by Lacy Maran
"Wait a minute. You're really dying? Like you mean with coffins and funeral processions and no more making out?"
"I know, it's a real bummer. But look, I don't want this to get too melodramatic. I just want to play tug of war with your heart strings until you can fill a whole swimming pool with tears."
"I think I'm literally going to die of heartbreak. I can feel the Grim Reaper carving my soul out with a spork. I haven't cried this much since I got hit in the nuts with a baseball in third grade."
"It's going to be ok. People meet the hunk of their dreams after getting rare incurable diseases all the time. The important thing is realizing we had some legendary hanky panky. Not to mention you went from a meano jerkball to a hunk with a heart under my tutelage. All that matters now is who I'm going to tutor in heaven."
"I just want you to know I love you more than my custom made cufflinks. And I'm never going to forget you--even if I have a freak kegstand accident and get amnesia."
"I love you too. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go die a really schmaltzy death. Toodles."
And like that, Cindy Sue waltzed into the sunset with open arms and an empty stomach (she hoped heaven would be waiting with ice cream). Landon meanwhile had some grandiose tears, deciding to cry himself a river while playing a violin solo and cursing at the turtle dove flying overhead. But while Cindy Sue was gone, she was not forgotten. Every time Landon saw an over dramatic sunset from then on, he could swear he saw Cindy Sue and her sweet hickey smiling back at him. Or maybe that was just the alcohol talking.
The Schmaltzy End.
The Baked Good Bandit Catchers
"All right ladies, now that the chocolate chip cookies are baked, who wants to go solve some murders?" Quirky McCrimesolver said, with feisty zeal.
Quirky wasn't just any old housewife. She also enjoyed quilting, decoupage, and catching low life sleeze balls. Never mind that she had no training in criminal justice or that she had to be back home by nine to read her kids bedtime stories, Quirky always got her deadbeat.
And considering she lived in a town the size of a shoebox, there sure seemed to be an endless supply of filthy murderers. Heck, with all the crimes she solved, the town could have been killed three times over. But who needed logic when you had spunk? Quirky wasn't alone in her plucky ways though. Her quilters circle was more than happy to do freelance forensics.
There was Sidekick Vonagreeswitheverything, the classic second fiddle who sold custom whittled woodwind instruments out of the back of her truck when she wasn't throwing bake offs. Then there was Gossip Likecrazy, the neighborhood tattle tale that also made a mean key lime pie. And of course, Drunk McSkunk, the lush of Lansing Avenue, who somehow managed to come up with some astute observations between cocktails.
The ladies had come together to gossip about the size of their husbands peckers under the guise of knitting a quilt. After enough stub jokes were made and their bellies were filled with laughs as well as cookies, they figured they might as well solve the Dowers case.
The Dowers homicide was a cold case, so Quirky immediately took it out of the freezer with that nights spare ribs. Then after a good thaw, the sleuthing heated up.
***
"Sidekick, hand me a cookie. I have a hunch," Quirky insisted, scanning a case file.
"Oh thank God. I was worried this murder was going to get in the way of my pedicure," Drunk McSkunk remarked, downing a martini.
Quirky looked at her watch. "Wow, that took me five whole minutes. Ladies, it might just be time to retire from beating the police at their own game."
The ladies all laughed.
"Are you kidding?" Gossip asked. "It's a good thing the police have us, or they'd never solve any crimes. Although to be fair, donuts shops are great places to hang out. I met my fourth husband at one."
"All right, calm down ladies," Quirky continued. "It's time to go into a skeezy part of town with no police back up to question a suspect."
***
"Mr. Patterson, I need to talk to you," Quirky said, knocking on an apartment door with her sassy ladies behind her.
The door opened revealing Tim Patterson with a look that just screamed "I'm a murderer."
"Who the hell are you?" Tim barked.
Quirky hated salty language and poor manners. Sheesh, sure there were a lot of criminals out there, but couldn't they at least mind their P's and Q's?
