Flash Fictions
Among Others: The Fourteen Well-Armed Men against Jimmy War
War, I've seen it written, is a glorious affair. On the same page, in big bold type, were the words DOUBLE YOUR MONEY BACK. A man I once knew, but stopped knowing for reasons of an undisclosed settlement, took this ad out in a local paper. He would always say that states are states, the government is the government, and you don't need a dust ruffle if you don't hide lots of stuff underneath your bed, unless, of course, it matches your sheets. In the ad he was selling his services. He started wars for a living. You've probably heard of his many wars: The Great Corn-Belt and Six Lane Interstate Conflict, Blue Hairs Versus My Little Sister and The Red Polka-Dotted Towels, and The Fourteen Well-Armed Men against Jimmy War, naming just a few. To start a war, he would take people of different sizes and shapes and probe them for differences of opinion. Some objected to being probed, but sacrifices must be made in times like these. He said that war had incredible benefits like foreign aid, creating cultural identities, and celebrity autographs, but that it had a sub-par healthcare package, and paid just under minimum wage.
Bible Belt
I'm running out of gas. I can tell by the clanking of the engine and the way the landscape slows down through the windows, that my car needs fuel. I'm in the middle of some rural county in Nebraska. Well, maybe not the middle, but hey, what do I look like, a map? You don't see any folds do you? And those lines and numbers on my forehead are just one of those temporary tattoos. I get out and start walking towards a house propped up on a nearby hill. As I get closer, I notice the house is actually a church. Or maybe it's an insurance office. It doesn't really matter, they'll both sell you a policy. So, now I'm running at the structure, yelling, "Gas, gas, gas." A large congregation of church goers, or maybe insurance salespeople, rush out to investigate the commotion. Seeing me coming at them, screaming and flailing my arms about, is making them nervous. Their leader, the one with the biggest hat, points her finger at my car and explodes it with a bolt of electricity. "Oh great, thanks a lot," I say unconvincingly, as they funnel, single file, back inside. I'm not saying it makes any sense. I just thought you'd appreciate the warning.
Raising rabbits is not easy. No, no it's really not. If you get scared, e-mail me and I'll calm you down. Things being what things being.
