flash fiction, satire, horoscopes, & more
Liberals can feel guilty without actually sinning. They yearn to change the national anthem to “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” They’ll take your money and give it to LGBTQ1A++, BLM, and other members of the alphabet mafia. Liberal women have dainty moustaches. Liberal men, pony tails and male pattern baldness.
The Tao Te Ching, a much venerated book of Chinese wisdom, has endured for more than 2,500 years despite the fact nobody has really figured out what it means yet. The last person who spoke the Chinese dialect in which the Tao was written died in a single-cart accident during the Three Sovereigns Around the Moon dynasty (345-287 BCE). (more…)
The only birthday cards that Edward received were from three creditors and his parole officer. “Why let other people’s preoccupations with their lives spoil the party?” he thought. He sent himself an anonymous e-mail, agreed to meet the sender for dinner, and wasn’t shy about sex on the first date.
Billy hated mimes. He loved poking fun at (shadowing) them until one day a vindictive mime replaced Billy’s shadow with a copy of his. After several embarrassing daylight incidents and a near arrest on obscenity charges, Billy began going out only at night. Soon he stopped going out at all.
Screen name Commander or Princess.
Wants to meet in PetSmart.
Measures height to shoulders.
Asks how old you are in dog years.
Thinks computer’s “pause” button is misspelled.
Asks if you’re fixed.
Avoids exchanging photos.
Re-roofed summer house for $100.
Can’t understand fuss about quintuplets.
Too interested in e-mailman’s schedule.
“Your face is like the blue screen of death.”
“Sorry. I’ve encountered a fatal exception in my heart. You.”
“We are an outdated operating system, incompatible with the future.”
“You are the malware that corrupts my operating system.”
“As of today your program is no longer eligible for tech support.”
Postmodern philosophy is the mycelium from which the toxic fungi of skepticism, sarcasm, deconstructionism, ironic politeness, and self-aware apologies emerge.
These are nourished by a distrust of grand narratives and a single-minded pursuit of power in human interactions.
Postmodernism has also been described as modernism with the cheerfulness taken out.
Jeffrey, trying not to make a sound, stumbled into the sofa in the darkened living room.
Suddenly a small dog started barking insanely.
“Wait,” he thought, “we don’t have a dog.”
Then a light and a woman facing him with a gun.
“Wait,” he thought, “That is not my wife.”
If ever you hear someone make this claim, change the subject fast; otherwise you’ll be sorry to learn that “spiritual” folks believe in some batshit notions–crystals, astrology, sweat lodges, yoga, Ouija boards, Tarot cards, the I Ching–that make the notion of Jesus walking on water seem downright plausible. Amen.
“Bless me father for I have sinned.”
“And who hasn’t?”
“It’s been four months since my last confession.”
“Did you break a leg?”
“Uh, no father …”
“Is this going to take long?”
“Well …”
“Look, whatever you’ve done, I’ve heard it all. Your sins are forgiven. Now get lost.”