Smoke

"What is it with cigarette smoke that always gets into clothes?"

"Well, smoke gets into the air-"

"Yeah, but why does it have to get in my clothes? I mean, why is it that I can be 10 feet away from whoever's smoking, but the smell still gets into my clothes?"

"Well, don't hang around with smokers."

"I wasn't hanging around with them, I was at a bowling alley."

"Ok. I can't wait until you turn 21 and then complain about all the drunks at the bar."

"Shut up."

"No, seriously, why are you freaking surprised? Did you honestly expect that you would go into a bowling alley and not pick up that smokey smell? It's an enclosed area, and one of the few that does not provide for non-smoking sections, and you're honestly shocked that you would smell like smoke?"

"Shut up."

"Now, are you going to complain every time you experience a remotely unpleasant yet entirely forseeable and preventable effect? I mean seriously, this would be helpful so I could brace myself for impact in the future. I have a limited amount of sympathy to dole out, and I don't feel like wasting it."

"Will you shut up!"

"Why, so you can complain some more?"

"That is it, man. I've had it. Get out of my apartment."

"But it's my apartment too."

"Damn it. Well, go to your room."

"Why should I go to my room? You're the one throwing a tantrum, and besides, your clothes stink and you need to change them."

"Well, fine!"

"Thank you for enlightening me. That was as classic as the commentary about how the Will Ferrell movie you saw was stupid and a waste of time. Didn't the presence of Will Ferrell tell you that!"

SLAM

"Ok, fine, be ignorant."

"I'm not ignorant. I'm NAKED."

"Dude, I'm not interested in seeing you naked."

"Then why did you stare at me when I got out of the shower?"

"You had a towel on, and I wasn't staring at you, I was making eye contact. You had the door open and we were having a conversation."

"You were hoping my towel would drop."

"Ok, change you clothes man."

"I took my clothes off, but they're not coming back on."

"Ok, so you're taking a shower?"

"Nope."

"Got a girl in there?"

"Nope."

"Um, got, uh, someone else in there?"

"Nope, just me."

"O . .. k . .. "

"Yeah, I'm just gonna go to bed."

"Dude, if you're gay, there's nothing wrong with that. Tell the other guy he can have some breakfast in the morning if he puts some clothes on first."

"Shut up!"

"Well why did you bother to tell me you're sleeping in the buff?"

"Because you asked, dumbass."

"Well, I guess you have a point there."

"Ha, I win!"

"Oh, God, you . .. 're wearing pants. Ok. Did you do that just to get me to say you had a point?"

"It means you acknowledge that I won the argument. I win. I win. IwinIwinIwinIwin. YOU. LOSE!"

A man who knew very little

He looked all around, yet his roll of quarters was nowhere to be found. This was rather unfortunate, for he needed 50 cents for bus fare. He needed the bus because he lost his car keys yesterday. He would have to leave in five minutes if he wanted to make it to work on time. No luck on the quarters. He had found 3 dimes, 3 nickels, and 4 pennies, but that wouldn't quite do. His wallet contained no cash, because he chronically used his debit card for all of his purchases. He scrambled through one room, and just then he found a penny . . .

Hardaway rookie card from back when he was on the Orlando Magic, back when people cared about him. Why did Shaq have to go to the Lakers? Why? That Magic team could have had it all! If only the Rockets didn't just decide to pick up Clyde Drexler . . .

That wasn't what was important. He had 49 cents and had to run out to get a bus in three minutes. One penny. One stupid penny was all that was preventing him from getting to work. This was absurd. He could probably find one on the ground, so he just left.

Immediately outside his house, he saw a quarter someone had dropped. A quarter! Wow, now he would have 24 cents left over to begin again the next day. He dashed to the corner, hoping to make the bus in time to get to his office. He must have been too slow, though, because nobody was there at the bus stop. The next bus would come in 15 minutes, but it went a different route, which would make him 30 minutes late for work. It was still his best option, so he bought a newspaper to read while he was waiting.

Immediately after buying the paper, he cursed and screamed as loud as he could. He had foolishly put in 25 cents of his bus fare in the machine to get the paper, meaning he would need another penny all over again. So he rolled the paper up and grasped it in his hand as he scoured the ground for that one last penny. There had to be one here somewhere.

