Tag Archive: humor


The director sat at the head of the long table wearing a large smile and a dark green shirt that complemented his deep tan. “The casting job was amazing, Percy.” He spoke in a low tone to the screenwriter, seated at his right side and looking unrested in a ragged pullover shirt and three days of beard stubble. “You won’t believe it. Felice found the perfect actor for every part. She went like three extra miles to be mega-diverse, with a capital m-d.”

Percy Luttington gulped at his iced espresso, which was now mostly ice and less espresso, nodding nervously at the table of actors. “Felice is very real. She’s always on it. The thing for me, Rule, is it’s all about the story. Whoever can tell the truth of this story, that’s who we need.”

Continued: http://bit.ly/2KeKM5i

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Touching the cod in sensitive places

Jeb flouted the seafood molestation act.

He’d been an overt ocean rebel

since those days juggling tentacles

at the underground Caspian Circus.

He’d kiss a large fish shamelessly in public, refusing to quiver,

suffering the salty rebuke of many a fish-fond mayor

calling ‘lips off!’, shaking their staff,

lifting long, cylindrical mayoral hats

and whistling for club-happy enforcement legions

to jog across the cobblestones.

Then in the cellar holding pen he’d

resolutely write in dark diaries the truth of

a fish in the hand and dark heads in the town.

A dimly lit Taco Bell.

LEN

Do you have any tacos for vegans?

CLERK

We don’t serve no space creatures.

LEN I’m from this planet.

CLERK Then don’t feed them alien overlords!

CURTAIN

 

 

A dimly lit Taco Bell.

ICE OFFICER
We’ve had reports of an undocumented chalupa biting cattle. I heard you serve those here.

CLERK
Don’t you mean a chupacabra?

ICE OFFICER
Do you serve those, too?

CLERK
Only if they can pay for their order.

CURTAIN

She played guacamole games with a doctor from Japan

She laid on polo fields with a Venezuelan man

She danced in failed skirts with a designer also-ran

She took trains to Albuquerque with a fascist Indian

But on a Sunday evening, when her paramours had fled

She watched a taco program and ate Fritos on her bed.

Even T. S. Eliot couldn’t get a deal

when he pitched The Wasteland limited series,

so that crazy premise based on your lame

lemonade stand verses won’t get off the ground.

You don’t even have fateful fortune tellers or

impatient barmen and your childhood characters

are trite and unreflective of grander social mores.

You should return to your drafts, have the

stand burn down, get sunk in a deep morass of

moss-draped swamp water, dissolve like a

shipwreck from the Near East and entrap

beneath its counter tokens of ill-starred scamps.

Depict distressed clients, kicking thin cups on the

sidewalk and bedraggled housemaids clinging to

some forlorn hunk of pulp, hoping for a fresh

squirt to transform their existence.

Then maybe you’ll get a second look.

“We should have a flashback,” said Jeff spreading

his hands, “of the time he stowed away, scared,

riding in a test capsule with no one,

trapped in  a long orbit he never made.”

At which Leslie puffed on her cigarette.

“Don’t make me laugh, you hack. That’s the oldest

cliché in the book. The dark childhood mess

come back to enmesh him in its tight grasp.”

Her straight brunette bangs jittered. “Rollo stares

space in the face, unafraid. A mighty

white-suited orbit warrior, darting

into the far reaches of the unknown.”

Milton rubbed at the ache in his forehead.

“We know Rollo’s tough, but we gotta glimpse

his tender side. Maybe a space babe, a

statuesque princess from Mars with some spunk.”

“You have to be kidding,” sneered dry Leslie.

“The last thing we need is a Mars vixen,

a small-brained twit to simper at space hunks.”

“Let’s just do a jelly monster,” urged Jeff,

“like the one in ‘Moon of the Unhallowed’.

we can all get behind slimy feelers.”

There were reluctant nods. The meeting stopped

at four with notes on grappling tentacles.

Tough Girls – a poem

Tough girls

in grocery store parking lots

intimidating children.

They consider doing violent things with grocery carts

and smack their gum loudly, like soldiers bouncing tin cans off brick walls.

They posture and flaunt,

proud of their tops,

knowing every crack in the lot.

No one from the coffee stand will wave them away.

They sneer at local dogs and petition people.

Soak in the yawping sun, disdaining lotion,

daring their skin to darken.

Nighttime clambers onto them, bringing no quiet,

Spurring them on to jeer at loud cars,

their bravado rising with every baffled elder clutching a reusable bag.

A dimly lit Taco Bell.  ESTELLE sways to the counter.

 

ESTELLE
(wig askew)

Make mine a double.

 

PEPE points to a sign.

 

PEPE
Like to try our new meat lover’s taco?

 

ESTELLE
Don’t tempt me, honey child!

 

PEPE

Miss, you’re getting lipstick on my poncho.

 

CURTAIN

Two burritos appeared on a sign board,

And pretty sure I could eat only one

And be left unsickened, long I stood

And looked on for as long as I could

To the trays that they were served upon.

 

I saw the large, saucy Macho Beef,

And having perhaps the greater fame,

Since it was quite massive and flaunted meat;

While the weirder Tropical Treat

Had nuts and fruits that might be lame.

 

And both that evening temptingly lay

In long trays with a paper sack.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

And knowing how tray leads on to tray,

I doubted not I would often come back.

 

I shall tell this one day with a sigh

By some ruined Mexican fence:

Two burritos appeared on a board, and, yeah —

I took the one less frequently tried,

And that has made all the difference.