The Dentist and Timberly Austin

(Tuesday morning at the Austin household)

Mom: Alright Timmy, here’s your lunch. Now, what aren’t we going to do at school today?

Timmy: No biting.

Mom: That’s right, no biting your friends at school today.

Timmy: Yes mommy.

Mom: Okay, you show the third grade who’s boss. And remember you need to go to the dentist after school. Aunt Sally will take you.

Timmy: Aww, mom, I hate the dentist, he’s a creep-freak.

Mom: Dr. Gammers? He’s the kindest man in Oregon. Don’t worry my little Tim Tim, it’s just a checkup. Now scoot or you’ll miss the bus.


(In the lobby at the dentist’s office)

Aunt Sally: You wait here Timmy, your Aunt Sally is going to walk over to the video store.

Timmy: Okay Aunt Sally. You sure have been going to the video store a lot lately.

Aunt Sally (Blurting out in a raised voice): Well, your Uncle Dick isn’t coming back anytime soon, so…..(lowers her voice)just wait here, sweetheart. (Pats Timmy on the head and walks out.)

Hygienist: Timothy Austin. Timothy. Austin.

Timmy (anxiously raises his hand): Here.

Hygenist: Come on in Timmy, Dr. Gammers will see you in just a minute.



(Timmy, laying back in dentist chair, when Dr. Gammers enters the room)

Dr. Gammers: Timberly, how’s the biz? What are you in high school now?

Timmy: Third grade Dr. Gammers. And my name is Timmy. I don’t like Timberly.

Dr. Gammers: Okay Timberly, I’m sorry. How are your parents?

Timmy: They’re going away until Sunday, so I’m staying with my Aunt Sally. She’s at the video store.

Dr. Gammers: Well we both know she isn’t there for the romantic comedies.

Timmy: Huh?

Dr. Gammers: Porn, Timberly. Your Aunt Sally loves hard porn. It ruined her marriage. (Timmy looks sad and confused) Now lay back so old Doc Gammers can get a look at those pearly whiteys. (Opens Timmy’s mouth with his mirror and scraper) What the fuck is going on here, Timmy? This is bullshit. Let’s see, a little plaque over here, some tartar on number 7. Oh look one, two, three cavities. Ding ding ding. We have a neglectful child. And Susan tells us what he’s won.

Hygenist: He’s only eight, Jean.

Dr. Gammers: Brrrnnnahh! Wrong Susan. He’s won the mouth of a middle aged Scottish man. Congratulations, Timmy. You have the teeth of an asshole child.

Timmy (eyes watering): I’m sorry Doc, I flossed like you told me to.

Dr. Gammers: You’ve been flossing? With what, stripper thongs?

Timmy (starting to whimper): I don’t know, but I have.

Dr. Gammers: Well Timberly, you’ve just added liar to the list of things that I hate about you.

Timmy: Why are you so mean?

Dr. Gammers: Mean? I’m not mean. I’m a dentist. I have a responsibility to your teeth.

Timmy: But I’m trying.

Dr. Gammers: You see that plaque on the door Timmy? (Timmy nods his head) You see those degrees on the wall? The awards and certificates that line my hallway? (Nods again) Do they say, Timberly the jerk boy? (Timmy shakes his head) No, they read Dr. Jean Gammers. And from the moment you walk in that door your teeth belong to me. And you are fucking with my teeth, Timmy.

Timmy: I’m sorry, I’ll do better.

Dr. Gammers: Yeah, you will. Because if you don’t, your parents are going to die.

Timmy: What?

Dr. Gammers: That’s right. I’m putting the dentist’s curse on you Timberly. If you don’t floss every night, your parents will die.

Timmy: No, they will not.

Dr. Gammers: Go ahead Timmy, test the curse, see if I care.

(Timmy gets up from the chair and bolts out of the office)

Dr. Gammers: God damn that boy can run.



(Aunt Sally’s apartment, phone is ringing)

Aunt Sally: Hello.

Dr. Gammers: Hi Aunt Sally, this is Dr. Gammers, how are you this evening?

