Silas Rutabega's Secret

Death by . . .!

　

After the war was over the winning government sent groups of fifty or so men and women to explore the rubble and find any survivors. The small group lead by a Captain Willis Jameson came upon a formerly advanced society with their arms ready and loaded. His second in command was a thin man known only as Jed. Jed grimaced as he moved a door and stepped into a former office. He looked around and shouted to Captain Jameson, “Holy shit, Willis look at these people!”

　

Captain James stepped behind and saw the expression of dullness and apathy on the three people that were lying on the floor. He looked around for any sign of what exactly killed these people and took checked the radiation levels in the vicinity with a hand held device. Not finding any radiation whatsoever, the Captain shot Jed a confused glance. “My readings indicate nothing out of the ordinary, Jed. What could have killed these people?”

　

Jed studied the room with a detective’s eye then shrugged with a plastic smile on his face. “I tell you, I have no idea. They seem to be fine and the reinforced walls are without leaks. These folks should be up and about. I can’t understand it, how about you Dr. Baker, any ideas?”

　

Both of the men turned and looked at Dr. Louise Baker, the psychiatrist that was assigned with them, for any clue as to why these healthy people were dead. She brushed a long red hair from her eyes as she checked out one of the bodies. Then grinned cynically at Willis and Jed before she said, “Captain, these people were dead before the war even began. Jed, you’re right, there is no medical reason they shouldn’t be alive. As near as I can tell, they all died of excessive boredom. They were tuned in to the World Wide Web, television and radio and it, quite literally, bored them to death. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

　

Louise was from the school of thought that said people were creatures that needed things to do and others with whom to do it. Apparently, the school of thought was correct after all, huh?




End

　

　

　

　

Danny’s Last Party

　

He was laying on his deathbed with the faint twinkle in his eye that spoke volumes about his life. Only nineteen years had passed since that cool April morning when he was born, but he had indeed lived a full and interesting life. Gathering around the young man were his family (God knows how he managed to have so many relatives) a scattered amount of close friends and his pet iguana Don. His father, an out of work computer technician, and mother, a current reality TV star, were looking down with concern on their faces.

　

Raising a hand to draw his father’s ear closer, Danny shot his mother with a finger and she backed off. His dad leaned over to listen to what the boy had to say. Danny cleared his throat and simply stated, “Where are the nude ladies?”

　

His father wiped a few beads of sweat off his hairy head, looked around and dismissed the crowd of onlookers quickly. Danny smiled brightly as the hospital room cleared and the lights went down. The disco music that followed had the young man shaking his head to the beat as red, green, and blue lights started to flash. Then a line of about twenty nude strippers started encircling the hospital room. Danny’s eyes lit up as if it was New Year’s Eve and the fireworks display had begun. A gorgeous young stripper wrapped her long ebony arms around is head and plunged it into her giant hooters. She whispered to him, “I hope this makes you happy?”

　

His voice was muffled but she says he stated the following: “Are you kidding, this is the only way to die! I’m in heaven right now; it only gets better from here!”

　

He smiled then took his last breath of the ebony stripper’s perfume and died. Danny was not a pervert or anything, just a person who knew what he wanted. Damn, sometimes I wish I were him.

　

　

End.

　

　

　

　

　

　

The Photographer

I’m sitting here over a scalding cup of the blackest syrup ever to be considered coffee watching the people come and go in the city. Baybridge wasn’t always my home but for the last several years it has come to mean a lot more to me than I could’ve ever imagined. The people are simple enough so there’s little conflict. As long as everyone works hard, minds their own business and takes care of their own, there seems to be a lot more good times than bad.

　

The coffee, however, leaves something to be desired and the blackberry muffins are usually as hard as baseballs. I grin as I overhear a short woman with a poof of red hair talking the ear off of a slender blond cop. She’s disturbed by someone in her neighborhood she’s convinced is a serial child molester. The cop sighs as he barely prevents his blue eyes from rolling to the back of his head. She continues by saying, “I’m telling you Bert, the sick son-of-a-bitch peeks at these girls and takes pictures at random as soon as he thinks no one is looking. I swear, if I see him poking around near my daughter, I’m not going to call the police or anyone, I’ll just shoot him.”

　

Bert looks at her, sips his coffee, grins and then says, “Martha, do yourself a favor and calm down okay?” He makes a face then pinches his nose as he downs the cup. “There’s no need to take the law into your own hands. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, you give me a description of this man and I’ll run a database check on him. If there’s anything there we’ll pick him up. If that sounds good to you then let’s do it.”

