Why Men Die Sooner Than Women

Boy Sick in Bed

Boy Sick in Bed Clipart

Brenda left her afternoon meeting, checked her phone for messages and groaned.

“What’s up?” asked Martin.

“My husband left sixteen texts and three messages,” she said.

Martin gave Brenda a quizzical look.

“He’s sick,” explained Brenda.

“Oh,” said Martin. “What’s he got?”

“Does it really matter? Men are children.”

Martin cringed. “Like women aren’t.”

“Really? Ever have a baby? Men would die if they had to give birth,” said Brenda.

Martin shook his head. “Enough with the ‘baby’ card. Why is it that all woman claim child birth makes them so tough?”

Brenda smiled. “It’s because men can’t do it.”

“Exactly. If men could give birth, we would. It’s no big whoop.”

“Fine. Give birth and I’ll consider you tough,” said Brenda. She folded her arms and gloated.

“You know, you’ve just hit on something really important.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve helped answer the age old question why men die before women,” said Martin.

“All right, I’m ready.”

Martin smacked his hands together. “Women may give birth, but men have to listen to women brag about it. That’s way deadlier. And that’s why men die before women.”

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Coffee House Combo


Ellie approached the counter of Jumping Bean Roasters for her afternoon caffeine fix. The barista yawned.

“What can I get for you?” asked the barista.

“Something to keep me awake,” said Ellie. “How ‘bout a large black.”

“We all need that,” said the barista. She spilled a cup of coffee and swore. “Sorry. Brain fart.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. As I was coming in a car passed me with their coffee on the roof,” said Ellie.

“I guess sometimes coffee just isn’t enough,” said the barista.

“Gotta love naps.”

“Remember when we were kids and hated naps? Now they’re the best things ever,” laughed the barista.

“You should offer a nap and coffee combo. You’d make millions,” said Ellie.

The barista wandered in thought for a second. “Just wondering how we could make that work.”

Ellie finished paying. “When you do, let me know. I’d buy that.”

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Hurt Feelings


Rex flopped on the living room couch and loosened his tie.

“Rough day?” asked Lindsay as she sat down beside him.

“I got called to Human Resources today.”

“You didn’t get fired did you?” laughed Lindsay.

Rex gave her a gloomy look.

“You didn’t get fired did you?” asked Lindsay. He question became much more serious.

“I was officially reprimanded.”

“What did you do?”

Rex sighed. “A few days ago I told a joke. Someone claimed it hurt their feelings.”

“What was the joke?”

“What did the duck say when it bought lipstick?”

“I don’t know. What?”

“Put it on my bill.”

Lindsay snickered. “That’s terrible. I can’t believe you told that.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s corny and lame.”

Rex shrugged. “And apparently offensive.”

Lindsay tilted her head and frowned. “I don’t get that.”

“Someone claimed it was demeaning to alumni from the University of Oregon.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Oregon’s mascot is a duck,” explained Rex.

“It understand that part. I just don’t see how it hurts someone’s feelings.”

Rex shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out when I take the mandatory sensitivity training.”


“If it happens again I get fired,” said Rex. He dropped his head in Lindsay’s lap.

“Let’s watch some mind numbing TV to get your mind off it, okay?” She clicked to cable news.

“…We’re following the events as they unfold in Paris. Here’s what we know right now. At least 30 are dead in what are now called coordinated attacks at several locations on Paris’ 11th District. From what we’re being told that number is sure to rise…”

Rex and Lindsay sat in wide-eyed horror for the next hour and a half.

Eventually Lindsay turned to Rex. “What do you think?”

Rex’s expression was stoic. “Those terrorists are gonna be in such trouble for hurting people’s feelings.”

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Youtube Anarchy


“Know what I always wanted to try?” asked Ramone.

“It is legal?” replied Gus.


“It already sounds boring,” complained Gus.

“It’s awesome. Hear me out,” said Ramone.

“Alright, but I’m skeptical.”

“I wanna go to the doctor’s office and sneak in a bottle of apple juice.”

“You’re an anarchist,” scoffed Gus.

“When they asked for a urine sample, I fill the jar with the juice. Then, when I go back to the waiting room, I say really loudly that I’m thirsty. I whip off the cap and drink the urine sample in front of the whole office. Mmmm,” said Ramone. A sinister grin spread across his face.

Gus was silent for a second. His jaw dropped in amazement. “That’s brilliant! I should come with you with a hidden video camera. Can you imagine? Maybe someone’ll puke. It’d go viral. I’m sure of it.”

“And you doubted me,” said Ramone.

“You really are an anarchist.”

“Yep,” bragged Ramone. “A Youtube anarchist.”

Posted in apple juice, doctor, doctor's office, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, practical joke, prank, short fiction, short story, story, urine cup, urine specimen, video, Youtube | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

A Genuine Handicap


“I’m a bad person,” declared Gloria with a pang of guilt.

“You have no argument from me,” replied Milton.

“Milton, I’m serious.”

“Who said I wasn’t?”

“Know what? Forget it. I’m not talking to you any more,” bellowed Gloria. She crossed her arms and turned her back to Milton.

