Author - Chris Weagel

The age of the novelty calculator is over. The age of the novelty anything is over. The local rotary businessmen's auxiliary council voted overwhelmingly to bar any decorative display but the stars and stripes. Collectible Dora the Explorer cigarette lighters are out. Shampoo dispensers shaped like birds are no more. Even my three wise men Salt, Pepper and Other shakers are now forbidden. From now on only Old Glory and one variation – Old Glory with a snake superimposed over it – are allowed. The postman is supposed to drop off a set of markers tomorrow and I'll be correcting the color of several boxes of Cherrios prior to election day. What this all stems from: Local business councils are composed of Local Businessmen. Each was born with a head filled with a solid...

Spent all day working the drive thru at the wig shop. Capital Wigs it's called. We sell real human and horse hair synthetic blend wigs. Nothing medical, pure vanity. Catering to shallowness. It's a tricky job, the drive thru window at a wig shop. The health code says we can't let the customers handle any wigs unless they've made a purchase so the shop has a demo unit of each of the big sellers there on a rack. After you get the customer's preference over the intercom, you've got about thirty-five seconds till they pull around and expect to see you modeling it at the first window. First you have to find the right one. Many of the demo units' tags have worn off. Most of the time I just pick what I think looks pretty. Then there's always some that fall down...

Merciful Crocodile. Merciful God.
The spillway graffiti has taken an ugly turn. In big blue and gold lettering, stand reminders of common personal failures.
“You've let your ten-year-old self down.”
“Thank god mom isn't here to see this.”

“Compromise or humiliation?”
“None of them loved you.”
That last one has a thorny rose tangled through it. And just below it is a giant mouth with dice for teeth.
Due to Tea Party cut backs, the county can't afford any beige paint thick enough to completely cover it.
 

Sheila is frustrated because she cannot draw hands. They always come out looking like sneezes. Tomorrow she abandons a life of art and embraces the family trade: Competitive Sitting. Like her uncles before her, Sheila will travel from county to county, from parking lot landscaping trench to parking lot landscaping trench and take all comers in timed Sit Offs. Soon she will master the half-sit and the bottom sit. In Arizona she will demonstrate a superior ability to Scowl Sit in high temperatures. All across this great land of ours, Sheila will plant herself on rock, on pillow, on broken box and not move for hours. Sheila will give everything over to sitting. She'll commission special pants with double reinforcement. To sit will be like breathing unto her. A chance trip up to Nova...

Low Rent Mickey Mouse costume. Not licensed. Standing out front of local oil change joint. Waving. Headpiece pointing down. Legs a bit too thin. Possibly wearing sweat pants from home. Holding heavily faded, almost blank, poster board sign. Reads: “Super Deals something something Wyoming!” Leaning against Right Turn Lane sign. Wants a cigarette but can't fit it under the mask. Been chewing on the interior vinyl flange for hours. Went to Tubby's for lunch. Ate two packs of Fried Mushrooms, a chocolate chip cookie and a Sprite. Has copy of Farmer's Daughter waiting at home. Thinking about taking a parachuting class. Eventually eaten by a shark.

A unique garbage night in the neighborhood tonight. Nearly every house has encyclopedias piled out front. The city has an amnesty program underway. Everybody's got a two week window. No guilt.
So out they go. Books, magazines, calculator manuals. And people are eager to comply. They're sick of feeling uncomfortable. Sick of reinforcing shelves. Sick of cross referencing.
One house had a waist high pile of bibles in the curb cut. I noted the house number and made a call to homeland security.
When the inspections resume next month there won't be any problems here. None. I still recommend keeping a spare electric blanket ready, so the team leaves happy.

He spent the better part of his day working jigsaw puzzles. Told the neighbor kids he was Spanish. And that they should stay off his deck or risk suffering a curse that turned their dreams black and white the rest of their lives. He could do it too, he assured them. He could turn any one of them into a duck with a few filthy words. He could bury them alive in the front yard if he wanted to and get away with it as he had an agreement with the magistrate. His hair was black and his mustache two right triangles. He wore a short cape which the kids called his dress and roared disapproval when they showed him drawings they had made of his house. He didn't care for the way they drew animals with sympathy and, he noted, they had wrongly depicted him in a helicopter. Took him the better part...