Stanley the Whale - Stanley the Whale

Another Egg in an Otherwise Frothy Pie

Written by Rob

Two Jerks stand in a doorway. The doorway is quite large enough to fit both standing side-by-side.

As an exercise in anger management, Leopold Throngbottom must endure their joint heckling without slamming the "door of discontent" in their collective faces. The "door of discontent" is, physically, a rather sturdy beast, and takes an above-average amount of force to swing shut. Once in motion, however, the door would do both Jerks damage such that a hospital visit or three would not be out of the question. The reason there is actual peril involved in this decision is so that the Patient really has to consider the ramifications of such an action. There are no Nerf playthings in this class. No, we're at the hardcore level.

Leopold Throngbottom, therefore, faces a quandry.

Thinks Throngbottom, "Shall I give in to my anger, which right now is quite potent, or shall I take the higher road and refrain? Allow me to consider both options while I'm still level-headed enough to do so."

Leopold Throngbottom then concocts a mental, yet somehow bulleted, list which is represented below:

To Slam or Not to Slam: a Collective List of Pros and Cons, by Leopold J Throngbottom III

an aside, he really isn't named after anybody in his lineage. Leopold Throngbottom nonetheless feels a compulsory desire to add 'the third' after his name because, 1) it fits so nicely, and 2) because it fits so nicely, it was essentially his nickname throughout his college years and basically stuck from that point on.

A List of Cons (in no particular order):

My course in anger management would be immediately extended.
All the progress I've made in this course would be taken away.
There's a good chance that I'd have to pay the full fine from my sentence.

another aside, Leopold had been accused of frequently destroying his neighbor's property while threatening his neighbor and his neighbor's wife with physical violence. Leopold's argument was that those two drove him to madness with their loud music... music which was of the new age variety. New Age music, while soothing by design, becomes less so when played for 8 consecutive hours daily at a level whose decibel counts should be reserved for things like Monster Truck Rallies and some of the quieter aircraft carriers sailing the seas.

The Jerks aren't actually jerks.

Jerks was just a term used for the class. The concept of the Jerk serves an important purpose according to the counselor: to serve as a test for each member's patience levels. Of course, testing patience in this manner doesn't really do much good, but the counselor was the Counselor, and the patients were the Patients, and who is anybody going to believe regarding the effectiveness of this anger management technique? Right. In any event, the Jerks are really just actors, paid a pittance by the city to perform this important task.

I'd have to explain myself.

of all the Cons, this was the worst. There was nothing more humiliating that being asked all the asinine questions regarding his feelings and the whys and wherefores of every little thought that entered his brain. Despite his best intentions, his mother almost always entered the conversation. And I'll let you, dear reader, in on a little secret here: Most of the time, the members of the anger management group had very little trouble with their mothers, and rarely brought them up. In fact, it was the counselor that was beaten repeatedly by his mother as a child, and it was the counselor who had frequent nightmares wherein his mother would torment him with a chainsaw which had a blade made of candy corns. Yeah, I know, freaky. In any event, the counselor was constantly seeking his opinion of his own mother by forcing other folks to talk at length about theirs.

A List of Pros (again, in no particular order):

The Jerks actually are jerks.

OK, the Jerks, in this case, really are jerks. I mean, really. Immediately after the class, both would go to the nearest bar, get ridiculously impaired, and fondle women without their consent. Frequently, this fondling would go further if the woman was drunk enough to pass out... but I'd rather not take this story to such a dark place. The truth is, in the eyes of the law, the Jerks are just two actors, even though everybody in the class knew otherwise. Even the counselor knew; though his thoughts on the matter were that if any women put themselves in such a situation to get fondled or worse, they were probably asking for it on some subconcious level.

I'd be a hero in this class for a long, long time.

It's true.

I'm not irritated enough for it to really feel good.

This, Throngbottom knew, could easily be changed.

Here's a quick description of the events that followed. I think many of you already know where this is going.