He walked a block up the street, staring at the sidewalk carefully, but nothing was to be seen. Not even trash. He went around the corner, and scanned the ground slowly. Still nothing to be seen. He turned the next corner. Nothing. He turned the corner again, and saw a penny, but a homeless man picked it up first. He was not about to fight or steal from a homeless man, so he let that one go. Still nothing. He rounded the corner and was back where he started.

The bus was there. He ran up, and hoped to coax the driver into letting him ride anyway. "Can you spot me a penny? I've just got 49 cents in cash on me."
"Sure," the driver replied. "That's not a problem. Come on board."

He took his seat, and began reading he newspaper he had just purchased. Let's see the sports page. Dodgers and Padres, late. Giants and Cardinals, late. Braves 3, Mets 9. Nationals 4, Rockies 11. Reds 14, Pirates 0. Wow, a no-hitter from the Reds. Wait, that can't be right, can it? Wow. He flipped to the front page to see what was going on in the world. The paper decided the front page would be dedicated to one of those human interest stories. He didn't mind reading them, but he never thought they really counted as real news, and that they belonged in the Metro section. Whatever.

Tim Buckson had the makings of a star athlete, who dreamed of
a scholarship to play football for Ohio State. He was 6-7, 240 lbs, and he
could run. He loved the Buckeyes, and dreamed of joining that team.
But tragedy struck when he broke his leg in a motorcycle accident in his
freshman year of high school.

What, why was he on a motorcycle when he was only 14?

Buckson loved bicycling, and had competed in bike races for
years. When on a trail run, though, he hit a rock and flew off the
bike.

Oh, ok. They just can't write.

Buckson would find a new passion, in the first couple months: ice cream.
Confined to his house, he would sit an watch ESPN for hours a day, eating lots
of ice cream. When his leg healed, he weighed in at 270 lb. He still loved
sports, but he was out of shape. Every time he exercised was too painful and
exhausting, so he gave up.

At that point, he didn't really care much more about this story. It turns out good in the end. Yay. He turned to the comics, and at least Dilbert and Garfield weren't letting him down.

He finally arrived at his office building, and found himself locked out. He could not understand it. He pounded on the door, hoping that someone would open up for him, as he knew there was always someone working there. A security officer came by, and he flashed his badge. He had never seen the officer before, but figured that everyone has to have their first day sometime.

He pressed the button for the elevator, and went up to the 8th floor. He found his cubicle just as he had left it. Nobody seemed to notice he was late, which was good. He turned on his computer to check his email for daily assignments. After Windows finally loaded, he opened Outlook, and checked his messages. "No New Messages." That couldn't be right. He clicked get mail again.

"No New Messages."

He clicked it once more.

"No New Messages."

This was strange. Why did this keep popping up? He decided he'd send a letter to his family, since he didn't have too much else to do that day. He opened up a document in Word, and loaded his letter template. He thought out a letter updating him on how his last couple weeks had gone, from the woman he had just stopped seeing to the neighbor's dog that chased him down the last two days. He clicked print, and then walked around the corner to the shared laser printer. He was curious when he did not see a lot of his coworkers there that day. He printed the letter out and proofread it. His parents always scolded him for mistakes in his letters to them, but he found no errors. He walked back to his desk, sat down, and looked at the letter again.

Saturday, June 18.

WHAT? He thought, as he pulled the newspaper from his pocket, and saw the date again.
"Shit! Son of a bitch! How the hell was I so stupid that I couldn't tell it was Saturday?! Shit! . . ."

He pounded the desk with every expletive that exited his mouth. Then one one of those poundings, his desk drawer opened up a bit, and he shoved it back in, only to hear a faint jingle.

He opened the drawer to find his keys and a roll of quarters.

Jack

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack and Jill ran down the hill, dropped the pail, all the water spilled all over the hill, and they had to go back up again to get the water.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jill got thirsty, drank it all, then Jack got another pail. Once Jack had that pail, he thought he would make it back down. Unfortunately, Jill saw a bee, jumped back, and knocked the whole pail over, and knocked Jack down as well. Jack tumbled down a bit until he managed to stop himself and get back up. He found the pail, grabbed Jill, shoved the pail over her head, knocked her down, and sent her rolling.

Jack decided he wasn't thirsty and went home.

Welcome

This is a new blog essentially for writing. Not about anything in particular. Generally it will be filled with short stories, very short stories, posts that read like chapters, etc. No real content, themes, messages or ideologies.

This is a site purely for escapism. I intend for it to be fun for me to make, and I hope it is fun for you to read.