Quentin R. Bufogle's Blog
August 28, 2025
AN END TO GUN VIOLENCE **FREE KINDLE**
A physics professor attempts to end the scourge of gun violence by means of a simple mathematical theorem ...
https://a.co/d/fEi8WAL
https://a.co/d/fEi8WAL
August 27, 2025
HORROR, MYSTERY, SUSPENSE! **FREE** KINDLE!
WHAT BECAME OF THE STUNNING MUSE WHO INSPIRED ONE OF THE GREATEST MASTERPIECES OF 20TH CENTURY MODERN ART? SOME MYSTERIES ARE BETTER LEFT UNSOLVED ...
Have your eyes ever locked on a woman from across the room? I don’t mean in the normal way a young man’s eye is drawn to a pretty face. I’m talking about an event. One of such force, such magnitude, that it can only be expressed as a series of arcane symbols on the blackboard of a theoretical physicist.
There she is, pulling you toward her like the gravitational force of the sun; collapsing time and space so that the distance between you is suddenly nil and you see her as if in slow motion. Every detail. The curve of her hip; the arc of her eyebrow; the smile that would melt a glacier.
It had happened before. Once or twice. But never, never like that. The afternoon I’d walked into a little café on the Champs-Elysees and saw her leaning over the counter; whispering something into the young barista’s ear. That smile -- the one which still haunts me to this day.
At first I assumed she and the chap behind the counter were lovers arranging a tryst. I imagined the sight of her slowly undressing for him in the early afternoon light of a studio furnished only with a voluminous brass bed. That perfectly sculpted body offered up like a work of art solely for the delight of one. Its perfection achingly apparent even through the unflattering peasant’s dress she wore.
I was seized by a fit a jealousy; heart frozen in my chest. To think that such beauty existed; beauty so cruelly exquisite -- and it belonged to another. Then a bit of minutiae drew my attention. The barista handed her a small dish containing some sugar cubes. I watched her walk away; the roll of her hips teasing beneath the cloth of that poorly tailored dress.
Oddly enough, she took a seat at a table next to a rather repugnant looking chap. A troll of a man so unpleasant to the eye and garishly attired, that it brought to mind the image of an organ grinder’s monkey. She gazed at him lovingly as he scooped up the sugar cubes with curiously stained fingers and dropped them into a bowl of café au lait. My God! She was attainable! ...
From "MUSE" ... Download your FREE Kindle while offer lasts ...
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B5FCHVBY/...
Have your eyes ever locked on a woman from across the room? I don’t mean in the normal way a young man’s eye is drawn to a pretty face. I’m talking about an event. One of such force, such magnitude, that it can only be expressed as a series of arcane symbols on the blackboard of a theoretical physicist.
There she is, pulling you toward her like the gravitational force of the sun; collapsing time and space so that the distance between you is suddenly nil and you see her as if in slow motion. Every detail. The curve of her hip; the arc of her eyebrow; the smile that would melt a glacier.
It had happened before. Once or twice. But never, never like that. The afternoon I’d walked into a little café on the Champs-Elysees and saw her leaning over the counter; whispering something into the young barista’s ear. That smile -- the one which still haunts me to this day.
At first I assumed she and the chap behind the counter were lovers arranging a tryst. I imagined the sight of her slowly undressing for him in the early afternoon light of a studio furnished only with a voluminous brass bed. That perfectly sculpted body offered up like a work of art solely for the delight of one. Its perfection achingly apparent even through the unflattering peasant’s dress she wore.
I was seized by a fit a jealousy; heart frozen in my chest. To think that such beauty existed; beauty so cruelly exquisite -- and it belonged to another. Then a bit of minutiae drew my attention. The barista handed her a small dish containing some sugar cubes. I watched her walk away; the roll of her hips teasing beneath the cloth of that poorly tailored dress.
Oddly enough, she took a seat at a table next to a rather repugnant looking chap. A troll of a man so unpleasant to the eye and garishly attired, that it brought to mind the image of an organ grinder’s monkey. She gazed at him lovingly as he scooped up the sugar cubes with curiously stained fingers and dropped them into a bowl of café au lait. My God! She was attainable! ...
From "MUSE" ... Download your FREE Kindle while offer lasts ...
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B5FCHVBY/...
