Lawbreaker

In the midnight hours of August 24, a local resident, Heather Grande, was caught on security camera speeding through a red light in a Ford Mustang and endangering the safety of her passenger, Pete Virgo.

 

According to police, after a short car chase down Highway 69, Officer David Dankit was able to stop the vehicle by jumping onto the hood of the assailant's car and startling the driver, Heather Grande, who immediately pulled off to the side of the road and stopped. Officer Dankit also stated that when he jumped onto the vehicle, passenger Pete Virgo appeared to be in mild hysterics and disoriented.

Officer Dankit's handsome partner, Devon Heavon, reported that Heather was wearing a stylish Bob Mackie Vermillion sequined cocktail dress and shoes by famous Malaysian Chinese designer Jimmy Choo. Pete was wearing tight-fitting blue jeans and a white T-shirt with the words "Hot Stuff" written across the front in sparkly rainbow glitter.

When Officer Heavon questioned Pete Virgo, Mr. Virgo alleged that he was being blackmailed by the beautiful Heather Grande in exchange for what he described as heterosexual sex.

Heather refuted Devon's claim and stated that Mr. Heavon was a crazy homosexual and had attempted to steal a $3,000 dollar pair of Jimmy Choo pumps from her slender feet as they approached the intersection, which was her reason for running the red light.

Sobriety tests were administered at the scene and intoxication was ruled out as a possible cause for the disturbance. However, an unopened bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne was found in the back seat.

No arrests were made because both parties declined to press charges against the other. Officer David Dankit issued a reckless driving citation to Heather Grande and officer Heavon escorted the distraught Mr. Virgo home to console him.

UPDATE — Heather Grande reportedly made a plea deal in court and gave a very small donation to D.A.M.N. (The organization which she founded) in lieu of paying traffic fines and having her driver's license suspended.

 *The names in this article were changed to protect the guilty*

Awake

The night is a welcome friend until you realize it is passing too quickly as you lay there in suspended animation, wondering if your eyes have forever lost their ability to remain shut. You toss and turn uncomfortably. The more you attempt to think yourself to sleep, the wider awake everything around you seems.

Then the worry sets in. "What about work tomorrow? If I fall asleep in the next ten minutes, I might have enough time. What time is it again?" The battle to beat the clock begins. "Stop it! Don't look at the clock. You'd be better off not knowing. Wait, I have to know because I'm running out of time!"

Next comes the remembering. "What did I say today that I shouldn't have? Oh my gosh, did I leave that candle burning in the living room? Is the front door locked? Did I forget to do something?"

And worst of all is the physical. Just when you are seconds away from finally falling asleep, you realize you have to pee! NO! You try to ignore the urge, but the more you ignore it the worse it gets. The worry sets in again and the cycle begins anew. Over and over all night long.

The morning finally arrives after what feels like an eternity, and you quickly fill your veins with caffeine to stay awake for the long day ahead. It's all for nothing, though, because is it not your thoughts that keep you awake in the first place?

The Shed

The shed sits there, filled to the brim with garden stuff. Dirty, rusted, bent, metal tools designed specifically to rip nature apart. The windows are black with decades of oily dirt and blocked by heavy handmade shelves leaning dangerously to the left. Containers of pesticides, dried out paint and gasoline decay in perfect harmony.

The groundskeeper has not been around in ages, only the insects and rodents have access now. One day the shed will split wide-open when the weight of the shelves eventually come crashing down and only then will the truth be discovered. Mr. Greene stored much more than his tools in the metal box behind the chainsaws and shovels.

Mrs. Greene's first husband will no longer be missing.

Earthlings Make Me Tingle

On a sweltering August night in the city of Salamanco, Spain, the personal wine cellar beneath the home of master vintner Diego Montenegro Santo-Dominguez Cipriano Vasquez glowed blue-green as the alien creature materialized amongst the racks and bottles. The extraterrestrial's name was unpronounceable by humans, but roughly translated to Joe in English.

"I have arrived on Earth, Captain," Joe whispered into his communicator,

"Have you encountered and Earthlings?" the captain asked from a ship hovering in a distant quadrant of the universe.

"I am surrounded by them."

"What do they look like?"

Frowns creased Joe's forehead as he surveyed the wine bottles. "Earthlings are nothing as we imagined, Sir. They are liquid entities encased by rigid exoskeletons. Earthlings are cylindrical in shape with a thin neck topped by a single eye. They have no apparent mode of locomotion, respiration or reproduction."

"Fascinating," the captain replied. "Do they show any signs of aggression?"

"None, Sir. They appear to be sleeping in specialized beds designed to cradle their delicate necks."

"How many are there?" 

"Thousands, Sir." 

"An army," the captain mused. "Apply the paralyzer before you approach in case they awaken." Joe did so, though he sensed no danger.

"Done, Sir. Permission to examine an earthling more closely?"

"Permission granted."

Joe wrapped a tentacle around the neck of the nearest bottle. He lifted it from its cradle but it slipped and shattered on concrete floor. A deep red pool of wine spread out around the shards of broken glass.

"I have killed the earthling, Captain. It's exoskeleton is quite fragile, apparently. Let me attempt another."

"Before you waste any more time, taste it. No sense continuing the mission if Earthlings are not edible."

Joe extended a proboscis from one of its thirteen mouths and sipped at the spilled wine. Then he took a second taste. And a third. He was taking his fourth when the captain interrupted.

"Well, are the Earthlings edible? What do they taste like?"

"The answer is complicated, Sir."

"How so?"

