the cupcake

by bofa xesjum

victor jones was walking down the street. he was not famous, and no one knew who he was. he had nothing to do, and nowhere to go. he kept walking. it was dark, and the streets got darker and darker. finally, he came to the end of a street, and there were no more houses or buildings or lights. he turned back. he came to what looked like a little coffee shop on a corner. there were no signs indicating whether it was open or closed, but he tried the door and it opened and he stepped inside. he did not see anyone behind the counter or seated at the two little tables, which had two small chairs each. there was a glass display case beneath the counter but it was empty. victor was just about to turn and leave when a person in a white apron appeared. can i help you? the person asked. i would like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. we do not have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. well, what do you have? chocolate cupcakes. all right, i will have a chocolate cupcake. victor expected the person in the white apron to ask him if he wanted anything to drink, but the person disappeared into the shadows and quickly reappeared with a small chocolate cupcake on a plate. victor took the plate with the cupcake from the person’s hand, and opened his mouth to ask for a cup of decaffeinated coffee - because it seemed to be late in the evening - but before he could speak the person said - that will be three thousand dollars. victor was surprised, but not as surprised as he might be, because he had had experience of the world’s curious and sometimes ridiculous nature before. oh in that case i do not think i want it after all, victor said with a smile. i did not realize it cost quite so much. it is too late now, the person in the white apron replied. you should have thought of that before you ordered it. come now, victor laughed good-naturedly. this won’t do. do you take me for some peasant who just fell off a banana truck in the middle of the trackless desert? i am a citizen of the world, and wise to your roguish tricks. where is the trickery in asking for payment for services rendered? have a care, fellow. it is you, i am afraid, who do not know who you are dealing with. victor was not in the habit of looking directly at his fellow humans or for that matter at any living creatures, and for the first time he took notice of the person in the white apron. why, i do believe i know you, victor exclaimed. of course, the man in the white apron - who had blue eyes and a small scar just below the left the left eye, which had caused victor to recognize him - replied. you are victor jones, and you were the best solver of crossword puzzles at winchester high back in the day. and you are gary milton, who dropped what would have been the winning two point conversion in the big game against east columbus, although butch bailey hit you right in the hands. i never expected you would turn out a baker of chocolate cupcakes! and i never expected that victor jones would turn out a lonely wanderer in the night! life is strange, victor and gary agreed.

history 2

by tom tophead

civilizations rise and fall some are big, and some are small some only serve a happy few all are old, and all are new a few will turn the whole word red with mighty conquerors at their head they burst the dams and burn the towns and all before them must bow down sargon sat upon a throne and he sat there all alone he was the mightiest of all and summoned nations to his hall princes came from far and wide queens rushed up to be his bride they threw their kingdoms at his feet as he looked down from his golden seat though modern folks might think it odd he proclaimed himself a god but in time his act grew stale and he did not live to tell his tale alexander was called the great but suffered an unhappy fate from a lamppost he was hung although he was so very young genghis khan had but one eye with which he looked up at the sky he swept the earth like a kitchen floor but now, alas, he is no more napoleon rode a horse of white and put the kings of earth to flight he marched through sand and rain and snow it does not seem so long ago churchill smoked a big cigar as he travelled wide and far the british empire ruled the waves but in the end could not be saved marx dreamed in a library dim and cool to make humanity his tool and end the story once and all it turned out it was not his call rockefeller discovered oil and slowly put the earth to boil henry ford invented cars and dreamed of driving them to mars heroes break out of the box and leave their names scratched on the rocks that crumble in the noonday sun perhaps the story has just begun

pastoral

by wiggly jones "the little hippie boy"

the grass is green the greenest ever seen the sky is blue and the birds are too the gardener is gray he works hard all day the lady’s hair is red she wears a hat on her head her dress is white her eyes are bright when they rest upon a cat on the lawn which is playing with a ball which has all the colors of the rainbow but nowhere to go like the elderly gent whose back is bent he lights his pipe with a frown as the sun goes down

