Council Of The Grumpy Old Men


Every Tuesday afternoon at the local coffee shop, Mortie, Omar and Dave gathered for their weekly gab session. They referred to it as the Council of the Grumpy Old Men.

“I was watching the news yesterday,” said Omar.

“That was your first problem,” quipped Mortie.

“There’s a big fuss over some new sex education curriculum. Why are we wasting time and money to teach kids about sex?” asked Omar.

“That’s why God invented internet porn,” said Dave.

“You are one twisted puppy, Dave,” said Mortie.

“When, in the history of humanity, did we ever have a crisis of conception? When did people suddenly not know how to have kids? It’s crazy,” said Omar.

Mortie chuckled. “Every generation seems to figure it out all on their own.”

“You don’t see ‘em doin’ stuff like this in China,” added Dave.

“Aren’t there over a billion people in China? Not a problem there,” said Omar.

“Yeah, and they’re teachin’ their kids how to run the world,” said Dave.

“We’re teaching our children self-esteem,” said Mortie.

“And how’s that workin’ out? Young people today are selfish brats, runnin’ around with a sense of entitlement. If they have their way, we’ll be killed off in some euthanasia scheme,” snapped Dave. The other two nodded in agreement.

“All I know is, my grandkids better learn Mandarin,” said Omar.

“I never liked those oranges,” said Dave.

“The more I think about it, the happier I am I won’t be around to see it hit fan,” mused Omar.

Mortie grew pensive. “Remember when we were convinced our children would fix the future?”

“Yeah, but that’s because we were too lazy to do it ourselves,” said Dave. The other two nodded in agreement.

Posted in China, euthanasia, fiction, flash fiction, future, grumpy old men, humor, humour, sex ed, sex ed curriculum, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Soccer Mom’s Lament


Bethany and Anya were caught in traffic while running errands in preparation for a PTA fundraiser.

“There should be a law that people remove their ‘Baby on Board’ stickers when their children grow up. I swear, half the time I see teenagers in the cars with their parents,” said Anya.

Bethany laughed. “I took mine off when my youngest turned ten.”

“It’s not like people change how they drive just because there’s a sticker in the back window of somebody’s car,” said Anya.

“It makes me want to aim for them,” said Bethany, with a perverse grin.

“How can you say that, Beth? You had one on your minivan,” said Anya.

“Logan, my husband, put it on. Not me. I think it’s arrogant to put it on a car. To me, it says two things.”


“‘You better care about my kids’ and ‘rob me’,” said Bethany.

“I get the first one, but why ‘rob me’?”

“It’s like advertising to thugs and criminals that you’re vulnerable. I hated having it. It’s bad enough I drive a minivan.”

“I think minivans are great,” said Anya.

“They’re the muumuu of automobiles. My husband drives a BMW and I get the little van on the prairies,” said Bethany.

“I think minivans are cool.”

“They are if your favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla, 8:00 is your bed time and you are counting the days until you die,” declared Bethany.

Anya folded her arms and glared out the window. “Someone needs to eat some chocolate.”

“No, mommy needs a sexy sports car,” said Bethany.

Anya laughed. “You’re awful.”

Bethany looked over at Anya with piercing eyes. “I’m tired of being a soccer mom.

Posted in baby on board, BMW, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, minivan, PTA, short fiction, short story, soccer mom, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Incontrovertible Proof For The Existence Of God

Keith burst into the lunchroom. “I’ve discovered incontrovertible proof for the existence of God.”

“What’s Keith rambling on about this time?” grumbled Raul. His head was resting on the table and his eyes remained closed.

“I’ll bite,” said Claire.

“What is it?” Keith’s face beamed with excitement. “I present to you now the five words that prove God exists…”

“I’ll believe God exists if he shuts you up,” snapped Raul.

“Raul! Manners. Don’t pay any attention to him, Keith. He’s in love with his attitude problem,” said Claire.

“Don’t worry about it. The five words are, ‘now I have seen everything’,” said Keith.

“That’s six words,” said Raul.

“No,” said Keith.

“Every thing is two words,” said Raul.

“It’s a compound word,” said Keith.

“Raul, you need to shut up,” chided Claire.

“Yes, mom.”

Claire winced. “I hate it when he calls me that.”

“It doesn’t matter how many words it is. The proof is incontrovertible,” said Keith.

“I don’t  get it,” admitted Claire.

“Let me explain. Two days ago the high temperature was minus 17, right? I saw a guy walking down the street wearing nothing but a diaper, and I said, ‘now I have seen everything’.”

“Because nothing proves God exists like a nutjob in a diaper,” interrupted Raul.