Milton had an evil glint in his eye. “They say confession is good for the soul. Confess your sins to me.”

“That’s creepy.”

“You brought it up.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you. Today I parked in a handicapped space.”

“And you got a ticket?”


“How’d you manage that?”

Gloria blushed. “I counterfeited the handicapped parking permit.”

“You’re not supposed to say handicapped. It’s disabled,” explained Milton.

“Whatever,” said Gloria, rolling her eyes.

“How did you manage that?” asked Milton

“I used a sharpie and a note card. People don’t look very closely at those things. The worst part is I stole the spot from someone with a real handicap.”

“Maybe they were using a counterfeit permit, too.”

Gloria chortled. “Of course not. Duh. They’re not smart enough to do that ‘cause they’re handicapped.”

“Okay, now you’re a terrible person.”

“I said I was a bad person.”

“Yeah, but saying that you’ve upped the ante.”

Gloria looked hurt. “Why? What did I say?”

Milton closed his eyes and shook his head.

“What?” asked Gloria.

“You should keep your disabled parking permit,” said Milton.

“Why do you say that?”

“Your disability may not be physical or mental, but your handicap is definitely emotional.”

Posted in counterfeit, disabled, fiction, flash fiction, handicap, handicapped, humor, humour, parking, parking permit, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Save the Snubgrub!


When Drew arrived at work, he proudly showed off his newest activist t-shirt. Jared saw it and had to ask.

“What’s ‘Snubgrub Love’?” asked Jared.

Drew’s face lit up. “It’s awful. Jake Spadina’s speaking out to save the snubgrub.”


Drew was aghast. “The actor? Where have you been, living under a rock?”

Jared shrugged. “What’s he been in?”

“Just the biggest movies ever. Parazombies, The Quick and The Demons, Rise of the Psychotropes…”

“Yeah. That doesn’t help,” admitted Jared.

“He’s one of the biggest names in Hollywood. If he’s fighting for the snubgrub, then you know it must be important,” said Drew.

“Why? Is he an expert on snubgrubs?”

“Better. He’s famous. It’s like an obligation he has. I saw his video online. He said there’s only 800 000 snubgrubs left in the world and they’re disappearing at a rate of 8000 every ten seconds. It’s scary what big industry is doing to the planet.”

Jared’s face contorted as he crunched numbers. “Hold on. If that’s true, then they’ll will be extinct in… just under 17 minutes.”

Drew frowned. “No.”

“Do the math.”

Drew pretended to do calculations in his head. “No, you’re wrong. Jake Spadina said we’ve only got until 2020 to block the building of all hydro-electric power dams worldwide.”

“The math doesn’t lie, Drew.”

“Neither would Jake.”

“Really? He’s an actor. He lies for a living.”

“He’s passionate about this. He cares about the snubgrub and he loves the planet. I’m telling you.”

Jared grimaced. “You draw this conclusion based on the lies he spews in a video?”

Drew shook his head. “So what if he stretches the truth? He does it for a higher good.”

“Do you even know what a snubgrub is?”

“It’s an insect or something. They didn’t really show a picture of them on the video. They said they’re elusive,” explained Drew.

“Right,” said Jared.

“Know what? You’re just being a bully.”

“How? By telling the truth?”

“Yes. At least environmentalists like Jake Spadina care,” spat Drew. “Not like you.”

Jake nodded. “You’re right about one thing. They do care. But only about themselves, and they’ll lie to your face to do it.”

Drew’s face grew beet red. “You’ll never understand.”

Jared sighed. “I don’t think I want to.”

Posted in activism, cynical, cynicism, environmentalism, fiction, flash fiction, Hollywood, humor, humour, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Late Night Mystery


Cadence got home late from work. She entered through the back door by the kitchen. It was dark, but immediately she could tell something was wrong. There was a putrid smell in the air that reminded her of rotting fish.

She turned on the kitchen light. Everything was awash in red. Several of her best knives were in pools on the counter. It was splashed on the cabinets. Red liquid dripped off the counter top onto the floor. Red footprints led a trail down the hallway.

Immediately her thoughts turned to her three boys. Her chest tightened.

Cadence grabbed a kitchen knife and crept forward. She tiptoed along, careful not to smudge the evidence. In the living room she heard moans and screams.

Shadows flashed across the wall in the hall. She forced herself forward, wincing as a floorboard creaked beneath her feet.

She reached the living room and peered around the corner. The only illumination came from the flickering TV screen. There was movement on the couch. Slowly, she reached for the light switch. The suddenness of the light was blinding.

“Aw, mom! Turn off the lights,” complained Bruce, her youngest son.

“What’s going on here?” demanded Cadence.

“We made pizza for supper and are watching scary movies,” explained Aiden, her oldest son.

“Anchovy pizza,” added Ken, her middle son.

“The only scary thing I see is the mess you left in the kitchen,” said Cadence.

“We’ll clean it up, just after the movie. Okay?” asked Aiden.

“Please?” begged Bruce.

Cadence breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. The moment it’s over.”

Ken raised an eyebrow. “Uh, mom? Why are you carrying a knife?”

Posted in fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, mystery, short fiction, short story, story, suspense | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments