waterfall and looked up at the full moon. he let out a howl that could be heard on whatever planet decent folks tried to hide on. alice weberly, hiding in the bushes just around the bend, felt her blood run cold. i never should have tried to escape, she thought despairingly. all our great plans to seize power from the oligarchs have crumbled to dishwater. what fools we were! especially me, for listening to little mike and his big plans. done with his bloodcurdling howl, sheriff george bump took a pack of red man out of his shirt pocket and transferred a quantity of its contents to his left cheek. he knew that little mike was in the vicinity - he could feel it with his sixth and seventh senses. little mike - what a jerk! thinking he could overthrow the galactic council with his misbegotten band of so-called… what was it they were called? the sheriff could never remember - and the crew cut boys from kansas in their seersucker suits and panama hats were always laughing at him because he could never remember what they were called. and now - now he, george bump, was about to make the bust of the century - and crack the case the robots and the giant brain and the crew cut boys with all their resources could not.. suddenly the sheriff heard a discreet cough. behind him. he whirled. and beheld a young woman - an ordinary looking young white woman wearing a red and black checked hunting jacket. she looked familiar - but he could not place her. do i know you? he blurted. i am alice weberly - you arrested me one snowy night on the shore of lake erie - just after the first wave of the invasion. of course - you were little mike’s girl. i am afraid you do not quite have hold of the right end of the stick. i am little mike, as of last tuesday. i am confused . you just said you were alice weberly. i am alice weberly, and i am also little mike. there is a new reality in town, sheriff. i have to pull myself together, the sheriff thought. aloud he said - i do not know if i like this. we are not concerned with your likes and dislikes, a deep voice behind him boomed. the sheriff turned and beheld a dragon - or was it a bear? - holding a flaming sword. who are you? the sheriff asked in his best sheriff voice. i am big mike. and also little mike, and also the archangel michael, and also j robert oppenheimer and the three bears. the creature seemed to have settled, for the moment, on the form of a bear. for a minute there, said the sheriff, i thought you were holding a flaming sword. it was just the sun flashing of my glasses. of course. why don’t we go somewhere and talk this over? alice weberly said. if you play ball with us, sheriff, we will play ball with you. that sounds like a plan, the sheriff admitted wearily. he turned and headed back to his cruiser. alice and the creature, no longer with its flaming sword, followed. well, said the sheriff, as he opened the rear door of the cruiser for his guests, i guess i will not be making the bust of the century after all. there are no more centuries, alice weberly said.

incident at papa gino's

by nick nelson

al williams wished he had a more interesting life. he was known to have occasional fits of despair. but then he practiced dr hello’s rules for positive thoughts and then he was usually good to go. today he was assigned the task of following ed walsh, another unfortunate victim of despair. al was parked a quarter of a mile from the entrance to the great highway. he was not thinking about matters of life and death. he had an infinity of things to choose to think about, as he waited for ed walsh to emerge from the papa gino’s on the other side of the road. ed’s black 2017 gmc suv was parked outside. what he was thinking about was winning the lottery - his favorite and most recurring object of cojnemplation. the world spun a little too fast for al. but nobody understood him, not even his boss, daisy miller. it never occurred to al that he might be obsolete. that was not how his brain, infinitely capacitated as it might be, worked. suddenly the scene outside his car window sprang to life. incredibly - to al - he heard what sounded like gunshots coming from the papa gino’s or from behind it. he, al, was only being paid to follow ed walsh, not to run any risks. he was still a young man in his own world and his own mimd, nobody could tell him what to do - except maybe daisy miller. daisy herself was still fairly young and not bad looking. but that was neither here nor there - only she could tell him what to do in this sudden matter of life and death. al punched daisy’s number on his phone - and got her voice message. another gun shot - if that was what it was - echoed down the highway. terror gripped al’s guts. but he found himself starting the car up and crossing the road. although al had worked for miller and miller security for almost two years , he was not a licensed “professional” anything, and did not carry a firearm. and he was still a young man. he parked behind a black 2020 subaru and got out. everything will be all right, he told himself, and i will grab a slice or two when i am inside. daisy noticed that al had called her, and that he had not left a message. what is that goof up to, she wondered, as she punched his number.

born in april

by horace p sternwall

adam had an apple harry had a horse they sailed down the river but drifted off course they came to a city paved with gold with the treasures of the earth but they had all been sold they woke up in the morning it was only a dream they washed their hands in a muddy stream i was born in april and hanged in may bad companions led me astray all you rounders listen to my tale steal an apple from a tree but don’t rob the mail