Aunt Sally: I’m fine, just watching a movie.

Dr. Gammers: Oh, sounds pleasing. Aunt Sally, can I talk to Timothy please.

Sally: Um, I guess. You know, its kind of late Doctor, he’s already in bed I think.

Dr. Gammers: It’s quite important Aunt Sally. Please.

Sally: Hold on a second. Timmy, phone.

Timmy: Hello, this is Timmy.

Dr. Gammers: Timberly, Dr. Jean Gammers here. Were you under the impression that I was
prone to tomfoolery.

Timmy: Um.

Dr. Gammers: Did you think I was kidding about the curse? Do I seem like a man who engages in such japery?

Timmy: I don’t know what you’re saying.

Dr. Gammers: You didn’t floss tonight, did you Timberly?

Timmy: I was going to, but-

Dr. Gammers: But what? But, but, it doesn’t matter now, because there was a plane crash. A horrible plane crash Timberly, and I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but, your parents are dead.


(Timmy drops the phone and darts out of the apartment, down the street to his front yard, where he hops on his bike. Through the streets he rides, all night. Past his school, onto the highway, into the city. Through downtown Seattle and numerous shady neighborhoods, he peddles. He peddles until he reaches the airport. Once there, he rushes inside and scream-cries out for help.)

Timmy: Where are my mom and dad? Where?

Security guard (approaches Timmy, while talking on his cell phone): I’ve got it, he’s here, gotta go. (hangs up) Are you lost little man?

Timmy: My parents, they were in a plane crash.

Guard: Oh, that’s terrible. Here, take this. (Hands Timmy a pack of dental floss)

Timmy: No. My parents-

Guard: If I were you, I’d use that from now on.

(Timmy runs into the public restroom, where he begins to floss vigorously. He runs the floss as hard as he possibly can, back and forth along his gums. The intense floss is too much and Timmy passes out.)


(Timmy wakes up in a haze on a hospital bed, his parents and Dr. Gammers hover over him.)

Mom: Timmy, sweetheart.

Dad: Hey there pal.

Dr. Gammers: Congratulations, Timmy. You passed our test.

Timmy: Mom? Dad? You’re alive? (They nod, smiling in assent) Your with Doc Gammers? No. No. No. (Timmy jumps off his bed and out of the room, screaming.)

Dr. Gammers: Look at that boy go. Mr. and Mrs. Austin. Carol, Steve. Have you met Timmy’s gym teacher, Mr. Davis? I think I know of a way we can get Timmy to use that speed.

(The all laugh, insanely)

The End

Brodie's Modern Art

Revelations

May I Squier You?

There are two proven ways for a modern man to become a man. One, fornicate with another human. Two, watch this video and use it as a basis for everything you do from the moment it ends. I warn you, if you are easily mesmerized, run. If amazing things tend to make your head explode, turn away from the screen. You are about to experience God’s shining light. This is the reason we were made. This rendered everything done before it obsolete, and all done since pointless. I feel I may be underselling what you are about to see. Without this, we would never know what a whipsy swirl flippy spin bouncy prance looks like. Now, enjoy....

Brody vs. Brodie: Gas Prices

Brodie

Alright Brody. Now you’re sixteen, and you’re getting ready to take your newly purchased ‘94 Camry to Navy Pier to walk around, maybe score a few beers with your brother’s ID. One problem, your tank needs to be filled. You got 40 bucks? Maybe, between you, Eddie, and D-man. But D-man needs that money to buy the beers for the three girls you meet down there. Only they are not there, because they didn’t have the 40 bucks between them.

