Operation Tapioca

If she didn’t make her move, she was as good as dead.

Her right hand slid into the robe sleeve of her left, hovering like a gasp over the shiv. The move was calculated and precise, perfected through the monotonous tempo of being, and in a blink, her fingers grasped the handle, wrapping its length with gnarled white roots. Only the snap of fabric hinted at motion, and without perceived effort, the threatening steel rest on the neck of the confused caretaker.

For a moment, the two paused, then she repositioned her petite body behind his, seeming to engage him to dance. The doctor swallowed, casting his Adam’s apple the blade.

“Nice try, Greg,” she huffed, “I just saw the activities schedule for the week. Next Thursday’s bridge game is in some room called the ‘Grindatorium?’ Fuuuuuuck that.”

take me out to the childrapists and genocidal zealots

"These people are not above the law, you know, they may fly in private planes and make millions of dollars and be on baseball cards. But a subpoena is exactly what it says it is, and they have to appear," foamed Rep. Tom Davis (R - Va.), regarding several baseballers' mandatory attendance at a hearing this week over performance-enhancing steroids, "and bat corking? Not since Sodom."

Rep. Davis then presented to reporters the 11 minute social education film, Roid Rage, in which an acne-ridden Scott Baio pushes his frigid girlfriend onto a couch.

the lure

Ms. Gates,

I must be frank with you. While our hospital greatly appreciates your willingness to devote your time and talents -- our ward in particular needs your compassionate sort -- I must ask you to reconsider your performances. I have no doubt that you meant only to soften the denouement of our patient's waning lives, but they have grown frightened and confused by your harp-playing. They think you are trying to trick them.

I regret having to address you in this manner, but if you are unable to acquiesce I must ask that you discontinue volunteering altogether.

Gary Clayton, MD

missed connections

Met eyes at Greg’s party – you left before I had a chance to introduce myself. You: pink jeans and a tank top. Me: yellow shorts and t-shirt that said “Don’t choke the chicken.” Call me. Mailbox #56277