Leopold Throngbottom waits. He waits until that precise moment where his anger is just starting to peak, and his sensibilities are just about to leave him. This provides him with just enough anger to summon some additional strength, and just enough mindfulness to be calculating. He takes three long paces towards the door, ensuring that the timing of his arrival allows him to perform this rapid sequence:

Step
Step
Step, grasp onto door with right hand
Look both Jerks dead in the eye so that they know... they know exactly why this next bit is going to happen
Still stepping forward, begin pulling the door shut
Lean back ever-so-slightly to get more leverage on the door
Take that one remaining step forward to focus all door momentum on the precise point of closing.

The room becomes slow motion. The counselor is jumping out of his chair in utter awe and shock, his clipboard and notes flying through the air. The Patients are likewise leaving their seats, but only to celebrate the scenario as...

Leopold turns from the door, grinning, tearing up, and raising his arms in his short-lived triumph.

Raindrop: A Children's Story

Written by Rob

A raindrop aspires to enter the ocean. It falls on top of a mountain, joins a caravan of drops who all make their way into a stream. The stream spills into a river, which enters a lake.

"Pardon me, sir, but which way to the ocean?"

"Oh dear, I'm afraid you can't get to the ocean from here. This lake is landlocked."

"Ah, I see."

The raindrop spends a few months in the lake, dreaming of the ocean. He makes a few friends, has some good times, but is not truly happy. One day while hanging out with his raindrop friends, he makes a proclamation:

"I have to leave, here. I've really enjoyed your company, and I'll cherish it always, but I just don't feel I belong in this place."

His buddy drops are all extremely sad to hear this news, but they have known this day was coming. They wish him well, and hope he finds what it is that he's looking for out there in the world.

So, the raindrop works his way back up to the surface, and waits for a hot day to come. He begins to evaporate back into the air, while waving goodbye to his old life. This part is scary for him, because everybody knows that during evaporation it's impossible to tell whether or not your droplets will ever reform, or when, or where they'll decide to do so.

The promise of joining the ocean he'd always dreamed of made the raindrop brave, and fortunately the evaporation process went smoothly. He comes back into being in a brand new cloud, high above what looks to be very flat land.

"This does not look like a good place to fall, but I don't seem to have much choice in the matter."

All of the raindrops around him jump downwards from their new cloud. The raindrop closes his eyes, and also makes the plunge.

On his way down he hears the joyous cries of his fellow raindrops, for this kind of freefalling is what raindrops live for. There are some who go through evaporation practically as soon as they hit ground, just so they can do it again. But our little raindrop wants nothing more than to make his way towards the looming expanse of the ocean.

And so, he hits the ground with a miniscule splash and is instantly carried away by a small rivulet of water, growing ever larger as more and more raindrops join. "Wherever I'm going, I'm going to get there in an awful hurry!"

Rivulet turns to stream turns to river turns to swampland.

"Pardon me, sir, but which way to the ocean?"

"Now that IS the question, now isn't it. I say, young drop, that the ocean... well it ain't far off... but it ain't t'all close now neither."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, youngster, it mean that the ocean, bein' all kinds a close in the way o' proximity to us, it be nigh almost unreachable from here. But there is a way."

"Will I need to evaporate again?"

"I'm afraid that isn't much of an option in this here place, for you see up there? Up there is the Evercloud. You 'vaporate down here, and you will end up in there for sure. You won't never come back, and you won't never leave, neither."

"So how do I get to the ocean."

"Well, that's the hard part. While you can't evaporate, you can't just go into the ocean from here. The swamplands don't drain into the ocean. But sometimes, well I hear that sometimes the birds from the ocean come over here, on the far end of the marsh."

"So what are you saying?"

"What, are you dense, young fellah? I'm sayin that you need to hitch a ride."

"And how do I do that, sir?"

"Well now, I'm going to leave you here to figure that out on your own. You're big enough to do that, and if'n you want it bad enough, well, you'll figure it out just fine. Good luck to ya, young'n."

The wisened drop swims away, leaving the raindrop alone to think. And think he does. He thinks and he thanks and he thunks, all the while swimming slowly over to the bank of the marsh, to get close to the seabirds.

He's disheartened to realize that he is no closer to knowing the path to the ocean as he arrives at the marsh. But, as things often happen when they are needed, a duck swims near, pushes his head under the surface and gobbles up a fish.

"That's it! I'll get inside a fish!"

