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Columns/Fiction

It Won’t Happen Again – Fiction

June 1, 1999

I have no idea why they call it blue balls. They should call it the icy hand of incompetence and incompleteness gripping your testicles. Blue balls is shorter.

Don’t Call Me Chief – Fiction

June 1, 1999

Life as a shortie shouldn’t be so rough. I was the naive kid who didn’t know he was a year too old to be wearing Underoos (hey, they were fun to wear).

A Moment’s Piece – Fiction

June 1, 1999

Most crouched fearful and dying in crumbling basements, under mattresses and couch cushions, wailing and bewildered, but a handful of the once proud and strongest as if summoned staggered beaten and bewildered to the lake shore. … You’re going to be late for work if you don’t hurry up. … I know.

AmeriMart – Part One – Fiction

June 1, 1999

“If my husband and I come to your showroom,” she wondered with rare caution, “and we like what we see, how much is it to join?”

Looking Glass Bowl – Fiction

April 1, 1999

It was clear glass with a rainbow painted on the bowl, and it had always sat on the shelf in the den. I don’t remember when I stopped seeing it.

Lincoln Logs – Fiction

April 1, 1999

“Abraham Lincoln was born in a log cabin which he built with his own hands.” There it was – the first line of my book report for Mr. Mitchell’s American History class.

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