"Oh come on Mr. Patterson. This is a really small town. How could you not know I'm the woman that figured out you murdered Janine Franklin?"
Tim shot Quirky an evil look. "I don't know who you think you are, but I suggest you get the hell out of here."
Tim went to shut the door in Quirky's face. She stopped him.
"Mr. Patterson, you have two options. Either you can confess to the murder now and I'll give you one of my fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, or you can wait and confess at the police station where all you're going to get is week old coffee. It's your choice."
***
"You should have taken the cookies. They're delicious," Quirky insisted. "Francine Tupelo from my book club gave me a new recipe."
But Mr. Patterson just grumbled as a police officer hauled him to a jail cell.
Police detective Joe McDimwit scratched his head as he'd been outsmarted again.
"Another good piece of detective work Quirky," Joe said. "It you keep things up like this, you'll put me out of a job."
Quirky laughed. "Don't be silly Joe. If I started solving murders full time, I'd have no time to make delicious cookies."
The End.
You Totally Just Got Double Crossed By Your Own Spy Agency
James O'Sixpackabs had read thrillers where spies got double crossed by their own agency, but never believed it could happen to him in real life. Then snap, he flew halfway around the world on an assignment only to find himself ambushed by the Halitosis Mafia. But it wasn't just the thugs breath that stunk. James quickly found out that the Mafia had secret masters...wait for it...da da dum...his own government.
Suddenly James found himself thousands of miles from home with his own country wanting him dead. It left James trying to stay alive long enough to clear his name, kill the bad dudes, and figure out how far up the conspiracy went.
Unfortunately, all that led to researching, which meant paperwork. And James hated paperwork. There wasn't relentless page turning action in it. Of course, there wasn't page turning action in going to the bathroom either, which is why he never bothered with that either. He did run in business suits at full speed a lot though (which really troubled the extreme couponers at the supermarkets who thought he was trying to one up them).
Luckily James was really good at beating the tar out of people, so he could squeeze out exposition with his fists instead of cracking open books. James briefly considered having a back story and developing some character depth at some point, but he always seemed to be too busy crushing skulls for it to matter.
But just because James was in hiding didn't mean he was going to turn into a professional napper or any other kind of wussy hobby. No, James was going to take the battle right back to the home front. He was going to stick his nosy martial arts skills right where the sun didn't shine.
It turned out for a secretive spy agency, James was able to bust through security like a covert bad ass relatively unnoticed. Action scene after action scene ensued, each more mindless and unbelievable than the next. You'd think James could dodge bullets (either that or trained spies had lost the ability to aim--maybe it was too many tequila shots the night before).
Finally James snuck his way into his bosses office and started snooping around for super classified conspiracy info. Luckily, there was a file right in the front of his bosses cabinet labeled "super classified conspiracy info." But when James looked inside, he couldn't believe what he saw. James' boss wasn't just some evil kingpin. He was working for the most evil of kingpin's--the "I can't believe he's been pretending to be dumb all this time when in reality he's a
genius" Vice President.
That was the kind of knowledge that could get someone killed. And as James' boss Trevor Turncoat came back to his office with a gun drawn on James, that someone to get killed looked at lot like James.
"Well well well, if it isn't the guy I double crossed and pegged for dead earlier," Trevor said.
"Why are you doing this?" James asked.
"Who cares? You're going to be so dead in a minute anyway," Trevor added.
"Wait. But aren't you going to give me some long drawn out speech about why the world turned you into an evil hate monger?"
"Nah. I think I'll just kill you now and pin the conspiracy on you. I have a tuna sandwich in the break room that could spoil any minute."
"Guess I'll just have to pull out my super secret escape plan then," James insisted.
"And what's that?" Trevor asked.
"If I told you, it wouldn't be secret anymore."
"Oh come on, you don't seriously expect me to believe you're going to improbably manage to escape, do you?"
