SomethingNewPlease

The Mother Discusses Grinning – Long Conversation #70

somethingnewplease — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 01:20:48 +0000

The mother was lying on the couch. Something terrible had happened to the mother and so she lay there weakly. Everyone surrounded her because they were concerned because of this terrible thing that had happened to the mother. I appreciate the attention, the mother said to them. But why are you grinning?

It was true. Everyone was concerned but they all wore a wide grin. They couldn’t help it. We can’t help it, they said.

One of the primary jobs of a mother is to teach her family. You cannot grin, she said. You cannot grin when something terrible happens to someone in the family. You need to frown. It’s nice that you are here and you are worried about me because of this terrible thing inside me, but you must not grin.

We cannot help it, her youngest son said.

Come here, the mother said to her youngest son. Bring me my tools and come here.

The son grabbed the mother’s tools and came to see her. He was still grinning. Bend down, she said. She took a needle and thread from her tools. She worked quickly and the pain was minor. She sewed his face in the shape of a frown.

Oh my, the father said.

Oh goodness, the Grandmother said.

The son looked ridiculous.

They all began to laugh, even the son who broke the thread with the muscles in his grin. Even the mother, even with this terrible thing that was inside her.

End of Election Year – Tiny Fear #35

somethingnewplease — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 01:52:23 +0000

Election year is always fun because we get to talk trash and pretend to be political advisors. We are never sure what we do when it isn’t an election year. Where are we the other three years when we aren’t worrying about elections, I say. Drinking the whiskey and dancing badly, my friend says. We do that now, I say. Well we do it more during the three year break, he says. What will we do when the election is over, I say. We are both getting old, he says. We will need to make babies and start a retirement account, I point out. No, he says, we won’t do that now. Then what, I say. We think for a moment and figure we will probably go home and make canned ravioli and play Uno and get fat, a fate that is hideous and relaxing in the same stroke. We will also let the guy we have tied up in the basement with political bumper stickers go until next election year, when we have to catch another.

Space Suit Fashion – Little Rule #33

somethingnewplease — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 01:50:40 +0000

Friday night is the most difficult night to choose the proper space suit. All the other astronauts and aliens will be watching, waiting for a ludicrous lapel or a helmet from the last rotation of the two suns. But the true key to fashion is in mood. Sometimes the heart craves Venus, which requires a suit that shows the curves of the body. Other times the mind, which is colder than the heart, seeks out the dark side of a moon. This requires an extra layer of warmth and perhaps something made out of fur. Whatever is chosen, one must always remember to accessorize. A laser blaster here, or a necklace of alien skulls there.

Flora Auctus – Tiny Fear #67

somethingnewplease — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 04:23:34 +0000

The pomegranate is a tough fruit, which is what concerns the man about the seed that has been lodged in his throat for the past month. Normally his fear of seeds has kept him from eating any fruit, but he had one too many glasses of Bulleits and a cute girl talks him into trying a pomegranate. Now he feels an itch in his throat. The man believes that this is the seed sprouting. The man goes to his doctor and asks him to check on the seed. The doctor shines a light into his mouth. I don’t see anything, his doctor says. But I can feel it, the man says. That night the man has a dream that he is talking to the cute girl and all of a sudden he begins to choke up pomegranates. When he finishes coughing pomegranates they have enough fruit for six weeks. He thinks all of his trouble is over until the limbs of a small tree force their way out of his mouth. They need sun light. The cute girl is so impressed she sleeps with him. She has always wanted to sleep with a man under a tree. They fall into a deep love. In the morning when he wakes up the itch in his throat is gone and he realizes he is a hypochondriac in both love and sickness.

Regarding Monsters – Little Rule #50

somethingnewplease — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 02:56:24 +0000

There are only two kinds of monsters. Please tell your children.

The first kind of monster is difficult to describe due to its shapeless nature. Often times this monster lives in a locker or under the bed or in a kiddie pool and is a dark blob of flesh and tentacles and nothingness. Somewhere in the blanket of nothingness is a set of vicious teeth and a bad sense of humor. This sort of monster is responsible for most bad standup comedy and also all of those missing cats.

The second kind of monster is very much like a man but is actually a wolf man or wolf woman. That is not to say that they look like werewolves (which do not exist because the rule state only two types of monster exist), but rather they look just like us and fit in with society except for an occasional growl or whimper. You may be married to one right now, or at least “hooking up” with one. These wolf men and women are actually intraspecies predators and pose the same danger as a serial monogamist or an open flame near a gasoline pump. Mostly they love meat and terror, but sometimes they enjoy a good matinee.

Yes, Professor, but how do we kill the monsters, you may be begging to know. The simple truth is that only fire can kill a monster. This is why monsters do not smoke cigars and tend to avoid volcanoes and even more so, long romances.

The rule states that there are only two kinds of monsters but in all truth there may be a third kind of monster, for example the successful politician or maybe a vegan, but enough research has not been completed. Pity you if the third kind of monster takes you by surprise, perhaps during a presidential primary or even during a bubble bath with soap made from animal fat or teeth.