the prince

by horace p sternwall

the sun rose slowly over the royal city on the morning of day 302 of the year 34786. the prince woke up. another slow day, he thought automatically. another day in which my respected parent, the king, will perform his vigorous exercises vigorously, and continue to rule the kingdom peacefully and wisely in his interminable vigorous old age. the prince rang the little bell on the table beside his bed, and his servant appeared. the usual, your highness? yes. a little extra jelly on the toast, if you please. certainly. will your highness be attending the council this morning? i think not. the servant bowed and left, leaving the prince to his thoughts. after leaving the prince’s request for a little extra jelly with the cook, the servant repaired to the snug office of the vizier. unsuspected by the prince, the servant was able to read all the prince’s thoughts, and he reported them every day to the vizier, who used his discretion in passing along to the king what he thought the king needed to know. well? the vizier enquired. he seems a bit more agitated this morning. his fantasies are a bit more vivid. and more violent? it is hard to see how they could be more violent. i would say they are more vivid - perhaps more urgent. thank you. you have done well. you may take the rest of the day off, as the prince will not require your services. the servant departed. the vizier gazed out of the small window of his office. the king had ruled in peace for many years, but the prince, as the vizier well knew, had other ideas as to what he would do when he inherited the kingdom. the prince was profoundly bored with his life and with the life of the kingdom, and was turning over in his mind plans to sow discord in the kingdom. first, he would announce that life in the kingdom had grown stagnant, that the kingdom had lost its claim to greatness, and that the reason was the abolition of the old and honorable factions of the reds and the greens, when every person in the kingdom adhered to one or the other. then, argument and oratory had filled the streets and the air, giving spice to everyday life. that would be the beginning. a slow trail of powder would lead from the reestablishment of the factions to the outbreak of full blown cicil war. and the world would be interesting again. the prince was finishing his breakfast, when the door to his chamber was unceremoniously opened, and the vizier appeared, followed by the royal executioner. to what do i owe this honor? the prince asked. come, your highness, you know perfectly well what this visit signifies, the vizier replied. may i finish my tea and toast? of course, we are in no hurry. as they proceeded down the stairs to the execution room, the prince observed - i can not complain. i had a pleasant enough, though occasionally tedious, thirty-odd years. actually, the vizier replied, the memories of thirty years was just something we planted in your brain. you have really only been alive for four days. that evening, the king and the vizier enjoyed a sober repast in one of the palace’s smaller rooms, attended by a single ancient servant. a period of mourning would be announced at dawn, after the kingdom awoke to another peaceful day. a new crown prince would be decided upon, and installed in the afternoon.

a cloudy day

by nick nelson

it was a cloudy day. harold was quite a boy. he had been a boy for a long time. he wanted to stand up to the man. he stood on the street watching the man’s door. he had a piece of paper in his pocket with one word written on it. a car drove past - a red 2006 volvo. harold wanted to laugh, but could only shake his head. the clouds wanted to cry, but could only watch. it was that kind of day. another car drove past - a blue 2015 toyota. the piece of paoer was still in harold’s pocket. he took it out and checked the word on it again. he thought of the woman in the green dress. and the man in the brown hat. and the girl - always the girl. the man’s door opened and a boy walked out on to the street. in a few hours it would be night. who would get the last laugh? on an impulse, harold decided to leave the scene. after so many days of waiting for this moment. he turned and walked away. he took the piece of paper out of his pocket. a car pulled up beside him - a black police car. harold wished it was night. the night that would hide him forever. he got in the car.

lonesome song

by horace p sternwall

in a lonesome graveyard when the moon went behind a cloud i heard my mama call me telling me to make her proud on a lonesome highway with the sheriff on my trail i heard my mama call me telling me i could not fail in a lonesome jail cell i heard the sheriff’s keys a-jangle they took me out to hanging tree and left me there to dangle in the lonesome forest they dug me a lonesome hole no more corn whiskey and no more jelly roll

out in the street

by bofa xesjum

it started to rain. the street was deserted. the word “love” had been chalked on the sidewalk. along with what , to robinson’s eagle eye, seemed to be a crude picture of a woman. the rain began to wash the words and the crude picture away. a girl looked out a window. she saw robinson standing in the street, making no attempt to get out of the rain, and looking down at the word “love” written on the sidewalk. maybe i should have written the word “hate” instead, she thought. a cloud passed over robinson’s brain. i really should get out of the rain, he thought. i could really use a cup of coffee and a couple of cheeseburgers. i wish it was night and i could go home. the girl stayed at the window, watching robinson’s shoulders droop. another man appeared in the street. he looked like he meant business. he strode purposefully through the raindrops toward robinson. nice day, the new man addressed robinson. some people might think so, robinson responded tersely. sarcasm will get you nowhere, the man laughed. robinson took a closer look at his new acquaintance. do you always stand in the rain like this? one of them asked the other. a woman seated at a desk spoke sharply to the girl watching the two men from the window. are you going to stand there looking at the street all afternoon? the street can be interesting sometimes, the girl replied unconcernedly. you need a boy friend, that is what you need. the woman picked a piece of paper up from the desk. here, she said to the girl, this requires your undivided attention.

the report

by fred flynn

the adjutant handed the report across the desk to the director the director read it carefully. finally he put it down on the desk. there does not seen to be anything more to say. no. care for a cigar? i do not mind if i do.