“Well, the very next day I saw a woman walking down the street with a man on a leash. He was on all fours, like a dog,” said Keith. He was greeted with stunned expressions.

“How does that prove the existence of God?” asked Claire.

“It doesn’t. It just proves Keith lives in a freaky neighborhood,” said Raul.

“That’s not it. I was taunting God, daring him to show me something I’d never seen before,” said Keith.

“Right,” said Claire. “I’m afraid I agree with Raul. You may just need to change neighborhoods.”

“What did I tell you?” said Raul, with a self-satisfied grin.

Keith shrugged. “No matter what you say, there will always be doubters.”

Posted in existence, fiction, flash fiction, God, humor, humour, proof, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Family Dynamics


“I wonder if there really is some odour that would make me completely irresistible to women, like on the commercials?” asked Perry. He looked over at Rachel, his girlfriend of three months.

“Huh?” said Rachel. She was busy looking at her phone.

“Like pheromones or something. I was just wondering,” said Perry.

“I don’t know,” snapped Rachel.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t get a hold of my mom,” said Rachel.


“What do you mean, so? It’s my mom,” said Rachel. She stopped looking at her phone long enough to shoot a menacing look at Perry.

“Didn’t you talk to her yesterday?”

“I call her every day,” said Rachel.

Perry looked stunned. “Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t you?”

“That’s not how things work in my family,” said Perry.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What?”

“We don’t call each other unless something’s wrong. As long as we don’t hear from each other, life’s great.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very healthy family dynamic to me,” said Rachel.

“Hey. You have your family dynamics, and I have mine,” said Perry.

“That’s weird.”

“At least I’m not freaking out because my mom is out of cell range,” said Perry.

“What are you suggesting? Well?” demanded Rachel. The veins on her forehead bulged out.

Perry stopped himself from speaking. He was frightened by the throbbing in her neck.

“On behalf of my future happiness, I choose to never speak again,” said Perry.

“Just like you don’t talk to your mother? I don’t think so.”


“You think you can just tune me out, just because I’m mad at you?”

“I’m confused,” said Perry. His voice cracked.

“We’re new in this relationship, so let me explain something to you. When I’m mad at you, we talk to each other. When everything is great, we talk to each other. And you WILL start calling you mother regularly,” said Rachel.

Perry breathed a sigh of relief. “Somewhere, I think my mother is smiling.”

Posted in call, family, family dynamics, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, mom, relationships, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Oscars And Medieval History


(Overheard in a library.)

“Did you watch the Oscars Sunday night? One of the winners was going on about how society is unfair.”



“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Who peed in your Corn Flakes this morning?”

“Nobody. I just don’t wanna hear what some actor has to say about society. As though they’ve got something interesting to say about anything.”

“Sorry I brought it up.”

“No, really. Why should we care about some entertainer’s opinion. Are they authorities? No. Have they studied economics or science or politics? Probably not. If they did, they wouldn’t be movie stars, or worse yet, musicians.”

“Bitter much?”

“Hey, you started this.”

“I was just making conversation. You’re in full rant mode.”

“Answer me this question. Other than being famous, why do we ever care about these people? I say, entertain me, then go away. If I want an actual opinion on a real issue, I’ll ask a real expert. Someone intelligent and thoughtful. Not some entertainment monkey.”

“Whoa, calm down.”

“These were the egomaniacs in high school who were trying to connect with trees and stuff. They weren’t the smart kids. They were barely smarter than the jocks, and they had the excuse that they were suffering from concussions.”

“I’m walking away now.”

“It just frosts my preserves that these people are treated like they’re better than everyone else. I have a PhD. I studied economic growth theory for ten years. Does anyone ask me what I think about the great issues of our society? But I have to listen to these freaks wax philosophical about everything. It’s too much. Too much. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. I have a PhD, too, remember? Mine’s in English Renaissance History.”

“That’s priceless. You may even be more irrelevant than an actor. Seriously. If I have a question about fourteenth century history, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“And you wonder why nobody cares what you think.”

Posted in economics, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, library, medieval history, PhD, short fiction, short story, social activist, society, story, The Oscars | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Fatal Attraction


Brandon walked into the archery club with a goofy grin on his face. He didn’t get a word out of his mouth before his friends pounced.

“Uh oh. That can’t be good,” said Rufus, pointing at Brandon’s face.

“Listen, man. I told you that boy was a trouble magnet,” said Kevin.

“What are you talking about?” asked Brandon.

“No cat wears a smile like that unless he’s got canary feathers stuck in his teeth,” said Kevin.

“You’re an idiot,” said Brandon.

