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.

world war 4 - the director's cut

by anonymous

an acrobat a beautiful woman a clown and a desperado were walking down a country road toward a dark highway when a storm came up war was declared all hell broke loose and a bird began to sing nobody even cared then the earth shook johnny came marching home and the truth was revealed at last

dynamite sugar

by bofa xesjum

it is too late now, carrington thought despairingly. even if i somehow make it back to the auditorium, it will be too late to present my paper. the denizens of the great metropolis flowed past him unceasingly. the streets were not so noisy as he had expected, but they were even more filled with people. he had not been able to bring himself to ask any of them the way back to the auditorium. in any case, they might not have known it anyway, or even given him deliberately false directions, because that is what the inhabitants of the great city, as everybody knew, were like. carrington decided to walk down the next dark alley he came to - maybe, just maybe, he would find the auditorium on the other side. it was worth a try - everything else had failed. a dark alley obligingly appeared beside him immediately. he hurriedly walked down it, on the other side of the alley, night seemed to have fallen completely. maybe it was because there were fewer lights. in fact, there was hardly any light, and the city seemed to have vanished. he was on a narrow country toad. a low wooden fence ran beside it, and on the other side was - what? water? a pond or still river? or a swamp or bog? carrington could not tell. a single dull light was visible down the road, and carrington headed toward it. he came to a small green building with a door and a large window from which the light he had seen emanated. through the window he could see a thin man behind a counter, with his head down, apparently reading something. the building had no sign he could see. was it a bar? some sort of cafe? there were no vehicles outside, and no gas pumps or charging stations visible. carrington pushed open the door. the man behind the counter did not look up. beneath the counter was a glass case, containing - what? some sort of small cakes or pastries? along one wall was what looked like a pinball machine, with nobody playing it, and against the other what looked like a juke box, with no music emerging from it. there was a small table in a corner beside the door, with a young woman seated at it. she too had her head down, reading a book or magazine or tablet. carrington approached the counter, where the thin man was still engrossed in the thin sheets in front of him - some sort of racing form? but before carrington could address the thin man, he heard a voice behind himself. stephen! carrington turned. the young woman who had been seated at the corner table was facing him. it was cynthia mccarthy! cynthia mccarthy, the receptionist at the emergency clinic at graduate school whom he had loved from afar back in the day. who had always been so polite to him, so polite. the true love of his life. now she was in his arms at last. stephen! you have to help me. of course, cynthia! what do you want me to do? suddenly everything was all right - it all fell away - all the years of solitude at school, the terrible years with noreen, the long slow upward climb through the labyrinth of the institute ... now he and cynthia were together! as it was always meant to be. you have to help me, cynthia repeated. just tell me what i have to do. there is a store about half a mile down the road. with a faded red sign. i want you to go there and buy two pounds of sugar and half a pound of dynamite. then come back and meet me here. carrington was out the door and racing down the dark road. the store with the faded red sign was there, just as cynthia had said, it was even smaller and more dimly lit than the green building where he had found cynthia. there were no goods on display inside, a fat man was seated behind a counter, reading volume three of the letters of h p lovecraft to robert e howard. i need two pounds of sugar and a half pound of dynamite, carrington blurted out without ceremony. the fat man put his book down, sure, no problem. i just need to see to see some i d. of course, carrington replied. he took his wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open. his eye fell on his i d and on his date of birth. then it hit him. he was seventy years old. and cynthia, back at the green building, had not looked a day over twenty-three. something was not right. carrington rushed back to the green building. cynthia was gone. the thin man was still behind the counter, studying his sheets of paper. the young woman who was here - where did she go? the thin man replied without looking up, some guy came along and picked her up. did they say where they were going? no, my friend, and i didn’t ask. i mind my own business. i don’t ask questions.

the seminar

by bofa xesjum

elwood had missed the morning semimar, and no one had seemed to miss him, so he decided he might as well skip the afternoon one too. at the last minute he changed his mind - he would attend, because who knows, he might learn something. what, it would be hard to say. he hurried down the stairs of the residence building, two steps at a time. when he reached the sidewalk, he saw francesca, gabriel, isabella, and jonathan , with their heads together in front of the door of the exposition building across the street. he knew right away they were talking about him. he turmed and went back inside the residence building. as he started back up the stairs, he looked up. i never realized the ceilings in this building were so high, he thought.

operator, give me central

by horace p sternwall

albert jones had a little dog that he took for long walks in the fog betty brown had a perfect smile with which she practiced her feminine wiles captain columbus wenrt down with his ship and on history recorded no blip davy crockett was a master of disguise and walked beneath cerulean skies edith emms bought a radio at macy’s and listened to the shadow and dick tracy francisco pizarro conquered peru when he had nothing better to do george washington had a notion to stick his toes in the atlantic ocean harry houdini lost his way when he went out in the rain one sunny day the royal inquisitor had a cat he grew thin, but the cat got fat nobody messed with johnny jones when he was finished eating, he chewed on bones king arthur had a voodoo doll he found in a dumpster behind the mall her dress was red and her hair was blue and arthur hoped her heart was true monuments are built to last but no one can predict the past nobody lived to tell the tale of nebuchadnezzar and the whale