happy hour

by bofa xesjum

zenobia williams, a woman wearing a blue t-shirt, was watching television. it was happy hour, and she was drinking a glass of wine. it had long been her habit to indulge herself in this way. her husband, porter, did not approve but kept his own counsel. porter was out on the highway, selling used automobiles. it was tuesday, and wednesday would be the same. zenobia heard a car pull into the driveway. she had not been expecting anybody. the doorbell rang. zenobia left her seat on the couch, happy to be curious. she did not expect the caller to be a serial killer. she would have been quite unprepared for such an eventuality. she did not recognize the person she beheld on opening the door. he looked like a quiet type, wearing a heavy sweatshirt the color of quails eggs. don’t you recognize me? he asked zenobia after she had stared at him for three seconds. he looks a little bit like jonathon, zenobia thought, but did not say aloud. jonathon had been her husband in her younger days. but he had apparently been devoured by a strange sea creature off the coast of the indian ocean many years previously. you may have seen the story on the news, or read about it in the newspapers. it had been a bit of a story back in the day, although believed a hoax by many. eventually zenobia had collected a little bit of money from an insurance company. she herself had been the subject of jokes in the more scurrilous reaches of the media. who winkingly professed to regard her as responsible in some way for jonathon’s fate. jonathon’s body had never been recovered. i am afraid i do not know you ,sir, zenobia told the man in the quails egg colored sweatshirt. i guessed you might think that, the man responded with a deep sigh. his sigh sounded a bit like the one that had annoyed her from jonathon. excuse me, i do not wish to be rude, but who exactly are you? zenobia persisted. oh, what is the use! the man cried. i never should have come here! zenobia was amused - this was a welcome change of pace from the game show she had been watching. darn it, zenobia - i am jonathon, your long lost husband who supposedly perished in the indian ocean twenty-three years ago! i see you have done your due diligence, sir - i believe that is the phrase - it was exactly twenty-three years ago last friday. perhaps i should have written before coming. maybe you would like a drink, or a cup of tea or coffee ? you look a bit tired. you act like this is some sort of joke. would you like the drink or tea of coffee or not? i fear i am imposing on your generous, though skeptical, nature. please, come in. i won’t bite you. the door closed behind the man with the quails egg colored sweatshirt. no one could ever establish exactly the time he left the house. * a tree stood beside the house. it was a pear tree, but did not produce that many pears. gray clouds floated by from time to time. nobody knew or cared what went on inside the house. some people thought the house had a sad air about it. the man calling himself jonathon rogers had thought long and hard about approaching it. finally he just did. his motives may never be known.

the prophet

by horacee p sternwall

the world was all wrong until i came along i may have been uncouth but i told the truth crowds came to hear me speak down by the creek i fed them red meat and they took to the street i wrote a book and empires shook i delivered speeches on highways and beaches everyone knew my name and i had no shame i spoke in thunder and the world wondered has the time come? will this bum unleash the sleeping forces beneath history’s courses all the kings and priests the greatest and the least took a little time to make up stories of crimes that devoured me like ants i never had a chance like those that came before me because everybody likes a story and the world turned and i learned i was yesterday’s news i put on my walking shoes and rejoined the ranks of the forgotten and the blank and stood in line counting my nickels and dimes of fame and friends bereft i went down and left town on the next bus it was ever thus

dusty

by nick nelson

ali baba was a bad person, but he loved life. his sidekick, billy the kid, was nothing but a punk. christopher columbus, the sheriff, had no use for either one. everybody knew daniel boone, the deputy, really ran the town. early one morning a stranger appeared driving a red wagon. pulled by three black horses and one white grizzly bear. folks poured out of the saloons lining the dusty street. ali baba and billy the kid laughed fit to bust. ed gibbon asked the mysterious stranger his name and number. henry the eighth suggested gibbon show a bit more courtesy. because he was giving the lonesome stranger a bad impression. the stranger climbed down from his wagon, real slow like. just then a vulture appeared in the wide blue sky. the vulture landed on top of the kentucky fried chicken store. little annie thought the vulture might look somewhat familiar. but the stranger seemed to pay the vulture no mind. where did you get them hosses? billy asked the stranger. from the back of the moon, the stranger answered politely. and that bear? deputy daniel boone enquired with a smile. he was just walking down the road, the stranger replied. just all by his lonesome. eh? ed gibbon snickered meaningfully. as friendly as a puppy, the smiling stranger replied promptly. suddenly the vulture on the roof descended to the street. kicking up a cloud of dust and scattering the crowd. sheriff christopher columbus emerged from his office with a yawn. and that is when all heck started to break loose. just as it was foretold long ago in the book. the book you probably have not taken time to read. the one on the archbishop’s highest shelf in the back. be that as it may, the vulture took itself off. with little annie and her dog caesar on its back. billy, the sheriff, daniel boone, ed, and henry all disappeared. only ali and the stranger were standing in the street. and the three black horses, and the white grizzly bear. the sun started to go down over the ancient hills. the stranger looked at ali, not smiling so much now. you must be a bad man, still be standing here. you must be a bad man yourself, ali baba replied. coming here to my town, you got yourself some nerve. and with them beasts you gone went and done stole. you think i don’t know where you got them from?

the curse

by horace p sternwall

once there was a guy named joe who came out of nowhere and had nowhere to go he was the victim of an ancient curse which is the subject of this verse his face was flat and his brow was low his nose was crooked and his speech was slow he was not what you would call a beau to charm the belle of the ball he wore a hat down over his face of the ancient curse to hide the trace passers by took curious note of his heavy overcoat the overcoat had pockets deep in which a cat or dog could sleep in which a gun or knife could slide or even a molotov cocktail hide what was joe’s problem? you ask he had been set a task by the dog whose dream humanity was just because there was a girl named jill who lived high on a windy hill she had a cat named bill and a watermelon patch named bob because growing watermelons was a full time job the dog, whose name was frank put the watermelons in the bank to save them for a rainy day because that was just his way joe was down on his luck being passed by cars and trucks on a cold and rainy day on a windy highway a truck driver named sid wondered what joe did to suffer such a fate but sid was running late and passed joe by under the gray sky and into a tunnel passed as overhead lightning flashed