So the raindrop waits until the seabirds arrive, and he watches what fish they like to eat. They don't seem terribly picky, so the raindrop hops inside a nearby fish and waits... and waits... and waits. Suddenly, the fish starts shaking and flapping around a great deal. The raindrop looks up through the fishes mouth and sees the gullet of a great seabird.

To avoid being swallowed, the raindrop moves quickly to leap out of the fish's mouth, and he lands on the beak of the giant bird. The bird leaps up and flies away, and sure enough, true to the word of the older drop, the ocean is right nearby, just over a few trees, in fact. At the moment the bird flies over the ocean, the raindrop lets go and splashes right in.

"Finally, the ocean! I've dreamed about this moment my entire life!"

So what happened to our little raindrop? Did he live happily ever after? Well, we'll have to hear more of his stories to find that out, won't we?

The End

The Fall of Captain Goodly

Written by Rob

A silent tussle in a crowded street. A quick stab. Blood splashes onto asphalt.

"And now it is I, Professor Karnage, who gets the last laugh."

Final words from an expiring man, dressed in dapper clothing, struggling to speak.

"No. Y-y-you n-never act-actually laughed. And s-so, I... s-s-so, I... I... whiiiii...."

"What? No, I have the last laugh... HA HA HA HA!"

"I think he's right Captain Goodly. He actually died before you got your laugh in."

"But... but I got him in the end."

"You just stabbed him, technically he got the last laugh."

"But I'm the good guy."

"Well, yes, but his cover is a well-respected college professor who fights for the rights of the downtrodden. Your cover is a struggling middle-aged nobody, who, if we're being honest here, comes off as a cookie-cutter serial killer. I'm not sure you'll ever be able to convince a jury about the benefits of his demise."

"But he's responsible for the deaths of thousands of people."

"Well, you get the knowledge of a job well done! And at least when you're in prison you'll be able to think on that fact."

"But I have PROOF of his nefarious deeds!"

"Yeah, and the police can't use any of it. It's not admissible in the courts. They've told you this before. That's why you came after him directly, remember?"

"But... but..."

"And now he's going to die a martyr. Wow, I mean that's like bonus points for him, too. Last laugh and martyrdom. That's gonna be pretty good in the history books."

"But I saved... HE'S the BAD guy!"

"Oh, you don't have to tell me. You and I have seen what damage he's done in the cover of night."

"But they CAN'T send me to jail."

"Prison actually... and that's a THIRD thing he's got going for him. Last Laugh, Martyrdom, AND he's sending Captain Goodly to prison. I think you bit off more than you could chew with this one."

"But..."

"AND, you decided to stab him face-to-face in the middle of a crowded street right after he finished his lecture on the benefits of a truly socialist-based society."

"But..."

"And now I'll have to testify as a witness, and then I'll have to find a-NOTHER hero to sidekick for. And in this economy, I mean, nobody's looking for an experienced sidekick. Damn, I should've known... your resume isn't exactly long."

"You're not going down WITH ME?!?"

"We've only been doing this for a few months. I can't jeopardize my future as a hero. I've got a lot riding on this, and putting away a murderer will look pretty good on my record."

Sirens near. Doors slam. The crowd makes way for justice.

"He did it, officers."

"You're going to hell, Steven."

"I'll see you in court Cap'n."

A New Can of Paint

Written by Rob

Green. Yellow. Hazel. Olive. Brown. Off-Brown. Orange. Pearl. Silver. Burnt Umber. Wood. Cherrywood. Ah, here we are: The Color Like When You go Out to the Gazebo After a Fresh Summer's Rain, and the Wood is Damp and Has that Damp Wood Smell, But the Smell is Also Mixed with the Smell of Freshly Cut Grass Even Though you Didn't Mow the Lawn Yesterday. Perfect.

"Find everything alright, sir?"

"The paint cans seemed a bit out of order, but otherwise I found exactly what I was looking for, thanks."

"Yeah, we have a new system in place, sir."

Beep. Beep beep. Can goes into bag.

"That'll be $20.17, sir."

Ruffled paper. Clanging coinage.

"Here's your change, sir. Have a good day!"

"You, too."