Saturday, June 18, 2005

("PRIVATE PARTS UNKNOWN" is a short story composed of nothing but questions.

Enjoy ?


Does he walk down the street with nothing but a duck covering up his private parts ? Is that innocent duck something that he won at a fair ?

Is his hair blond and wispy and unremarkable ? Does his strange gaze suggest that he’s trying to forget something ?

Where is he going ?

Does he feel a kind of emptiness that one might feel after having been dumped by your girlfriend just after you dished out a hundred bucks to win her a stupid prize ?

And did she tell him that she was breaking up because he lacked fortitude ?

Does he know what that word means ?

Friday, June 17, 2005

("AMBITION" is a short-short story about power, conquest and a ten year old girl’s dream of becoming a pony.



“Well, I thought to myself. Anyone can climb Mount Everest. I mean it’s been done before. So I decided to climb good old Mount Evy with the express purpose of writing a novel at the top. I didn’t tell anyone this was my goal at the time. I just said I was going up there and I was going to break the record for being at the summit longer than anyone else in history.”

Everyone at the dinner party gasps in wonder.

“The novel ended up being published under a pseudonym because I wanted it to stand or fall on its own worth.” He says this with straight-faced sincerity.

Gasped expressions grow wider.

“I also wanted to write something as far removed from that painfully cold mountain peak as possible.”

Everyone listens with care.

“So I wrote a 543 page novel from the point of view of a girl named Susy who wants more than anything in the world to grow up to be a pony. It’s written in rhyming couplets.”

Everyone stares in disbelief.




Thursday, June 16, 2005

("UNDONE" is a very short story.




“Well, when Aunt Elizabeth asked me to do this little speech for Grampa’s ninetieth, I said no problem, I can whip up a short speech on Grampa’s life and accomplishments for everyone.” He pulls a spool of paper out from inside his jacket and lets it cascade down to the ground and roll out several feet on the grass for all to see.

The cousins, aunts and uncles all laugh larger than life.

As he basks in their laughter, he sees a thread sticking out from his jacket’s cuff. Without thinking he pulls at it, but it doesn’t give way to any end.

He continues to pull at it but the thread simply gets thicker and starts to turn flesh colored and then red and then white.

The laughter stops as everyone stares in shock as his arm and then torso unravel into a pile of ticker tape.

The story of his grandfather’s life is found afterwards on his ticker tape remains.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

("WONKY TOWER OF DOCTOR SEUSS BABIES" is a short-short story that boldly goes where no obstetrician has gone before. Namely, the teetering tower of babies that would be produced if Dr Suess had delivered babes for a living.

My mind is on babies today as I just found out this morning that a short film which I co-conceived and acted in called "It's a Boy" will be screened at the
Gimli Film Festival.

Also, I just found out a couple minutes ago that my friends Jen and Jeff just had a healthy little baby boy. Cigars all around !!

Finally, I just decided a couple seconds ago to threaten to call you a baby if you can't make it through at least ten of my stories in one sitting.



Screaming curses fly out of her mouth along with globes of spit and heaves of ho. She is about to produce a bloody thing of beauty but her thoughts are scrambled after eight hours of labour.

Her name is Megan.

Doctor Seuss reaches for forceps which seem to be balanced precariously on top of a meandering totem pole of other more fanciful instruments. (In reality, the instruments are held in place by a bar that pierces through all of them.)

"Do breath, do breath. Oh I can help you breath with a forceptomoreath." He picks up the oddly named instrument from the top of the pile and waves it around.

Megan thought it would be funny to have her first child at Dr Seuss' Delivery Ward and Pitch and Putt.

She thought wrong.

A pile of plastic babies teeter up next to the good doctor. Hidden inside one of the babies is a camera that records the natal preceedings which will be edited together as part of the package that Megan has paid for.

A golf ball putters by outside the "birth shack".

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

("FRAME THAT FUCK" is a short-short story that's going to piss off a lot of porn lovers for the simple fact that there's nothing remotely pornographic about it.

