midnight rambler

by wiggly jones "the little hippie boy"

i had a dog named uncle jack who carried a gorilla on his back the gorilla’s name was sally green she lived inside a washing machine sally had a bird called bob the crow who always took it nice and slow bob admired schopenhauer and quoted his wisdom by the hour schopenhauer was often depressed to give his restless mind a rest i would pick a tune on my ukelele i had to do this almost daily arthur smith had a garter snake a real one - not a fake the garter snake’s name was colonel fred he often claimed that he was already dead colonel fred had a cat named paul who sat in rocking chair wrapped in a shawl smoking an endless cigarette and resented being called a pet i had a frog named anatole who was always ready to roll i took him downtown and wined and dined him now i don’t know where to find him i had a friend and his name was blue he was a dog, and a good one too he would chase a squirrel up a tree then turn around and look at me

everything is nothing

by nick nelson

testing… testing… everything is nothing to the man who waits for nothing to take everything out of his pockets and put them on the final bar under the unblinking skull face stare of the last bartender before taking a final roundhouse punch to the smiling face of death in the final dive in the final lost dark island in the final hurricane on the edge of the expanding universe of nothingness… but a drink is still a drink. if the last bartender knows what he is doing. and if the last bartender, unblinking skull face stare or no, doesn't know what he is doing, then you tell him what to do. politely. and if he still doesn't get it, you ask him again. politely. and then, and then, if he still doesn't get it…. slim was suddenly awakened from his reverie. "why so glum, chum?" " i'm not chum, i'm slim." "yeah, you are, aren't you?" "i guess it's dark in here." "it is, isn't it?" "you get used to the dark." "especially when that's all there is." "that's right." "so what are we doing in the dark?" "it looks like we're drinking." "it looks like? it's dark, remember?" "i've gotten used to it." "you mean your eyes have grown accustomed to the darkness." "i guess that's what i meant." "why don't you just say what you mean?" "bleep you." they both laughed. buck looked around. "where's the bartender?" "i don't know. he can't be too far away." "true." "where is he going to go?" "same as us. nowhere." "you got that right." "all the same," said buck. " i could use a drink." suddenly the door opened… “this must be the bartender” but it was not the bartender…

999-888-77xx

by nick nelson

eddie was walking down the steet, at night, as he often did. it started to rain. he wanted to get in out of the rain. the only place he could see that was open was this little coffee shop. eddie had never been in it but his buddies had told him it was a real stuck up candy ass place where if you asked for a cup of coffee they asked you if you wanted bolivian mountainside strawberry or some shit. eddie decided to go in anyway. the place was empty. a young guy with a pony tail was behind the counter. he was reading a book and looked up when eddie entered. i just want a cup of coffee, eddie said. sure, the young guy said. you want cream, sugar, they are right over there. eddie paid for the coffee and took it over to a little booth beside the window. the guy behind the counter went back to reading his book. when eddie settled into his seat he noticed a little spiral notebook , the kind you could stick in a shirt pocket, stuck in the seat cushion. he picked it up and opened it. it seemed to be blank except for one page. written on the one page in a scribbly handwriting was “ call 999-888-77… “ eddie couldn’t make the last two numbers. probably 77 bit they might have been 71 or 17 or 72 or any damn thing. it didn’t say call this number for a good time or call this number to make a million dollars. just call this number. eddie tossed the notebook back on the seat. he could have showed it to the guy at the counter and said somebody left this here, but maybe the guy would think he was trying something and besides it was always best to mind your own business. he finished his coffee, which was actually pretty good. the rain was still coming down pretty good outside and looked like it was not going to stop any time soon. eddie decided to just get wet and get it over with. he get up and left, without saying anything to the guy with the pony tail who was reading his book. when he got back to his room he remembered the number in the notebook. it was easy enough to remember. he had nothing better to do, so he decided to start calling the number, starting with the most likely two last digits… if anybody answered and starting giving him a load of shit, he knew how to give it right back. sitting on his bed, with the rain pattering on the window, he began dialing… 1-999-888-77……

green

by nick nelson

i met a man named green who came to fix my washing machine then he stopped and stayed a while because chatting seemed to be his style he told me all about his life he had three children and a wife he’d worked for the company five years through heartbreak, tragedy, and tears his wife was fond of other men his youngest daughter, who was ten had failed to make the football team and liked to eat too much ice cream his son, who had just turned fifteen was by the neighbors often seen walking dazedly across their lawns a practice that they frowned upon but when the young man was arrested and for illegal drugs was tested there was nothing there to see his behavior was a mystery his older daughter, on the other hand caused green’s chest to expand she spent her life winning prize after prize and was the apple of his eyes she was popular and pretty and was headed for the big city where she was sure to find success but the rest of the family was a mess why was i listening to this fool who had not been to the finest schools? what did i care for his sad affairs which he felt compelled to share? at last he had his say and went on his sorry way i was free without resistance to return to my real existence i had wasted half the day but soon i was tapping away at all my enemies and friends in the real word that never ends happily sinking beneath the tide with nothing to say snd everything to hide or is nothing to hide and everything to say? but i would not have it any other way

the little bird

by wiggly jones "the little hippie boy"

john smith was walking down the road. it had rained the night before and the grass on the side of the road was still wet. john saw a little bird in the grass fluttering its wings., but not taking off into the air. was it hurt? he wondered. was there any way he could help it? should he pick it up and take it home and try to hep it heal? but just as he was thinking these thoughts, the little bird sailed away into the air and over a great elm tree in the field by the side of the road. and a rainbow appeared in the sky.