satchelwarrior

Sometimes I wake myself up laughing.  My wife thinks I'm a crazy man. "You're a crazy man!" she'll say. I, however, do not think I'm crazy.  I think I am a perfectly sane person suffering from a rare affliction that tragically strikes only the brightest of thinkers, the crème de la crème, the amalgamated geniuses of the world; a rare, terrible disorder that will leave you a quivering mess of giggles mere months after diagnosis.  SGLT, or Super Genius Laughing Terrors as I have dubbed it, is an extremely rare disorder.  The first symptoms are usually associated with sleep, the afflicted waking up laughing at nothing at all, sometimes multi

Jill As Jill walked, she cried.  As she cried, she walked.  She often found herself out in the middle of the road, far away from her home, with no recollection of how she got there or why she was crying.  She had admitted to herself a long time ago that she wasn't 100% totally completely in her full capacities at all times, but god knows she tried her best.  Hell, her name wasn't even Jill, but for some reason she one day woke up calling herself that.  She was born Elisabeth Jane Wilson to a rich midwestern family with, she was sure, many well-to-do friends and neighbors that had long ago welcomed her family into their elite community of af

     As the man in the red-stained white suit slouched in the dirt, the man in the black suit sadly lingered, though he had no business being there. The usual denizens of the street were absent, save the sleeping dog who wouldn't move if the sky fell down--or so say the posse of old men who sit outside Gabe's General Store, letting their knees predict the weather and telling the kids what's what.  The dirt and blood was making the man in the white suit's hands a caked kind of dry, but looking down at the earth made the pain slightly more bearable. As he looked at the troubled face of the man in the black suit, he began to feel rested, in a vi

My uncle is a strange man.  After spending many years in the armed forces as a desk jockey, he developed an unstoppable urge to do everything he could in as little time possible.  He is a master of efficiency;a fascinating person to observe, but almost unbearable to live with for periods of time.  His "techniques" are all very clever, but the frenetic pace at which he does everything is not very conducive of people spending time with him.  He has gone through three wives, beginning and ending the relationships all the same way: the women think he is delightfully charming when they see him doing his thing, whirlwind romance, marriage, divorce.

And now it's 2AM. The air in this place makes my brain sick, and I forget (or stop caring) why I am here.  This is a special time, as the bars have just closed. In minutes, a plethora of late-model domestic cars will shudder into the parking lot, their inebriated contents hungering for a Grand Slam, or maybe just looking for a cup of coffee to pass out in. After a few moments of searching, they finally get the doors open, and stagger into the cheery restaurant. They look a bit ill. Most are Denny's veterans, however, and could probably swallow a live hamster with no digestive trauma. Eventually, they are seated. Most of the table light cig