Sunday, April 26, 2009


The days wore on. He stared at the ceiling as he tried to find a reason to get out of bed for the ten thousand nine hundred eighty sixth consecutive day. Inevitably, his thoughts found their way to her, and he rose from his comfortable yet tiresome bed. She, on the other had, had been out of bed for hours.

In the kitchen, he finished the milk by drinking straight from the gallon. She simply smiled.

Today was the first day she had not greeted him with a lecture. He was prepared to lash back at her for criticizing his laziness and odd hours. Eventually he probed: why was she giving him the silent treatment?

For reasons she didn't understand, she had quite honestly lost her ability to speak. If she tried to make a sound with her voice, she could not. Regardless of how hard she tried, she could not find a way to vocalize. She felt like the little mermaid, except she did not know what she was getting in exchange for her voice; she already had legs. Tomorrow, she thought, she would visit her doctor if her condition had not spontaneously improved.

She awoke the next morning with a pleasant surprise. The problem that had afflicted her the entire previous day was no more. Opening her mouth wide, she sang to him. Responding, he joined her for a duet. Years had passed since their most recent duet.

In the single day that she was without speech, he came to appreciate her nagging. Nagging is not the right word; criticism is.

Criticism is, he decided, necessary for everyone. Once he came to this realization, he no longer saw her speech as criticism, nagging, or lectures. Debates were sometimes held, but from that day on, spats were avoided entirely. Eventually both of them died, but until their deaths, they lived happily ever after.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Under the Knife

The ad during my stories finally drew me in. I've been struggling with my physical appearance my whole life, and now I'm finally in the waiting room. In the waiting room, waiting for my share of -pasties, -augmentations, and -ectomies. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to have cosmetic surgery, and for a while I've been able to afford it. Like a tattoo artist, I want to be sure my plastic surgeon is worthy of my time and money, and whether I can trust my surgeon with my physical appearance. What could be more important?

Oh, God. Here I am, under the knife. I can't believe they didn't put me under for this. I'm having so much work done, and I'm going to be awake for all of it! This is the only plastic surgeon in the state with exclusively five-star reviews; I have a feeling that might change when I leave here tomorrow. Oh, God.

Now I get to see the miracle that I paid for. Where the hell is the mirror? HEY!!! WHY ARE THERE NO MIRRORS IN THIS ROOM?!?!?
Oh, sorry, ma'am. Right this way.
This is a long hallway.
Yes it is.
I wasn't talking to you.

Oh my God sweet Jesus. I look inhuman. I am more asymmetrical than a three-legged spider. I look like a three-legged spider being attacked by a squid! What the fuck!
We did everything we could with what we had to work with.
What do you mean? I looked like a normal person before! I even acted a few amateur porn videos on the internet! Mine was on the front page for months at one site! How can you say this is the best you can do?
Take off your clothes and look at yourself in the nude. That may help with your overall impression.
What the fuck? Where's my twat? What happened to my tits? Oh, God. I think...

Where am I? Oh my God! Monsters! At least they haven't seen me yet. They're fighting to the death! Oh, shit. They're eating the loser. Oh shit! It's not even dead yet! I've got to stay hidden.

I think I've got this figured out. God, I'm hungry. Whenever he makes a mistake or have a customer they know will not be satisfied, Dr. Cheflo's five-star reputation is at risk. So he makes them into monsters and throws them into this arena. With nothing to eat but each other. Damn, he's sick. God, I'm hungry.

Time to hunt.