A Christmas Tale II

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Christmas time is supposed to be full of cheer, good food, and goodwill toward men. For Tabitha and me, Christmas time… well, let’s just say it isn’t our favorite holiday. Each year we put on a pleasant, smiling, cheerful face for our spouses and our kids, but Tabby and I both hate it with a passion. Especially now, but I guess I’m thankful that we’re old now and it won’t matter much longer.

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My earliest memories of Christmas are from age three. I don’t remember much other than receiving a brand new gaming console that I had to share with my sister Tabby, who is a year older than me. The gaming console was nowhere near as memorable as my fully animatronic Professor Puzzleton doll. And not just the small doll without all the goodies. Santa must have known I was a good boy by the fact my Professor Puzzleton was the full-sized four foot tall version, complete with computer software to interact with and upgrade the professor’s abilities, along with a full year’s supply of board games, coloring books, and sing-a-long activities.

My father, Jason Gould, was a realtor at the time, and by my third Christmas he was earning more than mom. Rochelle Gould, my mother, worked as a financial analyst for one of the largest banks in the world, and from what she and Dad told me later, was bringing home six figures per year in salary alone. With bonuses… let’s just say that between the two of them, Tabitha and Avery Gould were spoiled little shits—but to be honest, so were Mom and Dad.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with living in a six thousand square foot mini-mansion and being dropped off at elementary school in a $140,000 Mercedes or a $125,000 BMW SUV. Once in a while it was Dad’s fully restored 1969 Dodge Superbee. He once told me he spent almost as much restoring it as he did on his Mercedes. We didn’t have servants, but I don’t remember Mom ever spending more than a few minutes actually cleaning anything other than the dishes after dinner. I barely remember Anita and Devonne, our regular housekeepers who showed up twice per week to do the chores none of us wanted to bother with.

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Letters From the Adult Orphanage #1

To: Inmate #AZ932-09004
Dear Potential New Mom,

Some seriously scary people on the internet told me you needed an adult child to love and care for. I’m a big boy and I can wipe myself, but I’m still wearing training pants. Not because I have a weird fetish (Mr. Davies, the boss of the orphanage, tried to explain what “fetish” means but I could only picture eating spaghetti with peanut butter and broccoli sauce). I need training pants cuz I forget to remember to… You know.

I like dogs and chickens and bears and fishes and ceramic trinkets and piranha and chrome and Big Wheels and paper and crayons and stuff.

I don’t like mean ladies who say nice things while frowning and pinching my cheek (I also don’t like lady aunts who have Lando Calrissian mustaches even though they tickle but then I feel awkward for laughing) and I don’t like cereal or toy robots or punctuation or socks but I love toe socks haha weird right? but I also don’t like genetics or dumb rocks because rocks are dumb and don’t dance or play Xbox.

Anyway, prison pen pals are okay but my friend Dooly says I have to be careful because prison types like you are sometimes mean and say nice things while being mean and I don’t like mean cuz it makes me feel mean and I don’t like mean. I hope you get out of prison and didn’t really do all those bad things to the adults on that tour bus because it wasn’t nice. OK bye!

Please write back,
Jerry Winkleton
(but my friends call me “Jezzy” or sometimes “Destro” but that’s cuz Destro is this guy who works for Cobra Commander though more like a mercenary but the good guys won’t hire Destro cuz he does work for Cobra Commander but I like Destro’s girlfriend. She has cool pants that are shiny and really tight. She sometimes wears funny underwear. But OK for reals bye now!)

PS don’t stab no one in the chow line cuz it’s mean and that lady might be a mom too and then her kids would be like me and live in an orphanage. But then I would have new friends so maybe if that lady mouths off then you can go ahead and shank her. Billy Tibbets says shanking is like sex but he’s 14 and I don’t understand adult stuff yet and he made fun of me and explained it was like punching someone while holding a homemade knife.

“General Megatron: Defender of the Galaxy, Saviour of the Human Race, Hero of the Human Resistance” – Chapter 1

Yay! A children’s story! There are no bad words in this, and it should be suitable for all of the ornery little Calvins in the world (yes, this is a bit of an ode to Watterson’s Calvin & Hobbes).

CHAPTER ONE: The Doom Lord

 General Megatron heard the gnashing of teeth and froze in the middle of his latest scheme to escape the forced labor prison camp he’d been trapped in for more than six years. The roar of rage echoing through the twists and turns of the cell block’s corridors from below made him shiver. It was a noise that was far too familiar to his ears, one that he’d unfortunately encountered far too many times before. The creature’s heavy, clawed feet scraped and crashed into the floor in a succession of minor earthquakes, punctuated by the enraged bellowing coming from the galaxy’s most feared tyrant: The Doom Lord.

“SPACEMAN!!!” howled the monster as it reached the prison deck of the ship. “I’m coming for you!”
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