Kill some time ...read these (timekiller)

[mustynutz]

The Slacker


He awoke in a cold sweat moments before the alarm would have went off. He rolled over and turned it off, narrowly averting its pounding drone. Grabbing the three-foot Graphix bong (bowl still packed from the night before) from beside his bed and a lighter off the floor, he took three big huffs from the deadly tube. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

At 8:30 they called him, asking if he knew he supposed to be to work at 8:00. He sleepily apologized, explaining how his alarm had never gone off, and that he’d be in as soon as he could.

He lay in bed for twenty more minutes masturbating profusely before finally trudging down the hall to the shower, grabbing a damp and moldy towel off the closet doorknob along the way. He pounded on his roommate’s bedroom door just to wake him and his girlfriend up. “Asshole!” came the dual reply.

He shit, showered, but didn’t shave; dried off, hung the wet towel back on the doorknob, went back into his room, put on his uniform, and left with his long dyed-black hair still wet.

During the short jaunt from his apartment to his car his hair froze solid. He reached up and felt the stiff spikes between his fingers. “Cool,” he said.

He climbed into his car and let it warm up for ten minutes, listening to some generic tape of the blues and singing along in his best Nigger voice. When the car’s vent began blowing warm air, he put it into gear and drove straight to McDonalds.

He pulled up to the drive through speaker.

“Goooood Morning!” said a bright, cheery, and muffled voice. “And what would you like today?”

“A ham on rye, with a side of jalapeno ranch dressing.”

“I beg your pardon?” said the confused voice.

“I said I’ll have a Bacon Egg and Cheese Biscuit,” he shouted into the microphone, causing the girl inside to yank off her headset. “A Bacon Egg and Cheese Biscuit, and a Breakfast Burrito, and a Sausage Biscuit, and another Breakfast Burrito, and a hash brown…, and a large Coke. Got that?”

The statical voice, no longer so cheery, drudgingly repeated, “Two Bacon Egg and Cheese Biscuits, two Breakfast Burritos, a Sausage…”

“Hold it, hold it!” he interrupted. “That’s only one Bacon Egg and Cheese Biscuit.—not two!”

“One Bacon Egg and Cheese Biscuit,” began the frazzled voice again, “Two Breakfast Burritos. A Sausage Biscuit. A hash brown. And a large Coke. Will there be anything else?”

“Yes.”

Pause.

“And what is that, sir?”

“You didn’t ask me if I wanted hot or mild sauce with my Breakfast Burritos.”

Pause.

“Would you like hot or mild sauce with you burritos, sir?”

“No.”

The thirteen year-old working the drive-through now spoke through clenched jaws. “Thank you. That will be $8.67. Please pull around to the first window.”

He thought of backing out and sticking them with the order, but he had the munchies so he pulled on around.

The young girl who took his money seemed rather dazed. He told her as he pulled forward to the next window, “You really need to get a new job, honey.”

A middle-aged middle-management fuck awaited him at the next window. As the balding supervisor leaned out the window to hand the slacker his order his comb-over fell down to one side. Straightening up his hair and trying to be friendly he said, “You should take it easy on these kids, sir. They’ve very fragile egos these days.”

What did this greaseball loser know about egos? the slacker asked himself. He was probably just another local schmuck with a degree in psychology. The slacker looked him up and down, took a sip of his soda, and said, “Do you live with your mom?”

The question obviously struck a nerve. The manager began to vasodilate and to clench his fists. The slacker pulled away laughing hysterically, leaving the manager a dark shade of crimson.

He drove down Main street and virtually inhaled his meal He took an extra lap for posterity’s sake and arrived at work only one hour and twenty minutes late.

“Get to work, slacker!” belched his slovenly fat-assed boss. The slacker put on his apron and assumed his position behind the grill.

“Six Whoppers, two with cheese!” came the order.

The slacker set to work and thought about how much he loved his life.



The End


(Alternate Ending)


“Get to work, slacker!” belched his slovenly fat-assed boss. The slacker went to his drawer and removed his sharp scissors. All his appointments for nearly an hour and a half were impatiently waiting. The life of a male hairdresser! he thought as he massaged a useless scalp conditioner into some stinky old lady’s head. (Actually, it wasn’t quite useless in that it netted him and extra fifty cents a head.)

“I so like it when a young man rubs my scalp,” the stinky old lady said.

“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Novaczech.” They laughed the intimate laugh known only to stinky old ladies and their hairdressers.


















The End

 

[CALiLiFE82]

THE FIRST ENDING IS BETTER ...... LOL !!!!

 

[mustynutz]

The Goddam Ginsu Knife
He never liked the Ginsu Knife. It kept looking at him. Actually, it was his own reflected image in the knife that would look at him as he would creep warily by, but the knife had a strange way of twisting and distorting the image until it bore little resemblance to the man who had cast it. Cautiously he would sneak past the knife, daring not to look directly, but nonetheless sensing from the corner of his eye the grim face following his movements.

"I'm gonna throw that Goddam knife out!" he would repeatedly threaten. But his wife would hear none of it.

"That knife belonged to my Great Grandmother!" she would scream frantically. "YOU go before the knife goes!" And that would settle it.

But don't think he hadn't thought about it. He loved his wife, but there were times when he teetered on the absolute brink of leaving her, if only just to get away from that cursed knife. Her Great Grandmother's knife! He remembered her Great Grandmother, the decrepit, senile old bat. She was a witch! Or so she used to tell him anyway, every time they would visit her in the nursing home where she eventually died.

One day as he walked past the knife he swore he saw from the corner of his eye the old lady's demented and twisted face laughing at him. He was driven to desperation. He was prepared to woo.

"Darling," he said to his wife one memorable evening in a post-coital embrace, "I love you more than life itself. But I really don't liked that knife very much. Why can't we just keep it in the drawer with the other knives? Why must it hang there on the wall?"

As she was momentarily and blissfully satiated and therefore off her guard, she replied openly and honestly.

"Harry," she said, "do you remember when I was alone with my Grandma, before she died?"

"Yes," he replied, momentarily taken aback with the sudden realization that though he had shared a bed many times with this woman, this was the first time in years he was actually sharing it with the girl he married, to the one he loved. He thought of all the extra effort he had put into the deed this time around to elicit precisely this response, and he grinned mischievously. "What about it?"

"Grandma said a lot of crazy, crazy things in there," she told him, looking him directly into his eyes, "Crazy things. Things I don't want to repeat. Things I don't even want to remember." She broke down suddenly, and the tears flowed like raging rivers over the delicate contours of her cheeks. Harry held her tightly, securely.

"She said," she barely managed to sputter, "that she was a witch, and that she was going to live forever, and she said she didn't like you." None of these revelations surprised Harry in the least. Elizabeth was weeping uncontrollably now, and all Harry could manage to gather was a few more words from her incoherent ramblings;

"Knife...Soul...Watching...Curse," and then suddenly, "It's you Harry!"

She stopped crying and was silent.

"What's me?" he demanded, "What in Christ's name are you talking about, woman?"

But she had come to her senses, so to speak, her guard had been posted, the centurion was in place. "Nothing," she said.

Harry fumed. "Nothing!? Nothing!? You lay there and sob and moan about black magic and Ginsu knives, talkin' your Great Grandma's mojo shit, and then you get serious all of a sudden and you look me dead in the eye, and I'm sure it was you looking, and you say, 'Harry, it's you!', and now all you got to say is 'Nothing?'"

"I don't want to talk about it any more!"

"That does it," Harry said, jumping up out of bed and wrapping the wet sheet around him, "I'm gettin' rid of that Goddam knife."

Genuine terror flashed through Elizabeth's eyes. "No," she gasped.

"I'll give you one last chance," Harry told her, "one last chance to give me one single, solitary reason why I shouldn't throw out that old coot's knife. It ain't valuable. It ain't really even sentimental, now, is it, considering how you obviously really feel?"

But Elizabeth's centurion was strong. "You go before the knife goes, Harry!" she said, and she ran off naked and shivering into the bathroom.



Now Harry had planned out exactly what he was going to do if it ever came to this; he just couldn’t believe that this time it was actually going to happen. But it was. He put on one of his better suits, stuffed a few essentials into his briefcase, and snatched the envelope containing $10,000 cash which he had taped to the underside of the dresser in anticipation of such an occasion. He was out the door before Elizabeth had even taken her sleeping pills and slipped away into the bathtub.

Harry took the BMW. "Leave the Saab for the bitch," he thought, and he also took the Ginsu knife, a deed which was later to prove to be much to his chagrin. "That'll show her!" he reasoned, "She'll lose her husband, and the knife! What'll they do, put me in jail for it?" This thought was one of the more rational thoughts raging through Harry's mind.

He peeled out of the driveway, announcing as it were to all his peeping neighbors that he and Elizabeth had had another fight. He drove to a dive hotel on the other side of the city.

When he got there, the first thing he did was take a shower, singing loudly and in a pleasant baritone, "I'm Gonna Wash that Girl Right Outta my Hair".

When he stepped out of the bathroom his view was initially blocked off by the frenzy of two hands and a towel moving about his, but then he suddenly gazed upon it, lying on top of his clothes in the open suitcase sitting atop the bed. "I didn't leave it like that," he thought.

He walked over to the bed and, hiding his face with the towel (as if this would protect him), stuffed the knife back under his clothes and closed the suitcase on the wretched blade.

For the first time ever he really wondered if there might actually be something to the crazy old lady's delusions. He immediately thought of his wife, alone in what used to be their house.

"No, no, no!" he said. He had wasted thirty years with that ever-increasingly distant woman, and he deserved better. He wasn't going to let himself talk himself out on it this time.

