Posts

The First Haircut Horror Show

By George on
Image
Little Tommy had never been to the barber before. His mom said, “It’s just a haircut, nothing to be scared of.” But as soon as he stepped inside the old barbershop, Tommy froze. The overhead light buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. A single barber’s chair sat in the middle, looking less like a place for grooming and more like an electric chair ready to deliver justice. On the walls, sharp scissors glistened in neat rows like surgical tools. The clippers gave off a low, menacing hum, like a hungry robot waiting to bite. In Tommy’s wide-eyed imagination, the friendly barber wasn’t smiling—he was a mad scientist. His white apron became a blood-stained lab coat, and the comb in his hand transformed into a gleaming torture device. The spray bottle? Clearly filled with truth serum. The striped barber pole spinning outside the window suddenly looked like a warning siren, spiraling red and white, saying: Abandon hope, all ye with messy bangs! Tommy shuffled forward, picturing a dungeon hi...
Read more

The Rotten Root - Part Two

By George on
Image
  In a thriving orchard, there was one tree whose branches hung low with bright fruit. From the outside, it seemed as healthy as the rest. But deep in the soil, one root had turned rotten. Slowly, the rot began to spread, poisoning the tree’s lifeblood. At first, the other trees ignored it, thinking, “It’s just one root, the tree will survive.” But as seasons passed, the sickness crept upward—first into the trunk, then into the branches, and soon the fruit itself grew bitter and spoiled. The orchard keeper faced a choice: leave the root and watch the tree destroy itself, or cut it away so the tree could heal. Though painful, the keeper took his axe and removed the diseased root. The tree faltered for a time, but before long, new roots pushed down into the soil—strong, pure, and nourishing. The fruit once again grew sweet, and the orchard flourished.   Moral: When one part of a community turns toxic and threatens the health of all, it must be addressed, even if the action i...
Location: Missouri, USA
Read more

The Last Patriot Standing - Part One

By George on
Image
  Bubba Joe was the ultimate right-wing, Republican, mega supporter. He didn’t just like his president—he worshiped him. The man was, in Bubba’s mind, a cross between Jesus, George Washington, and Hulk Hogan. Anyone who dared question this divine hybrid was, by default, a socialist, communist, or worse—a fact-checker. When someone brought up inconvenient truths, like the economy tanking or the president confusing airports with Revolutionary War battlefields, Bubba had a strategy. Step one: ignore it. Step two: say, “Fake news!” Step three: accuse the other person of being a brainwashed sheep who “doesn’t do their own research” (though Bubba’s own “research” usually involved Facebook memes made by a guy named Dale in his garage). His torture methods were legendary. If you questioned his president, he’d strap you to a chair and force you to watch 12 straight hours of conspiracy videos narrated by monotone YouTubers with tinfoil hats. If that didn’t break you, he’d unleash the ulti...
Location: Missouri, USA
Read more

Captain of the Puddle

By George on
Image
   Old Sam fancied himself a sailor. Never mind that he lived in Nebraska, miles from any real ocean. He had a little sailboat—barely big enough for two people and a picnic basket—that he would drag down to the local lake every Saturday morning. As soon as the sail caught the breeze, Sam transformed. He’d throw on his captain’s hat, squint at the horizon, and bark orders to his imaginary crew: “Hoist the mainsail! Steady as she goes! Watch out for pirates off the starboard bow!” The lake was a quarter mile across, but to Sam, it stretched wider than the Pacific. Fishermen in their johnboats became Japanese destroyers. The geese were “enemy dive-bombers.” When a speedboat zipped by, Sam would shout, “We’re under attack! Brace for impact!” and rock his boat violently to simulate cannon fire. It took him twenty minutes to tack from one side of the lake to the other, but when he landed on the opposite shore, he’d throw down an anchor the size of a salad bowl and declare, “We’ve re...
Location: Missouri, USA
Read more

George vs. The Bug Wor

By George on
Image
  George was a man of the outdoors… or so he claimed. He loved hiking, camping, fishing, and sitting under the stars. At least, until the bug world declared war on him. Spiders, caterpillars, ants—even butterflies—turned this rugged outdoorsman into a squealing mess. The moment one crawled within ten feet of him, George would shriek like a soprano and run faster than the Flash on an energy drink. If there happened to be a tree nearby, he’d climb it like a monkey with his tail set on fire, hanging from branches and swatting at invisible insects as though auditioning for a wildlife documentary called The World’s Most Terrified Mammal . George tried to fight back. He went to self-help groups. He sat through psychiatric counseling sessions. He even attended a weekend retreat called Bugs Are Our Friends , where they made him hold a ladybug. The group leaders said, “See, George, harmless!” His response was to pass out cold on the spot. The ladybug flew off in triumph, no doubt bragging ...
Location: Missouri, USA
Read more

Dennis and the Arsenal on Wheels

By George on
Image
  Every morning without fail, Dennis saddles up his bicycle like a cowboy mounting a horse. Except this ain’t the Wild West—it’s the Blue River Trail in Missouri. Still, judging by his setup, you’d think he was about to ride through grizzly country instead of a paved path next to joggers, dog walkers, and teenagers with earbuds. On his handlebars sits a GoPro pointing forward, another one behind him, both blinking red like HAL 9000. Strapped to the front of his bike? A very big revolver, the kind that can shoot .44 Magnum shells or even .410 shotgun shells. Across the frame? A can of bear spray. Wedged in the basket? A full-blown police billy club, the kind you’d expect in a riot, not a riverside ride. “Mountain cats!” he’ll say, pointing at the tree line. “Water moccasins, don’t step near the reeds!” “Bears! They’re out there. Don’t let anyone tell you Missouri ain’t got ‘em.” And of course, “The dogs. Oh lord, the dogs. Meanest, wildest pack you’ll ever meet.” Anyone else would s...
Location: Missouri, USA
Read more

Love on Layaway

By George on
Image
  Charlie was 67 years old, but he swore the mall’s benches had aged him another ten. He sat slouched on one near the food court, watching a parade of shoppers pass by like it was a moving exhibit at a human zoo. In his lap was a paper cup of lukewarm coffee he’d been nursing for an hour. His wife, Marlene, was somewhere deep in the labyrinth of yet another boutique. She’d darted in with the same glint in her eye she always had when she spotted a “50% Off” sign, as if she’d just discovered buried treasure. Charlie loved her—no question about that—but he couldn’t understand this unshakable obsession. Over the decades, he’d tried to nudge her toward other hobbies: gardening, hiking, even ballroom dancing once. But every attempt had been politely declined in favor of “just popping into a few stores.” As he sat there, he thought about how they used to spend weekends picnicking in the park when they were younger, laughing about nothing in particular. Now, weekends were fluorescent-li...
Location: Missouri, USA
Read more