"Hey Trevor, is that Agent Distraction eating your tuna sandwich?" James asked, pointing towards the door.
But when Trevor looked over to the door, he realized he'd been faked out, fifth grader style. By then, James bull rushed him. A bad ass melee ensued. Punches were thrown, names were called, and feelings were hurt. Oh yeah, and James won.
In the melee, Trevor got knocked out, leaving James to sneak out an open window with the evidence he needed. Soon James leaked the evidence to the press, and watched on tv as Trevor and the Vice President were arrested. James meanwhile sat on a beach in the tropics sipping on a drink with a plastic umbrella in it, thinking about what new trouble to get into next.
The End.
The Noble Lawyer vs. The Evil Corporation (Remarkably Not A Fable)
Damn, it was hard being a noble lawyer running around and taking down multinational corporations, yet still managing to pick up the dry cleaning on the way home. Every once in a while though you just had to serve a wake up platter of justice a crooked CEO. And Noble Knight was just the improbably idealistic litigator to do it. He was honest, virtuous, and pro bono as hell (which in the land of attorneys, meant he was pretty much a figment of some metaphor-writing authors imagination). Still, life wasn't all idealism and shining armor for Noble. He had a nervous bladder and the opposing counsel staring at him peeing over at the next urinal.
"I'm just going to warn you now to drop this case," Sleazy Von Nomorals said in the courthouse restroom. "Otherwise awful things are going to start happening to you."
"You mean like you standing uncomfortably close to me as I try to pee?" Noble asked.
"By the way, we have pills for that sort of problem."
Noble glared a defiantly virtuous glare. "I'm not going to stop until justice is served--preferably with scrambles eggs and a side of hash browns."
"You honest little fart. You are a disgrace to the legal community with your impeccable morals and gumption. But you've been warned, so if a tiny car filled with clowns shows up on your doorstep with pies and seltzer bottles, I suggest you back off this case before it gets real ugly."
"How ugly?" Noble asked.
"The pharmaceutical company might just put a life sized cutout of your ex wife on your lawn."
"Oh, you are so evil."
***
"Ladies, gentleman, and sasquatch of the jury, I am here today to prove that the Crookedashell Pharmaceutical Company is in no way at fault for one of our erection pills causing Mr. Dingaling's wang to grow a second penis that tried to conquer greater Manhattan," Sleazy greasily explained.
Next it was Noble's turn to state his case. "My name is Noble Knight, but you may know me from any number of the soup kitchens I run, or tornado relief efforts I have spearheaded. Today I am going to prove to you without a doubt that the Crookedashell company manufactured and distributed pills that they knew could cause a patient to grow an evil second penis hell bent on world domination. And the worst part is, they just did it to make a little bit of money off of the back of American people."
"Objection, it's an obscene amount of money they're making. Enough to buy your own chain of private islands with and go skinny dipping every day," Sleazy countered.
***
With the opening statements in the books, things got heated.
"As my first piece of evidence, I would like to enter this horribly embarrassing middle school yearbook picture of Mr. Knight in braces and a bowl cut," Sleazy said.
"Objection," Noble yelled. "Bowl cuts were very popular for that two week stretch in 1996. Plus, this is not relevant to the case."
"Noted," Sleazy replied. "Fine, I would instead like to submit this blue polyester suit pulled directly from Mr. Knight's closet. And with that, I'd like to say anyone who would wear this in public is clearly not in the right mental state to be trying a case."
"Mr. Nomorals," the Judge barked. "I have a gavel and I'm not afraid to smash it. But the doctor says I have to keep my blood pressure down, so if you keep making a circus of my courtroom, I'll subject you to a slideshow of my trip to the Spokane Arts and Craft-a-thon."
Sleazy looked terrified.