The Blood on the Sink – Long Conversation #34

somethingnewplease — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 03:43:27 +0000

The man wants to give his wife a kiss on the cheek so he walks in and bends over and kisses her on the cheek. Thank you, she says. She smiles. He smiles. Then he notices the blood. What is that, he says. He knows it is blood. That’s just nail polish remover, she says. She laughs. He thinks that maybe this is a fake laugh and he laughs back, which is also fake. He knows she has a temper and he has always noted that her enemies tend to disappear and never reappear. What a magic act, he thinks suspiciously. Well it doesn’t look like nail polish remover, he says. He pinches her cheek. You’re so cute, he says. She is not amused. You don’t believe me, she says. No, no, he says. I didn’t mean I don’t believe you. The man’s pulse begins to increase. He knows that what is on the sink is blood and not nail polish remover. He has always been suspicious of her blood lust. Don’t ever pinch my cheeks again, she says. He looks down at her nails, trying to find evidence of nail polish, but she is hiding her hands behind her back, with a look on her face that puts him in a state of alert. Make yourself useful, he thinks. I’ll go make you a sandwich, he says. He takes his leave and hurriedly heads to the kitchen. If he can appear useful, perhaps she will keep him around a while longer.

Logical Conclusions – Tiny Fear #70

somethingnewplease — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 04:06:28 +0000

The footprints of a man have been in the snow lately. They lead from the driveway to the back door. I’m the only man living at my house, but the footprints are not mine. The best logical conclusion is that my wife is cheating on me. The only problem with that is that I do not have a wife. This means she is innocent. Good for her. The second best logical conclusion is that I have worms or some bacterial infection and that I am leaving tracks everywhere I go and forgetting about them. If I had a wife she would tell me to shut the hell up. She would tell me to stop being ridiculous and to take the garbage out or to mow the lawn. I would argue that there is so much snow outside that I can’t mow the lawn. I wish I knew who was leaving the footprints, but for the life of me I cannot figure out a third best logical conclusion.

If You Are A Bastard You Will Get Fat – Little Rule #14

somethingnewplease — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 23:38:40 +0000

Fred, who lives down the street, invested in sculptures of himself. He has an entire room and also a basement full of nothing but these statues of his face. If you ask Fred he will deny it. But we all know he has them.

One day I caught Fred on his lawn and asked point blank. Why do you have all those statues that we know you have but that you deny having, I said.

I was surprised. He didn’t deny anything. The statues are for discipline, Fred said. He was raking leaves and stopped long enough to sigh and give me an uncomfortable look.

I believed him. We had all thought Fred was vain but it really came down to a lack of willpower. There had been signs of a problem. At the block party he would drink to the point of nudity. Sometimes he would order pizza four times in a day.

Every time I do something I shouldn’t and I start to hate myself, Fred said, I take a hammer and I break one of the statues. I keep beating it until the thing falls off the pedestal and then I beat it some more. I don’t stop until it’s a dusty mess. Then I feel better about myself and I sit down and laugh for a good amount of time.

That’s amazing, I said. What a great way to learn discipline! I’m impressed with your honesty. We shook hands and I went home.

I called all of our neighbors. Yes, I said into the telephone. Fred is insane. He’s a sociopath. Lock up your cats and daughters. Buy a gun. No more alcohol at the block party. Maybe we just shouldn’t invite him.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I thought about Fred and his statues and his hammer and I thought about the problem of discipline and how many truffles and how many pounds of bacon and how many children I had ate that morning and how fat I was getting.

Junk Mail – Tiny Fear #3

somethingnewplease — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 03:41:12 +0000

My girlfriend has left but the mailbox is still there. The post office has gone bankrupt and so there isn’t any new mail but the box is hanging around because no one has come to take him away. Someone did come and take my girlfriend away. He was an pediatric cardiologist. The mailbox has no purpose in life so he has been trying a lot of new things to feel better about himself. The first change the mailbox made was to have himself painted a new color. He went with a puke green. I don’t care for it much. After a dozen other small changes the mailbox began smoking cigars and drinking rum. I like to get up early to set up the sprinklers and water the lawn. I have this house that we bought, me and my girlfriend. I have noticed that the squirrels have started to disappear. I’m concerned that the mailbox is eating them. I don’t have any evidence but it’s a strong feeling. He has run out of junk mail and needs to eat something. The diet must be good. He is starting to get thinner. Maybe I should eat squirrels too. But where is all the junk mail? Junk mail breeds quickly. Those abandoned post offices must be filled to the brink. I wonder if they have become cannibalistic. I hope they have not developed teeth or digestive acids. The government will need to protect us before they grow too strong and begin to venture out of the empty post offices. Soldiers and flame throwers. Then maybe we can get rid of these drunk and sketchy mailboxes too. I was expecting a love letter, maybe an apology and a plea to take her back, but love letters are weak and I am sure that it was chased down and eaten by the junk mail early on.

Losing Things – Long Conversation #2

somethingnewplease — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 16:09:44 +0000

I’m not completely lost yet. I have been visiting a plane. We are not getting along all that well. I need more space, I try to tell it, but planes have no ears. Oh yes, and I did misplace 3000 photographs taken for the purposes of SomethingNewPlease. After hiring a few archaeologists and a service manager at a Sprint store, the photographs have been recovered. Close one. Why yes I have been taking a bit of a break in the new year. Thank you for noticing. That being said I have decided to treat this as SomethingNewPlease: Volume 2. The first volume consisted of Advice, Paranoia, Curses, and other Comforts. There were approximately 365 photos and stories. This year will be much the same, only the volume name will change to Little Rules, Long Conversations, and other Tiny Fears. New things are good. They serve a purpose, anyway.

P.S. I am back.