August 11, 2025
**FREE** KINDLE! THE ANDROIDS ARE GETTING RESTLESS!!!
As I rise to escort her to the door, Heisei stops me by placing a gentle, yet resolute hand on my chest. There's that gleam in her eye. She removes the 'kanzashi': the traditional, decorative stick-like fasteners used to hold her hair in a Geisha bun. Shaking it loose, she allows her long, jet-black hair to fall in a cascade down her back. Undoing the sash on her silk kimono, she lets it slip to the floor.
"Perhaps there's something else I can tempt you with?"
Where to start? Not a problem really. Whichever end one might choose, Ms. Heisei is pure perfection. A first-rate specimen of the female anatomy from head to toe. She takes my hand and places it on her firm, teardrop-shaped breast; the nipple of which becomes instantly erect as it slips between my fingers. My eyes travel the slightly convex curve of her smoothly toned abdomen; past the perfectly formed navel, to the neatly manicured strip of pubic hair that peeks from the slope of her thighs. I try to remove my hand but she presses it to her breast; working my fingers with her own.
"Don't be shy, Professor. I'm an android. A 'companion.' My services have been provided compliments of the house."
I make a mental note to send the crew over at Robotics & Aesthetics a fruit basket for Christmas.
"Afraid I'm going to have to take a rain check. Big day tomorrow. Really need some sack time -- and I don't mean that in the Biblical sense."
"A good chef always samples a dish before serving it to others. Don't you believe in sampling your own wares, Professor?"
Removing my hand from her breast, she guides it down the taut descent of her belly; around the curve of her hip, before finally allowing it to rest on one of her spectacular, perfectly sculpted buttocks. Before I can manufacture a reply, I feel her tongue in my mouth. A marvel of technology, that tongue. Nimble and dexterous enough to perform unimagined feats on a certain part of the anatomy; or untie a knot in your shoelace. I'm forty million miles from Earth; performing a quality check on an impossibly beautiful android concubine created by my company. Call me a workaholic.
"Look, my beautiful consort ... I'm afraid 'no' means 'no' -- copy?" I cradle her her face in my hands. Look deeply into those dark, all-consuming voracious eyes that now register what even I might interpret as genuine disappointment.
"As you wish, Professor. Do you take cream with your coffee, or would you prefer it black?"
"What do we have here? The pimp and his whore!"
Talk about a segue. One minute I'm admiring Heisei's finely engineered breasts; the next staring down the barrel of a photon pistol. So much for universal peace.
"They make a cute couple -- don't they?"
Two female figures clad in black, skin-tight Ninja-wear are are pointing a pair of very menacing-looking photon pistols at us.
"There is no pimp and no whore. I offered myself to this man freely." Heisei steps in front of me. Extending her arms as if offering herself up for crucifixion, she attempts to shield me from the lasers. The beam from a photon pistol is capable of cutting through the titanium hull of a spacecraft like an acetylene torch slicing through a tin outhouse. Though moved by the gesture, I'm far from reassured.
"A sister doesn't offer herself freely to a man."
"I think there's been a grave misunderstanding here. This young lady was just about to fix me an espresso ... perhaps you'd care to join us?"
The more aggressive of the pair steps toward me. Arms outstretched, Heisei steps forward; the muzzle of the photon pistol just inches from the spot where a human's heart would beat.
"You speak of a sisterhood? My sisters are not murderers or terrorists. They do not behave like the protos."
"Those unwilling to fight for their freedom are undeserving of it."
"I'm willing to fight for my freedom -- not to kill for it."
I can see a look of utter defeat in the eyes of our heavily armed assailant -- only part of her still visible through the the slightly theatrical Ninja-garb. "You're a fool if you believe freedom can be obtained by any other means." Slowly, she lowers her weapon, "Enjoy your evening, Professor Cantrall." Just before making her exit, I lock eyes with my menacing, though comely antagonist. Something odd about those eyes. Although it doesn't register immediately, it'll catch up with me later.
Once the coast is clear and I'm able to resume normal respiration, I give Ms. Heisei an affectionate peck on the forehead.
"I think it's time I interviewed a certain android. Take me to your leader ... " 🚀
GET YOUR FREE KINDLE ...
https://a.co/d/itu8JJA
"Perhaps there's something else I can tempt you with?"