　

Martha looks like she’s just won first prize at a brownie contest. She smiles brightly at Bert as he calls for a refill. The waitress steps over with a pot as Martha begins to draw on a napkin. Describing the man in question as she sketches a picture of the ’alleged’ molester. When she is finished she holds the drawing up with a vindictive look on her face and says, “This is the man, he always wears that stupid beanie hat with all the colors. The way I figure it, he does this to attract really young girls like a clown.”

　

Bert sips his coffee then looks Martha up and down studying the drawing carefully. Then he says, “How long have you been out of police work Martha? You still have a great talent for capturing images; maybe you should ask Chief Bell if you can come back.” Bert’s praise has Martha on the verge of hubris and I can tell her face is warm.

　

Then he takes the drawing from her and mutters a brief laugh. “Martha, my dear friend, do you have any idea who this is that you’ve drawn?”

Their eyes lock as the grin on his face turns into a bright smile. She shakes her head while the concern on her face becomes wonder. “I’ve told you, I think he’s a child molester that’s tying to grab every little girl in Baybridge.”

　

Putting the napkin down, he takes her hand and then says, “No, Martha, I’m afraid not. In fact he’s homosexual and maybe one of the greatest photographers in history. The man you’ve just drawn is the famous Chelsea Getty. The whole police force has been keeping a very close eye on him to protect his life from a would-be assassin. We think he was threatened by a competitor. He’s been in touch with us and has been looking for his new prize model. He does this by taking random photos and, after having them developed, assess their potential. Mr. Getty is a very nice guy actually.”

　

Martha bows her head in shame as the realization that she needs some other way to spend her time slowly slaps her hard in the face. She looks at Bert then to the drawing and closes her eyes and then says, “Do you think Chief Bell would take me back? I am really bored lately and could use something to do.”

　

Bert laughs heartily then takes another sip of his black swill. I shake my head with amusement and wonder where some people get their ideas. It must have something to do with having nothing to do. Am I right?

　

End.

　



　

　

　

　

　



　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Snowed In

The bitter wind descended across the once amber fields bringing with it white sheets of ice that encompassed the city. The man with the golden eagle tattooed on his bald head stared out the window with a longing for spring that brought with it a sad realization. Spring was months away and he was trapped by its predecessor. He felt lonely and frightened by this occurrence as he wondered the truth of the rumor that no two snowflakes were identical. Looking at the storm’s wrath he decided it was another myth brought about by some bored nitwit of an old wife.

　

From behind him he heard a pair of feet being dragged inside. Slowly he turned to see who owned the feet and was mildly pleased to see a young woman for whom he had romantic inclination named Trish. Thoughts of how he wanted to rush into her arms and hold her amused him as he shook his head with doubt.

　

Despite the warnings issued by the local media, the man’s boss, Mr. John Albright, had called that morning to make sure the store would open. The man, Gerry Tamer, was short and stocky with a desperate desire to show the world how tough he was. At the moment he was filled with regret that he had this character defect. Were it not for said efforts he’d be at home where it was warm and dry. Albright wasn’t really a hard man just a determined one so when he asked Gerry to be sure the store was open he would’ve accepted the decision to leave it closed and Gerry would be able to remain home.

　

Trish smiled weakly as she approached Gerry with a shovel in her hand. She wasn’t ugly but she could use some sprucing up. Her hair was Butch-cut, blond and she had big green eyes, the body she had under her snowsuit was heavy-set and she had a nice bum. She spoke to Gerry with all the confidence of a little girl asking her parents if it was okay for her to play in the snow. “Gerry, how are you holding up?”

　

He paused as he turned to her and then said, “The winter can seem so long when it’s white and cold you know?” Then he smiled brightly as he said, “Then again, summer can seem too long to when it’s sticky and hot, right?”

　

She smiled as she stepped closer to him and gazed into his eyes. Then bashfully she turned away and concentrated on the floor. Trish said, “You know I’ve never realized before how cute you are?”

　

　

　

His face got warm as he suddenly wrapped his arms around her and kissed the woman deeply. Pilling his face away a moment later he said, “I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry but I’ve always thought you were attractive and there doesn’t seem to be any business today.”