Where am I going with this? Gas prices. The prices keep rising. Instability in the Middle East and North Africa they say. Libya is at war with their beautiful Gadda, so there must be an oil shortage. Lack of access, right? It’s really a bunch of bullshit. Speculation on Wall Street is the reason for the bump. Wall Street and the oil companies LOVE when any country that drains its people and it resources has a conflict. They love watching Libyans die. Why? They use it as an excuse. And they make a killing off all the killing. How oil is allowed to be traded as a commodity to be speculated on is beyond me. The assholes buying and selling oil will never use it. It’s a little gambling dance. Only gambling where the speculators and big oil executives make the rules and pocket the money. They drive up prices every time there is conflict in a oil bearing nation. I’d love to see the giant erections they got after the earthquake/tsunami in Japan. Well, I wouldn’t love to see their giant erections, I was speaking figuratively, of course. But, back to their giant erections, I mean Japan, back to Japan. Japan produces about 1/15th the oil that Libya does. Don’t think it won’t affect prices though. Just as good of an excuse as any other.

Don’t expect any politician, from your local tea party jag hole to Barack Obama to talk about this obvious money suck. There are all kinds power players (see campaign contributors and influences) to alienate by pointing out this glaring problem. There are reserves to keep the oil flowing for as long as they need. There are shipments of oil just hanging out in tankers. Shipments being held back. Reserves never touched.

These people think we are stupid, and how can you blame them? The GOP recently championed an idea to change EPA climate rules in order to thwart rising gas prices. Are you fucking kidding me? These people are well aware of the speculation driven price hikes and they just wave the shiny ball of climate restrictions in front of us. They might as well say that the unemployed or the gays are behind it as well.

Will we ever wise up to the “hey look over here, while we get rich” charade that executive elite pukes out on us? And you wonder why Wesley Snipes doesn’t want to pay taxes. God bless you Wesley.


Brody

I’m not super good with sarcasm, but I think you are not really on Wesley Snipes’ side. Which is fine with me. He is part of the problem with the gas prices. Not to mention the unions. Those damn teachers are making so much money, they are sucking all of are oil resources dry. Do the oil companies even receive any subsidies or tax breaks? Probably not. They have to pay for some of their own oil spill cleanup. Not like the teachers and other union members. They get paid by us. They should take all their extra money and pay for our gas.

What a great idea. I love these little debates we have Brodie. The teachers should give their pay increases to the oil companies in order to keep gas prices low. And then on weekends and winter break and summer break, they can actually pump our gas. That will negate the bump in price from the savages in foreign lands who are cutting each other’s heads off.

Speaking of said savages, at the heart of it all is the Muslims. Now not only do I have to keep my head on a swivel at all times to make sure they’re not trying to blow me up or feed me Muslim food, but now I have to worry about them fighting each other and jacking up my gas prices. I’m totally conflicted. My go to line in the food court at the mall used to be, “go back to your country”. Sometimes I’d even throw in a little something like “camel boy” or “turban cowboy” or even “get Jafar away as you can”. But now, sending them back to their country would only increase the foreign conflict, thus causing me to shell out at the pump.

As for Wall Street, well, I hate a banker just as much as the next guy. But I trust an American man in a suit over a bunch of dusty, rock throwers in the Middle East. Let’s just hope that this conflict in Libya doesn’t spread to Africa. Bee-rody, lates.

Extremely Short Stories

Disillusioned

Reuben told me that he sold scarves and is turned on by images of polar bears. Turns out he was only half a liar.


The Parking Meter

Five more minutes. Just five more minutes. Tabitha was freezing. The weather report said it was ten below with the windchill. Only five more minutes. Maybe she should have worn gloves. A hat would have been practical. She was determined to get her money’s worth.


Jim Tuck

Jim never forgot to tuck in his shirt. T-shirt into sweatpants. Button-down into slacks. Friday night, collar-up, half-zip cotton shirt into jeans.

On Tuesday he wore a loose fitting long-sleeve workout shirt seemingly tucked into his running shorts. The shirt was one size too big. He was sloppy with the back tuck. The taxi door was closed too quickly. Jim was dragged twelve blocks.

His mother now tucks in his shirts for him. Right after she bathes him.


The Hotel Night Manager

Everything was open to Belmont Johnson. His home was pillared. His marriage allowed for outside partners. He drove a convertible. He neglected to wear a toupee or shave his head completely. A lifetime of preparation for his new job.


Oklahoma Spot Thieves

The world seemed like a wonderful place to Elizabeth. That was before she moved to Tulsa. She doesn’t know whether she will ever see her dog again.