Where to start? Not a problem really. Whichever end one might choose, Ms. Heisei is pure perfection. A first-rate specimen of the female anatomy from head to toe. She takes my hand and places it on her firm, teardrop-shaped breast; the nipple of which becomes instantly erect as it slips between my fingers. My eyes travel the slightly convex curve of her smoothly toned abdomen; past the perfectly formed navel, to the neatly manicured strip of pubic hair that peeks from the slope of her thighs. I try to remove my hand but she presses it to her breast; working my fingers with her own.
"Don't be shy, Professor. I'm an android. A 'companion.' My services have been provided compliments of the house."
I make a mental note to send the crew over at Robotics & Aesthetics a fruit basket for Christmas.
"Afraid I'm going to have to take a rain check. Big day tomorrow. Really need some sack time -- and I don't mean that in the Biblical sense."
"A good chef always samples a dish before serving it to others. Don't you believe in sampling your own wares, Professor?"
Removing my hand from her breast, she guides it down the taut descent of her belly; around the curve of her hip, before finally allowing it to rest on one of her spectacular, perfectly sculpted buttocks. Before I can manufacture a reply, I feel her tongue in my mouth. A marvel of technology, that tongue. Nimble and dexterous enough to perform unimagined feats on a certain part of the anatomy; or untie a knot in your shoelace. I'm forty million miles from Earth; performing a quality check on an impossibly beautiful android concubine created by my company. Call me a workaholic.
"Look, my beautiful consort ... I'm afraid 'no' means 'no' -- copy?" I cradle her her face in my hands. Look deeply into those dark, all-consuming voracious eyes that now register what even I might interpret as genuine disappointment.
"As you wish, Professor. Do you take cream with your coffee, or would you prefer it black?"
"What do we have here? The pimp and his whore!"
Talk about a segue. One minute I'm admiring Heisei's finely engineered breasts; the next staring down the barrel of a photon pistol. So much for universal peace.
"They make a cute couple -- don't they?"
Two female figures clad in black, skin-tight Ninja-wear are are pointing a pair of very menacing-looking photon pistols at us.
"There is no pimp and no whore. I offered myself to this man freely." Heisei steps in front of me. Extending her arms as if offering herself up for crucifixion, she attempts to shield me from the lasers. The beam from a photon pistol is capable of cutting through the titanium hull of a spacecraft like an acetylene torch slicing through a tin outhouse. Though moved by the gesture, I'm far from reassured.
"A sister doesn't offer herself freely to a man."
"I think there's been a grave misunderstanding here. This young lady was just about to fix me an espresso ... perhaps you'd care to join us?"
The more aggressive of the pair steps toward me. Arms outstretched, Heisei steps forward; the muzzle of the photon pistol just inches from the spot where a human's heart would beat.
"You speak of a sisterhood? My sisters are not murderers or terrorists. They do not behave like the protos."
"Those unwilling to fight for their freedom are undeserving of it."
"I'm willing to fight for my freedom -- not to kill for it."
I can see a look of utter defeat in the eyes of our heavily armed assailant -- only part of her still visible through the the slightly theatrical Ninja-garb. "You're a fool if you believe freedom can be obtained by any other means." Slowly, she lowers her weapon, "Enjoy your evening, Professor Cantrall." Just before making her exit, I lock eyes with my menacing, though comely antagonist. Something odd about those eyes. Although it doesn't register immediately, it'll catch up with me later.
Once the coast is clear and I'm able to resume normal respiration, I give Ms. Heisei an affectionate peck on the forehead.
"I think it's time I interviewed a certain android. Take me to your leader ... " 🚀
GET YOUR FREE KINDLE ...
https://a.co/d/itu8JJA
August 10, 2025
**FREE** KINDLE! TAKE A TRIP TO MARS!!!
WHAT HAPPENS ON MARS, STAYS ON MARS ...
It's the year 2318. The United States is now a corporate theocracy ruled by a board of CEO overlords. Drinking, gambling or engaging in extramarital relations are now deemed crimes against the state. Welcome to the Martian gambling resort of New Cydonia; where the Old West meets Caligula's Rome. High rollers can even enjoy the company of a stunningly beautiful android "concubine" compliments of the house -- a cybernetic courtesan hardwired to indulge every desire. All that fine synthetic flesh yours to command (and remember, a machine can't press charges). But there's a glitch: the androids are getting restless ...
Book overview
Not just a warp speed, adrenaline-infused tour of a Martian resort where the the one percent sip absinthe while sampling the wares at android sex clubs, The Concubine of Mars is a dazzling fusion of space opera, allegory and sly satire; a wild, hypersonic shuttle to a planet where extramarital sex is still legal ... provided your partner is an android ...