***
"Mr. Dingaling, did you not read the eight hundred pages of side effects before you started taking our pill? Because it clearly states right here on page 762 that very vague yet awful things could happen to your wee wee upon using our pharmaceuticals," Sleazy explained.
"The warning labels were just so long. Plus, it was more convoluted than building Swedish furniture," Dingaling replied.
"Bet you didn't read your mortgage either. Or your twenty five page cell phone contract selling your soul over to the telecommunication Satan’s of the world. So I say, is it our fault if you didn't get a cataract reading hundreds of pages of very ominous legal jargon?" Sleazy asked.
"I just wanted to be able to pop a woody again," Dingaling insisted. "Because of your company I grew a very bitter second penis that needed amputation."
Sleazy finished up. "You know Mr. Dingaling, a lot of people would be very happy to have two penises. But obviously you're just a very ungrateful man."
***
As the case heated up, Noble was finding that terrible things started happening to him. A set of stealth mime's toilet papered his house. He started getting threatening phone calls from rabid raccoons. Then as a last straw he had to move his family into a ninja retirement home for security reasons.
But Noble wasn't about to drop the case. He couldn't let long arm of big business suffocate the indomitable American spirit. Besides, a guy had to have a penis amputated--that could not go unprosecuted. So when time came for closing arguments, Noble was ready with gusto to spare.
***
"It is a God given American right to want the biggest boner science can give you," Sleazy argued. "And if one poor schmuck happens to have problems with his junk the rest of his life, do you really want to ruin thirty second sex for the rest of the horny men in America?"
Sleazy’s speech was rousingly immoral. But it was nothing compared to the crap Noble was about to pull out of his ass.
"I had a noble speech planned," Noble explained. "But then I scrapped it, for an even more noble one. This isn't about one man's penis problem. This is about big business kicking us in the nuts every single of our lives. And this is your chance to kick right back. So let's grab life by the balls. Let's tell the nad crushers of the world that we aren't afraid. That we're going to stand up for what's right. That the American people deserve better. And that we won't settle for anything less."
One small slow golf clap started at the back of the courtroom. That led to more clapping. Then man got up to cheer. Finally, the entire courtroom got up with rousing applause. Sure it was hokey, but damn did it pull at everyone's heartstrings.
***
"So, you won again Noble. Just one down home lawyer against a team of legal skeezoids," Sleazy admitted in defeat.
"You see Sleazy,
you'll find that good always triumphs in the end," Noble remarked.
"You really don't read the news much, do you?" Sleazy asked.
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. I have a kitten to save from a tree," Noble said, running headfirst into certain danger.
The End.
The Future Sucks (Even With Aliens)
"Who would've thought the future could blow this much?" Stardepressed bemoaned, looking at a dystopian landfill of a city at the fringes of the universe.
"Go figure. Spaceships, flying cars, and teleporters don't fix everything in society," Spacebummer replied, looking at the once sleek city that had been reduced to a cesspool.
"Maybe it's humanity that's the problem," Stardepressed continued.
"There you go, talking like a cautionary tale again," Spacebummer added. "To be fair to your point though, aliens did try and turn us into space mulch."
"Right. Because society never had any problems until the Zerkathians came with vaporizers blazing. Hey, remember when we invented robots to do everything for us but wipe our asses?"
"Your bot didn't wipe your ass for you?" Spacebummer added, completely missing the point. "Though we probably shouldn't have made those robots stronger than a herd of stampeding rhinos."
"Well, if it isn't robots or aliens getting us down, it's the autocratic government."
"Who knew bureaucracy could be such a bitch?"
"Maybe all those naysayers about the perils of too much technology were right?"
"Or maybe you've just been through too many intergalactic wars."
"You know what, I'm tired of moping and bitching about wildly repressive future governments. Let's time travel."
***
"It turns out there's plenty of wildly repressive governments in the past as well," Stardepressed said, having time traveled to an alternate medieval style Europe populated by orcs, dragons, elves, and immensely questionable hygiene.