The Eulogy

Jerry: “Do not brandish that.”

Gary: “Brandish?”

Jerry: “You’re brandishing your firearm.”

Gary: “Shut your mouth.”

Jerry: “I only ask that you don’t brandish-”


Gary “We may never figure out how Jerry ended up dead in an abandoned warehouse. He was a great man. He was a fancy word-user. Used words like daunting, flourish and brandish. We’ll miss you Jerry.”


The Newborn

Reginald?

No.

Bernard?

Noooooo.

Matthew?

Ohhhh. No.

Timothy?

Horace. Not now.

He’s about to be here. How ’bout Robert?

Your father? Horace he was a……..ohhhhhh…..sex pervert.

Randall?

No.

Daniel?

Stop. These are all terrible.

William?

No.

Alec, Stephen?

Stop naming Baldwins!

Jaden?

Please.

I've got it.


Ladies and Gentleman, the 53rd President of the United States of America.

Years ago, at my birth, a young nurse brought a basket of fruit into the delivery room. Such was fate. Now me and my unusual name will lead us through the second half of the 21st Century.



The Arm Wrestler

Bill clutched his opponent's hand. He pushed as hard as he could. Thoughts of his childhood flashed in front of him. He loved to wear the finger gloves. Before all the glory and the weightlifting and the hand exercising, he loved those gloves. He was wearing them now.


The Arm Wrestler

It is a mental game. Believe me. Columbus, Rockford, Mobile, the cities and the workouts change, but the game remains the same. Courtney was a female in a man’s world, but this was a gay bar. She felt even more alien at this competition. Then she put on her gloves and the powder. She strapped her elbow in place. Darius looked affected by his surroundings.

A third place finish and an advance towards her bus ticket to Scotsdale. She now knew she could handle anything.


The Arm Wrestler

“David! David, get in here.”

“Yes, dad.”

“I tripped over your flippin’ skateboard again. What did I tell you?”

“Mom said it was okay.”

“Dammit. I’m the man out there and I’m the man in this house.”

The Adventures of Mark Twain Turning Over in His Grave, Again.

Cowardly school boards and satirically-challenged parents rejoice! The banning of Huck Finn discussions are still going on in America. An edition has recently been released in which the word, “nigger”, is replaced with “slave”, in both Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Holy Shit.

Mark Twain wrote a masterpiece that not only influenced all American writing in its wake; his work is just as powerful and morally applicable today as it was back then. He confronted racism with a satirical approach, and if teachers have trouble teaching it, too bad. If they are uncomfortable, oh well. Can’t be any harder than teaching a 15 year old meth-head Chaucer. Old English and tweaking usually are not a great combination. “Billy’s licking the Wife of Bath again.” Better yet, if your kid comes home crying about the language in the book (probably won’t happen) or he/she doesn’t get it, then employ your fucking parenting skills and make them understand what they are reading is a reflection of America’s history; of its reality in that time.

For crying out loud. Why are parents always so annoyed about having to be parents? “What am I supposed to tell my kid when he asks about Jimmy Duncan’s two mommies?”. I don’t know, explain it to them. Be their parent. Your children are so much more accepting of people, of differences, of alternate paths of thinking than you are. That’s why little kids clap when they see giant purple dinosaurs or humans in colorful worm suits. I think they’ll be alright with two guys kissing. Maybe they should explain racism and bigotry to you.

Our kids can handle Huck Finn. Trust me. It’s you, overbearing parent. It's you, religious right secret masturbating zealot. It's you, spineless school board member, clutching your well paying job. You’re the people with the problem. Stop projecting your own fears and ignorance onto your children. And if you don’t get Huck Finn? First off, stop breeding. You are not very bright, and the world begs you to stop bringing dumb children into it. Second, take your current children to their grandparents for a year or so, and dedicate your time to learning some basic literary concepts. Its only fair that if you are going to object to a word or sentence or book, you should, at the very least, make an effort to understand exactly what you are objecting to. Oh, and get bent.