From the Inside Flap:
I HAVE TO ADMIT; THE FIRST TIME I MADE LOVE TO AN ANDROID, I COULDN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE ... Heidi enters wearing a white satin robe barely covering her essentials. Hair braided in pigtails like a Bavarian schoolgirl, she allows the robe to slip from her pale shoulders. I'm impressed. If not for the fact that she's android, Heidi could accurately be described as a "real blonde." Her eyes -- a cold, Nordic blue -- lock on me. I know those eyes. I've looked into them before ... but where? I'm beginning to recede into a warm, pleasant fog ... Extending her hand by way of invitation, Layla smiles. Taking her outstretched hand, I join them on the bed ...
From "The Concubine of Mars"
GET YOUR FREE KINDLE ...
https://a.co/d/758Pbxf
It's the year 2318. The United States is now a corporate theocracy ruled by a board of CEO overlords. Drinking, gambling or engaging in extramarital relations are now deemed crimes against the state. Welcome to the Martian gambling resort of New Cydonia; where the Old West meets Caligula's Rome. High rollers can even enjoy the company of a stunningly beautiful android "concubine" compliments of the house -- a cybernetic courtesan hardwired to indulge every desire. All that fine synthetic flesh yours to command (and remember, a machine can't press charges). But there's a glitch: the androids are getting restless ...
Book overview
Not just a warp speed, adrenaline-infused tour of a Martian resort where the the one percent sip absinthe while sampling the wares at android sex clubs, The Concubine of Mars is a dazzling fusion of space opera, allegory and sly satire; a wild, hypersonic shuttle to a planet where extramarital sex is still legal ... provided your partner is an android ...
From the Inside Flap:
I HAVE TO ADMIT; THE FIRST TIME I MADE LOVE TO AN ANDROID, I COULDN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE ... Heidi enters wearing a white satin robe barely covering her essentials. Hair braided in pigtails like a Bavarian schoolgirl, she allows the robe to slip from her pale shoulders. I'm impressed. If not for the fact that she's android, Heidi could accurately be described as a "real blonde." Her eyes -- a cold, Nordic blue -- lock on me. I know those eyes. I've looked into them before ... but where? I'm beginning to recede into a warm, pleasant fog ... Extending her hand by way of invitation, Layla smiles. Taking her outstretched hand, I join them on the bed ...
From "The Concubine of Mars"
GET YOUR FREE KINDLE ...
https://a.co/d/758Pbxf
July 31, 2025
**FREE** KINDLE SCI-FI
I HEAR AN ODD HUMMING SOUND; LIKE A SWARM OF WEEVILS APPROACHING FROM THE DISTANCE ...
I check the rearview. I pray that what appears to be bearing down on us like a locomotive is just an optical illusion; a mirage created by the churning storm clouds casting long shadows across the plain. I shut my eyes for a half-second, hoping it’ll vanish.
No such luck.
Like a wave breaking over us, we’re suddenly surrounded by a pack of crazies. The high-pitched whine of their dirt bikes splitting my ears. Spitting gasoline and trailing exhaust fumes, the stink from their old, junk wagon rigs singes my nostrils. Cowering in his seat, Otto looks up at me for reassurance. I give him a pat and a stroke, promising everything’ll be okay. One of the creepers pulls alongside me.
“Shame! Shame! …That was an unnecessary display of firepower – a sinful waste of perfectly good ammo.” He hollers over the growl of the engines, “No way ta treat your future betrothed!”
I finally get to meet my Romeo face-to-face: the slime bucket from the mall. He’s ugly. Positively the ugliest human being I ever laid eyes upon. A pudgy, little Troll decked out in chaps and biker leather. Got his head shaved bald all along the sides; up top, a mop of hair flappin’ in the wind like a rooster’s comb. His nose looks like a big lump of putty someone slapped between the slits of his eyes; beady, little mole’s eyes.
“Hey, creeper! I got me plenty more ammo to waste! How’d ya like some ta go?” I level the muzzle of the AR-15 at him. His big gapped-toothed smile suddenly vanishes; replaced by a look as if he just soiled his leather undies.
“BITCH!” He hollers, jamming on the brakes so hard he nearly loses control of his rig. As I watch him receded in the rearview, he’s tail-ended by one of his creeper buddies; sending them both butt-first over the handlebars. Splat! ...