Rufus pensively examined Brandon. “No, I think Kevin’s right. You did something, or are about to do something stupid.”

“I think the boy’s in love,” said Kevin.

Brandon’s face flushed.

“Wow. Did you actually blush? Wear panties much?” asked Rufus.

“Shut up,” said Brandon. “It’s nothing like that.”

“What is it then?” asked Kevin.

Brandon looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “If I say something, you have to promise not to get on my case about it.”

Kevin threw up his hands. “I make no promises.”

“C’mon, I’m serious,” said Brandon.

Rufus and Kevin consulted with each other.

“Now, I know this is gonna be something juicy,” whispered Kevin.

“Yeah, but he won’t tell us anything if he knows we’re gonna bust his chops about it,” replied Rufus.

Kevin shrugged. “I still can’t make any promises.”

“Fair enough,” said Rufus. They turned to Brandon. “We will hear your soul-rending secret.”

“And you won’t mock me or make fun of me in any way?” asked Brandon.

“I promise,” said Rufus.

Kevin hesitated. “I promise to hear you out before I decide.”

“Fair enough. Have you ever been attracted…”

“To a farm animal?” Kevin interrupted.

Rufus smacked Kevin in the shoulder. “Shut it. Our dear brother here is about to pour out his soul. Continue.”

Brandon glared at Kevin. “As I was saying, have you ever found yourself attracted to a cartoon character?” He was met by stunned silence.

“Like, sexually?” asked Kevin.

Brandon shrugged. “Like, yeah. Kinda.”

“I know it’s been rough lately, but, dude,” said Kevin.

“Hold it a second. Do you mean like the Wilma versus Betty debate?” asked Rufus.

“The what?” asked Kevin.

“Who’s hotter, Wilma Flintstone or Betty Rubble?” said Rufus. “I’ve always been a Betty man, myself.”

Kevin looked at Rufus in shock and horror. “Dude, how can you say that? It’s Wilma all the way.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Brandon.

“Okay, but how attracted are you?” asked Rufus.

“You’re not into anything kinky, right?” asked Kevin.

“No, man. I was just wondering if it was weird,” said Brandon.

“Well, when you think about it, the way they photoshop women in magazines, they’re practically cartoons,” said Rufus. “They’re certainly not real.”

“I wanna know how kinky this is. What are we talkin’ here?” asked Kevin.

Brandon hesitated. “I have a couple of posters of Harley Quinn. And a few statues.”

“How many in a few?” asked Rufus.

“Sixteen. And a bank,” said Brandon.

“Dude, you’re quickly slipping into ‘subject of a documentary’ territory,” said Kevin.

Brandon’s face lit up. “You think this could make me famous? That would be awesome.”

Rufus shook his head. “Now that’s twisted.”

“Are you sure I can’t mock him?” asked Kevin.

“What?” asked Brandon, defensively.

Rufus turned to Brandon. “Walk away, dude. Just walk away.”

Posted in archery, Betty Rubble, cartoon, fiction, flash fiction, Harley Quinn, humor, humour, love, short fiction, short story, story, Wilma Fintstone | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cabin Fever


“It’s been a long winter,” said Kyle. The other two guys around the table seemed too focused on their cards to notice him. “Okay, I’ll bite. How long is it?” asked Sid. “People are getting major cabin fever. Remember last week when it didn’t get above minus 20? I work with a guy that wore shorts the whole week,” said Kyle. Brooks grunted. “It’s been such a long winter, I caught my wife trying to buy property in South America,” he said. Sid shook his head at the others in disgust. “That’s not cabin fever. You don’t know cabin fever like I know cabin fever.” He looked back at his cards. Kyle and Brooks looked at each other dumbfound. “Well?” said Brooks. “Yeah, well?” asked Kyle. “I’ll tell you, but I must warn you. It’s horrible,” said Sid. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What is it?” asked Kyle. “My wife and kids took up knitting,” said Sid. “That’s it?” asked Brooks. “Lame,” said Kyle. “No. Listen. They’re into ‘organic’ knitting. That means only real wool. Nothing fake,” explained Sid. He scratched himself. “And they’ve yarn bombed everything in the house. Even the dog.” “I had to stop my wife from buying land in Ecuador. Who cares about a few woolen turtlenecks,” said Brooks. Sid smacked the table and glared at Kyle and Brooks. “I have two words for you: ‘wool underwear’.” Brooks threw his cards on the table. A tear formed in his eye. Kyle went pale. “The horror.”

Posted in cabin fever, cards, Ecuador, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, short fiction, short story, South America, story, Winter, wool, yarn bomb | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments