Saturday, January 28, 2012

Green Things - a Poem

What do you find at the back of the fridge?
What grows on the feet of your cousin Midge?
Green things.

What tickles your nose when you have to sneeze?
What do doctors insert when they work on your knees?
Green things.

What do frogs mate with when they are in heat?
What do you find when you turn down the sheet?
Green things.

What goes into your dog and out of your cat?
What grows under logs and smelly door mats?
Green things.

Wednesday, January 04, 2012


There's very little an armed gunman can do to treat a heart attack victim. I mean, sure, my .38 came in quite useful for its intended purpose - scaring the shit out of the variety store clerk - but when said clerk falls to the ground clutching his chest and turning a rather startling pale blue/gray colour, the gun has really outlived its usefulness.

It was late at night, about 3 am. No sense robbing the place when it's going to be busy. It was just me and him. "Him" being a tall, rather rotund white guy in a Maple Leaf jersey. I pointed the gun at the guy and before I could say, "Don't move", he falls to the floor and starts twitching.

I'm not totally heartless. Sure, I could've just grabbed what I came for and ran, but shit. Someone has a heart attack right in front of you, least you can do is try and help. As I've made it my life's goal to do the least I could, I knelt beside him and lifted his head onto my lap.

"Hey man," I slapped his cheeks, and his eyes focused weakly on my face, "you got any pills, something I can give you?"

He shook his head 'no' ... or maybe it was a spasm. Beats me. I was out of my element the moment his fat ass slapped the floor. I was at a loss, and it wasn't like Tubby McHeartpopper was helping much.

I emptied the cash register, then tossed it through the front window. The alarm bell sounded immediately. I grabbed a couple of cartons of smokes and shrugged down at him apologetically. "The alarm will bring the cops. Sorry about the heart attack."

I turned away from him to pull the DVD out of the security camera recorder. That's when the fucker shot me in the back. I was like, what the fuck? Here I am trying to help - putting my self at risk of being arrested, I might add - and the bastard waits until my back is turned and shoots me.

I dropped down to one knee, turning to see his sweaty, pale face. He was still holding the gun - a .22, thank God - in one hand, but another spasm caused him to drop it to the ground.

“Lucky for me,” I gasped, my bruised ribs aching with each indrawn breath, “I come prepared.” I pulled myself to my feet, lifting my jacket so he could see the Kevlar vest beneath it. "Lucky for you, I'm not a vengeful guy. But still, shooting a guy in the back is kind of prickish, so..."

I pointed my gun at his knee, then paused. "You really need to get some exercise, so I won't cripple you." I raised the gun slightly, and shot him in the left bicep.

I looked up at the sound of distant sirens, then smiled down at the clerk. "I gotta go. Hit the fucking treadmill why don't you?"

He nodded weakly as I left.

Funny how some people live their lives so poorly that when confronted by an angry man with a gun, the most dangerous thing in the room is still their own overworked heart.