Humor
The Cost of Wampum
We need a Galactic Internet Connection before Russia,” was neatly printed in green ink on a clean piece of cardboard. Doctor Eli Prod held the sign in one hand. In his other hand was an aluminum foil-lined hat. He watched as a pulse of people started up from the subway during the morning rush.
By Mark Stigers 5 years ago in Fiction
Pawn Shop Dystopia
Disgruntled with his government-provided equipment, the Ready Player Pawn Shop owner glares at a piece of seemingly silver jewellery lying upon the surface of faulty technology. An oil painting hung up behind the counter, a hologram label before it reading that it was originally created in 2013 by an unidentified author (crippling its value), pictures a gorgeous woman who is seemingly middle-aged, though she looks no older than her twenties. Her cat-like eyes gaze upon the strangely shaped object as freakish lime lights dance across its beaten surface. Out of nowhere, a booming sneeze erupts from the store owner, leaving no time to bring his arm to catch it. To the painted woman’s dismay, snot dangles from her styled, auburn hair. His eyes don’t change from their resting position of constant ferocity but the gentle exhalation from his nose explain his current thoughts plentiful. He sighs. First, he checks the left pocket of the vintage cotton jacket, where the label annoyingly poking out from the collar reads ‘MADE IN CHINA - 2032’, before jerking his hand back to the polluted air with no form of tissue in his possession. Some brief contemplation takes place before he takes the cheaply framed portrait from the wall and slots it beneath the counter crafted out of LED screens. A few minutes pass before he moves again to scratch his bristled jaw before being brought back to life by a melodious pinging from the machine beside him.
By Corey Price5 years ago in Fiction
Captain Comet
Nathan was a sharp-eyed child and his keen eyes allowed him to see the greatest of details no matter how big or how small. Capable of counting marching ants on an ant hill or viewing the moonlit craters in the night, Nathan considered this his one superpower.
By Michael A Mendoza5 years ago in Fiction
The Milky Way Express
“Typical,” thought Elsie, taking a seat on the bus, “just typical.” The same day she gets evicted from her flat, she gets fired....Eight years in the same tiny cubicle and what did she have to show for it? A company logo mouse pad, a snoopy pencil head, and a “hang in there” cat poster...
By Chloe Russell5 years ago in Fiction
Superhero Talkshow
[Commercial Break 1] Skycam 1 hovered over the clapping, smiling audience, gliding down until it rested on the well lit stage where the host laughed at an inside joke with his guests. “Welcome back to the show. I’m your host, Tony Cantrell, and in case you're just joining us, we’ve been speaking with our city’s infamous hero, Greyscale.” Tony paused while an applause erupted, flashing the camera a toothy smile before continuing. “Greyscale claims that his arch nemesis, Dr. Chromatic, kidnapped his son, who had just taken up the mantle of Greyscale’s new sidekick, Pitfall. He claims that Dr. Chromatic took his son last summer, and in the time since, the Dr. has allegedly brainwashed Pitfall making him think he is not our fabled super hero's sidekick.
By Dean Floyd5 years ago in Fiction
Who's That Venus...
At the sun’s too enthusiastic greeting I am transformed into a zombie with my urr-ing groans. My arms extend the bed’s blankets into wings to shield my baggaged eyes from the unwelcome light breaking through the hotels window. “Shut the curtains!” I barked towards my wickedly optimistic mother. Optimism, who needs to see the light of day when the darkness of night holds our dreams? “Rise and shine.” Who is she saying that too anyway? Me or the sun, because the sun has risen, and I am incapable of shinning. Last night’s tiresome adventure already has me grieved with Tasmania. Sun, why do you bother to reveal your face? Nobodies eyes can tolerate you anyway.
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
Oasis Somewhere
Oasis Somewhere by Matthew Simmons “Okay, stop me if you’ve heard this one before. Four nuns walk into confessional. The first goes in and starts, ‘father forgive me for I have sinned.’ Then the priest goes ‘how have you sinned my child’ and she replies ‘I’ve had impure thoughts about men. ‘Say five Hail Mary’s and wash your hair in the holy water basin my daughter’ says the priest and she leaves and the next comes in. This time ‘I have gazed impurely on a man’s body father,’ and he goes, ‘Say ten Hail Mary’s and wash your eyes in the holy water. When the second nun leaves the priest hears arguing outside the confessional, so he steps out to see what’s going on and he sees nuns three and four are heated. Nun four says, I don’t care what he says, I’m not washing my mouth out with that water after you!’ Kyla finishes her joke as she climbs over a beat-up old Honda Civic on blocks. There was no laugh from her audience, the stuffed bear dangling from the back of her backpack. Her father never wanted her to know crass jokes like that but the engineer, Mr. Bartley knew hundreds of them by heart. When they made supply runs, Mr. Bartley was sure to tell at least two dirty jokes. One going and, one coming back and at some point they just stuck, but that was five years ago. Mr. Bartley lives only in those jokes now, and Kyla knows at least half of them. Half alive is better than not alive at all right?
By Matthew Simmons5 years ago in Fiction
No Okies from Oklahoma, or Bennies from New Jersey.
Phil Baider is sweating, in his apartment, over a blue 2009 Prius on Queens Craigslist. It’s the end of the world and the seller listed it as not only "excellent,” but with “new tires. Under 100,000 miles." A steal in a constricting market. He and his wife Trudy had been locked inside their apartment for over three months because of city-wide quarantine.
By J. E. Sullivan5 years ago in Fiction