Joe chose his words carefully. "First, I would have to say that Earthlings have a robust plum bouquet, some sweetness but not over-heady. They are drier on the second nose with clean, berry flavors on the palate, a hint of nutmeg and just a touch of graphite. Earthlings have superb structure, good balance and a long, dry finish, Sir,"

"Any nutritional value?" the captain asked.

"Negligible, but there is a secondary effect to the consumption of Earthlings."

"What is it?"

"Earthlings make me tingle, Sir."

The next evening, just before his sixty-ninth birthday fiesta, a handsome, tanned and happy man whistled as he descended a flight of a stairs and flipped on a light. His eyes went wide and his face went gray, he muttered a prayer and fainted dead away. His precious babies had been kidnapped! The personal wine cellar of master vintner Diego Montenegro Santo-Dominguez Cipriano Vasquez stood completely empty.

Good-bye!

To my "so-called" doctors,

What does obsessive fear and constant worry have to do with being crazy? I'm not sure, but the aliens keep talking about that when I'm in the room, and it's making me feel really annoyed. We are all one breakdown away from being emotionally compromised anyway, so if you look deep enough into your own brain, I bet you'd find a few cells wearing a straitjacket just like the rest of us!

Perhaps you never need to know this, but surely there is somebody out there somewhere who has met you and believes wholeheartedly you are a nut-job! Take me for example, the first thing I notice when I meet someone is the way in which their eyes move about, darting this way and that, or their voice asking me things like, "Are you being supervised?" and "Do you always make a habit of licking people?" What sane person asks those questions?  Of course I lick people!

So you see, most humans believe they are normal and go through life never knowing the truth. Just because I worry every day about falling into a sinkhole or keep the window blinds shut so the stray cats can't see in, doesn't mean I am a lunatic. The truth lies somewhere within our personal perception of reality. Crazy to one is just an alternative reality to another. With that being said, I want to officially request to be left the fuck alone so I can attend the dog surfing competitions this year in Barcelona. The championship isn't actually being held there, but due to my fear of hipsters wearing plaid shoes and my need for cheap wine, Spain is my best option.

Sincerely,
The Great Benjasmine

Missing

It seemed like a logical solution to follow the power-lines back to civilization after escaping the war-zone, but my hope soon turned to despair as I noticed the miles and miles of dangerous land stretched out in front of me. How was it possible I allowed myself to get into this mess? All those years of training seem wasted now. If only I was at home having dinner with my family instead of fighting for my life in this desolate land.

I can remember the kids jumping on my back, tickling me, then chasing me around the room on their tiny legs trying in vain to catch me. Sometimes I would stop running and they would soon pile up at my feet. Laughter and hugs and kisses would follow. I miss them.

I can remember the soft caress of her fingers massaging my shoulders as we sat comfortably together on the sofa. Those evenings were the best, it was our special time together and nothing else in the world seemed to matter. I wonder how frantic she is right now, wondering what has become of me?

I am exhausted and my thirst has made it difficult to breathe, if only those clouds in the sky would rain instead of teasing me with an occasional drop of water. It's been days and days. Maybe I should sleep now.

The newspaper ad read: Beloved German Shepard missing since July 4th. Answers to Hero. He loves children. If found, please call. . .

Happy Hour

The restaurant was nestled deep within a charming desert oasis, miles from the main tourist highway. The perfect location for a secret rendezvous of two very unsavory characters.

“Meeting here like this, in the here and now, I feel free," she said while applying a shiny gloss to her naturally red lips. "But, you are fifteen minutes late, my dear." Her cold, grey eyes fixated on the man who had just entered the bar. "And I detest waiting!”

The man whispered in response, "Yet, here you sit." His lips gently touched hers. "All those painful minutes later."

Two lost souls, tormented by emotional pain and hatred somehow found comfort in the likeness of each other. Admiration was the only emotion they could share, because love and compassion, or kindness and hope, had long ago removed itself from their tainted worlds. Now they sat, side by side, in a kind of pretend happiness as the wickedness of their recent deeds mixed together.

"Bartender!" She raised her hand in a demanding wave. "Buy everyone in this run-down shack a cocktail." She looked around the dimly lit room. "Well, it seems we are the only ones here, so buy yourself a drink." She tossed a wad of hundred-dollar bills on the bar. "This money is no longer important to me. Take it." She grabbed the bartender's arm and mashed the pile of money into his hand. "How does that feel? Orgasmic, isn't it?" She threw her head back in laughter, as if her words were the funniest words ever spoken.

Her partner in crime added, "Yes, of course, take mine too." He slid his expensive wallet across the bar towards the confused bartender. "You will also find my bank account's pin number in there. . . you can have it all!" He raised his glass in a gesture to toast the bartender's good fortune. "How does it feel to suddenly be a rich man?"

Silence invaded the musky lounge as everyone stared into each other's eyes, a stand-off between uncertainty and insanity. "Turn on the television," she directed the bartender. "I like the news." She reached into her purse and pulled out an unopened pack of cigarettes, then gently tore away the clear cellophane wrapper. "Here, everyone must have a smoke with me." She laid three cigarettes out on the bar. "Sadly, the best things in life are the worst things for us."

The television's emergency broadcast filled the room like a flash fire feeding on oxygen. A bomb was just detonated a hundred miles south of the sleepy little bar, releasing modern chemical warfare, guaranteed to annihilate every living thing within a thousand miles.

“They say smoking will kill you," she said as the flame from the match ignited the cigarette dangling from her lips. She smiled at the bartender and happily watched the color drain from his face. "But not always.”

She then handed him the lit cigarette.