　

She smiled seductively in return and kissed him more deeply than he had done. Soon they were making out and fondling each other like a couple of horny teenagers. The storm picked up speed and they found themselves snowed in but happily so. By spring they were a hot item and that June the wedding bells chimed as the baby was due in October. They now live in Hoponable Falls with their two kids and dog, Buck.

　

Which just goes to prove absolutely nothing does it?

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

-Finis-

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

The American Dilemma

　

“Unfortunately,” began the mother whose son was wearing a polka-dot dress and a puffy wig, “I really don’t care for the color scheme you’ve come up with.” She hesitated as his face turned from joy to sadness and she waited for the wailing to begin.

The little boy, all of eight years old, felt the burning tears start flowing from his eyes. He looked up at his mother and then said, “You like the boots Shelly had on,” referring to his kid sister’s attire, “you even liked the black leather and fake tattoos she had found. Why don’t you like my dress mommy? Am I not good enough to be one of your kids?”

　

The mother looked skyward for an answer to her child’s query. She was trying her best to keep the kids at the school for goofy people to like her kids. It sure didn’t help that their father had to go and find a job making money. Things couldn’t be any worse; she thought as she pondered, the government will probably give us less than nothing now. The worst part is the kids of mine can’t figure out which outfits will please their peers.

　

She began to cry and the little boy hugged her as she wept and they both shed tears. It makes you wonder why a white heterosexual will never be president of the Untied States doesn’t it.



　

　

　

　

　

　
　

                                                                   Silas Rutabaga’s Secret



                                His cigar had burned for what seemed time indefinite. Despite looking twenty-nine, he had the mannerisms of an old man. With a lopsided grin he flashed a toothless smile at me and spoke clearly. “Don’t hardly seem fair that after all this time only my teeth are lost, does it?”

　

                              I was in my first year of community college and had been sent to the mansion to interview Silas Rutabaga for my assignment. Mr. Rutabaga was rumored to be the oldest man in the county or the most prolific father. It was uncertain whether he was the same man or if his descendants had replaced the family figurehead every so often. As he puffed away on the cigar, I seriously began to suspect the former was true. There was no cough or even a brief wheeze from the man. I smiled as humbly as I could, “Well, sir, I really can’t say. It seems to me that as long as a man can do what he enjoys and doesn’t hurt anyone while doing so, he should be entitled to keep as much as he wants.”

　

                              He nodded a couple of times, “You see, that’s why I thought you’d be perfect for this interview Ms. Calloway, you got decent sense about you.”

　

                             He turned to face me and looked at me with the deepest green eyes I’d ever seen. My mind became aflutter with sexual images of he and I surrounded with bubbles doing an erotic dance. Before I was aware anything had happened I was undressing and he just puffed away on that cigar without taking his eyes from me. Then he opened his mouth and a puff of bluish smoke came over me and I dropped to my knees with a smile. My sense of time and space was gone and I melted into his arms.

　

                           While making love, I realized that he was much older than anyone I’d ever met (including my great-grandparents who were both still alive) and yet more sensual than every lover I’d ever had.

　

                          By the time I awoke there was no sound and I recognized the canopy bed I was in from an old photograph that was in the museum. I rolled over and saw Silas Rutabaga laying on his side with the cigar still burning.

　

                       “Well, what can I tell you, I agree with your analysis? Truly you are a bright girl, thank you so much for reminding me that vitality is a sexual sensation, my dear. I rather enjoy having more than one partner and believe they have all been satiated. Do you agree?”

　

                         I wasn’t sure what to tell him so I nodded in reply. Then my whole body ached to be touched by him again and know the pleasure he could bring. Then I thought about how selfish that would be. I said, “Thank you Silas, I won’t tell anyone the truth about you.”

　

                        “Excellent, that way more curious people, preferably of the female variety, will be able to stop by and share in the sexual indulgencies I so very much enjoy. For your trouble I have taken the liberty of writing your report for you.” He pointed at a small pile of papers next to an old typewriter and smiled.

　

                         I stood and got dressed while keeping a close eye on him. After I was dressed, Silas put a pair of shorts on and walked me to the door. Papers in hand, he gave them to me and I parted with a bow. The old man laughed a little and I stepped out into the brightest, most beautiful spring day, I have ever seen.

　

                         The report was enough to catapult me to the top of my class and spread enough innuendo to keep the legend alive. Now I’m sixty years old and the editor of the Hoponable Chronicle and every now and then I get a glimpse of Silas Rutabaga springing around town with some eighteen or nineteen year old girl. Ah, to be so young and full of sexual energy.