I've noticed that whenever I insert certain words into my prose, I get hits on my site from people whose lusty little fingertips are searching for pornography. I could be pontificating about world peace but if I chose to call any world leader a PUSSY-cat, my site would come up in any search for pussy. Apparently, writing the "p" word creates electronic ripples that attract a certain kind of viewer.

Well there's a vagina in the following story but it's not used in any pornographic ways. So put your tissue paper away and enjoy the artistry, strangeness and humour in this following piece.

Also let it be noted that the accompanying illustration has been made by the lovely and talented Meridyth Townsend who has provided me with this drawing for a collection that I will be submitting to a Vancouver publisher this week for consideration for publication

Wish me luck... )


"No way. I don't want that thing in my living room !!" Karl's forehead furls up in ripples of rage.

"Well she framed it and everything," Stacy pleads while holding up her friend's sketch of a hairy chested woman who apparently is in the midst of a sex change. "It's all about change. We're starting on our new life together in this apartment. We're changing. This woman is changing."

Yes, Stacy is an English Lit major.

"We're not getting sex changes ?! I've moved my futon across town, I'm not getting my cock cut off. And what about that guy in the corner ? He's obviously not happy with this whole new life thing. " Karl is so angry he could smash his fists together like rocks and create sparks.

Yes, Karl has anger issues.

"Well we are changing profoundly into new people within a new exterior. This acurately depicts that. And there will also be difficult times through that change."

"No way. No fucking way !! It does not depict me. That vagina does not depict me."

Stacy lets out a huge sigh. It appears her case is lost.

"Well how about this beautfully framed photo of her vagina then ?" She reaches for a make-believe work of art.

And that's when they laugh out all the tension built up in their bodies.

And they fuck on the rug of their new place.

Monday, June 13, 2005

("HE BEAT IT" is a little flight of fancy into a thriller for our times. As you may know, his royal kookiness Micheal Jackson was acquited of all charges today. Ten white doves were released into the sky outside the courthouse to celebrate this verdict. A friend of mine suggested there might have been ten crows released if he'd been found guilty.

Here's what I have to say about that... )


"Who cares. Why all this attention on one man. Who gives a rat's ass ?!" Mike takes a swig from his Corona.

"Yeah that's an easy out. Act like you don't care. Put on an air of disaffection when really your heart is just too small to imagine the sufferings of another human being." Todd finishes talking by taking a swig from his bottle of beer.

People coming into the bar stare at Todd who happens to look just like Micheal Jackson. At one point in his life he had dreams of becoming a Micheal Jackson impersonator.

Until the hopes of Micheal Jackson impersonators all around the world were dashed by allegations that would forever smear a man's reputation.

And an industry full of potential for unfortunate looking men was stillborn.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

("HI, I LIVE IN A BOX !!" is an enthusiastic little monologue delivered from - who else ? - a man who lives in a box.

The image below was taken by a Mr Paul Fitzzaland who, along with a Mr Benjamin Asa Smith, is making a short film about - what else ? - a man who lives in a box.

My story deviates wildly from their film so there should be no confusion between the two. My character in their film is relatively normal but in the following monologue I've endowed the box man with autism and short-term memory troubles.




Hi !! What's your name ? What a funny nick-name!! What a funny moniker !! Saying "moniker" makes your nick-name funny because it already suggests something funny. That's the meaning conveyed by language.

Oh it's not a nick-name ? Ha-ha jokes on me I guess. Do you have a father and if so what's his name ?

A funny way to make a nick-name is to take the first letter of your first name and then attach it to wherever the vowels start in your last name. For example if you were a Sam Turndale we could nick-name you "Surndale". In your spare time you can try that with your name.

Hi !! What's your name ? My name is Tam. Isn't that a funny name ? Let's say it many times together and become friends. Tam, Tam, Tam, Tam, Tam, Tam, Tam. Have we bonded yet ?

Okay. Tam, Tam,Tam, Tam. "Tam-tam" means drum in French. Did you feel like we were drumming together when we said my name many times ? I didn't.

Hi !! What's your name ? Names name names. That's a grammatically correct sentence which consists of simply one word. Can you think of other words that can monopolize a sentence like that ? If you can then I would call you linguistically gifted.

Hi, I live in a box !!!