He had worked himself into a bit of a rage when he walked over to the dresser on which he had lain the envelope containing his money. He tore open the envelope, trying to steady his breathing. But alas his breath was not to be steadied, for he found the envelope empty. His rage exploded into full blown fury. He suddenly turned to face the bed, and there it lay, on top of the clothes again, in the open suitcase.

Harry began to laugh hysterically, and the reflection in the knife, which also laughed, made him laugh even harder.

 

[mustynutz]

Elizabeth awoke in the lukewarm bathwater wrinkled as a prune . She dragged herself up, dried off, and slipped into her white silken nightgown. She felt under the dresser, finding the envelope gone. She grinned and said, "He'll be back."

She went into the kitchen to make some tea and when she flicked on the light she noticed immediately that the knife was gone. "Sweet Jesus," she muttered. But she knew she was helpless to do anything; it was all up to Providence now. She made some tea and settled into the easy chair for a late night movie. She awoke to the pounding on the door.

"Open the God damn door right now Elizabeth!" came Harry's detached voice, "Open the door and it'll be so much easier for both of us."

Elizabeth stood just inside listening, sensing in his tone his mood, and she found herself almost certain that she didn't want to let him in.

"Go away!" she yelled into the door. "Come back when you're sober!"

"Oh, I ain't been drinkin', Ma!" Harry slurred. He was answered with only silence. "Elizabeth, I ain't drunk! Let me in!"

That time it had sounded like Harry, but Elizabeth knew better. And if it were true that he hadn't been drinking, then, Elizabeth realized, she had more to worry about than she had initially realized.

Harry began kicking the door.

"Stop it!" she pleaded, "You'll bring the neighbors!" She tried to deadbolt it, but it was too late; the door came flying violently open, knocking her delicate hand away from the lock. And if any of the neighbors did awaken during the commotion, they failed to live up to expectations and simply rolled over and went right back to sleep. So there in the doorway her husband stood, wearing a suit which had been shredded to rags, and wielding in his hand her Great Grandmother's Ginsu knife, which Elizabeth wholeheartedly believed contained her Great Grandmother's wicked old soul. And suddenly all the things her Grandma had said to

her that dark and evil night came back to her like so much flotsam, and the flood of emotion carrying it nearly swept her away. She screamed in terror and fled into the kitchen.

"Come on, Lizzie," Harry sneered, "Grandma wants to give you a kiss!"

Elizabeth screamed again, louder, and scurried through the drawers for a weapon of some sort. He caught up with her holding the frying pan.

"You stay away from me!" she screamed in terror.

"Come to Granny!" he yelled, lunging at her with the knife. She deflected it with the pan and moved off into the bathroom. Just in time, she shut and locked the door.

"I could kick this door in, Lizzie," Harry told her, his cold breath right up next to the keyhole. Inside, Elizabeth cowered in the shower. But then something in her awoke, something old and forgotten. She stood up and muttered, "I'm not going to die like that bitch in Psycho, no way."

Stepping out of the shower, she turned on the hot water so that steam poured out from behind the curtain. She turned off the lights.

"You taking a shower in there, you crazy bitch?" Harry yelled into the door. He stood back and kicked it free of its flimsy frame. Slowly he crept toward the shower, Ginsu knife poised, ready to strike. With his left hand he grabbed the curtain and jerked it away. From behind and with all her might she pushed him into the scalding shower then whacked him on the head with the cast-iron skillet just for good measure. She ran to her room, locked the door, and fell down on her knees. "Good Lord," she begged, "save us from that evil old woman's spell."



Harry awoke to stinging pain and a throbbing head. For a moment he collected his thoughts, then a familiar gleam returned to his eyes. He grabbed the knife and headed down the hall to the bedroom. In no time he was through the door, but was momentarily taken aback to see his wife lying on their bed wearing a snow-white gown.

"If you're going to do it, Harry, you're going to look me in the eyes," she said immediately.

The evil gaze focused on Elizabeth and he stalked like a cat through the bedroom.

"I remembered something else Grandma told me," Elizabeth casually mentioned. "She said this night would either bring us closer together or destroy us." Harry slowed his pace.

"She said it would all be up to you--she didn't like you very much Harry. She said if your love for me was true, then I had nothing to worry about. She was banking it wasn’t." Harry stopped beside her, the knife poised against her throat.

"You don't really want to kill me Harry, trap my soul in that damn knife so the old lady can have my body. What do you think she’ll do with yours once she has mine?" Harry began to waver.

But the old woman grabbed hold again and Harry screamed in a raging voice that was not his own, "Die you little shit! I always hated you, you and your Mother!"

"She's putting our love to the test," Elizabeth managed to utter before breaking down in tears. Harry trembled as something lost control over him. He dropped the knife beside the bed and climbed in beside his sobbing wife and embraced her, slowly calming her, bringing her back to their reality. Their reality. Somehow he knew it was all going to be different now.

"In the morning he proclaimed, "I'm going to throw out that Goddam Ginsu knife!"



This time there were no objections.


The End

 

[Daveyboy]

uhhh ima ..** daveyboy passes the fuck out**