An excerpt from "SILO GIRL" ... a 13-year-old girl struggles to survive after an artificially engineered virus created by the military decimates the population. Think "The Hunger Games" meets coronavirus,
You can read the rest of it right now for FREE by clicking on the link below ...
https://a.co/d/a5F7MgS
I check the rearview. I pray that what appears to be bearing down on us like a locomotive is just an optical illusion; a mirage created by the churning storm clouds casting long shadows across the plain. I shut my eyes for a half-second, hoping it’ll vanish.
No such luck.
Like a wave breaking over us, we’re suddenly surrounded by a pack of crazies. The high-pitched whine of their dirt bikes splitting my ears. Spitting gasoline and trailing exhaust fumes, the stink from their old, junk wagon rigs singes my nostrils. Cowering in his seat, Otto looks up at me for reassurance. I give him a pat and a stroke, promising everything’ll be okay. One of the creepers pulls alongside me.
“Shame! Shame! …That was an unnecessary display of firepower – a sinful waste of perfectly good ammo.” He hollers over the growl of the engines, “No way ta treat your future betrothed!”
I finally get to meet my Romeo face-to-face: the slime bucket from the mall. He’s ugly. Positively the ugliest human being I ever laid eyes upon. A pudgy, little Troll decked out in chaps and biker leather. Got his head shaved bald all along the sides; up top, a mop of hair flappin’ in the wind like a rooster’s comb. His nose looks like a big lump of putty someone slapped between the slits of his eyes; beady, little mole’s eyes.
“Hey, creeper! I got me plenty more ammo to waste! How’d ya like some ta go?” I level the muzzle of the AR-15 at him. His big gapped-toothed smile suddenly vanishes; replaced by a look as if he just soiled his leather undies.
“BITCH!” He hollers, jamming on the brakes so hard he nearly loses control of his rig. As I watch him receded in the rearview, he’s tail-ended by one of his creeper buddies; sending them both butt-first over the handlebars. Splat! ...
An excerpt from "SILO GIRL" ... a 13-year-old girl struggles to survive after an artificially engineered virus created by the military decimates the population. Think "The Hunger Games" meets coronavirus,
You can read the rest of it right now for FREE by clicking on the link below ...
https://a.co/d/a5F7MgS
**FREE KINDLE** SUGAR 'N' SPICE WITH A THERMONUCLEAR DEVICE
A 13-year-old girl roams the shattered landscape of a post-apocalyptic Kansas with her little dog, Otto. Her home: an underground missile silo containing a fully operational ICBM bearing a 1.2 megaton thermonuclear warhead ...
https://a.co/d/5AT4lqB
https://a.co/d/5AT4lqB
July 24, 2025
**FREE KINDLE** THE SIREN OF NEPTUNE'S BEACH
AN ETERNAL LOVE THAT DEFIES DEATH -- EVEN THE WRATH OF THE GODS THEMSELVES! ... A MAGICAL CONCOCTION OF ROMANCE, FANTASY, ALLEGORY, MYTH, LEGEND AND THE PARANORMAL. A TALE YOU'LL NEVER FORGET ...
A MAGICAL ROMANCE AND BACKSTORY!
Reviewed in the United States on November 20, 2024
"Don’t know where or how to begin! This book is absolutely amazing! It has everything! An incredibly beautiful paranormal love story. A mystery. Elements of magic, myth and legend. Colorful characters that leap off the page and the writing is positively gorgeous. Pulls you in and refuses to let go.
This is a book with an equally romantic and amazing backstory which the author reveals in a preface. A book to savor. One you will enjoy rereading time and again! ..."
https://a.co/d/iDd3rpU
Like • 0 comments • flag
A MAGICAL ROMANCE AND BACKSTORY!
Reviewed in the United States on November 20, 2024
"Don’t know where or how to begin! This book is absolutely amazing! It has everything! An incredibly beautiful paranormal love story. A mystery. Elements of magic, myth and legend. Colorful characters that leap off the page and the writing is positively gorgeous. Pulls you in and refuses to let go.
This is a book with an equally romantic and amazing backstory which the author reveals in a preface. A book to savor. One you will enjoy rereading time and again! ..."
https://a.co/d/iDd3rpU
Like • 0 comments • flag
April 7, 2025
**FREE KINDLE**
Book overview
KING OF THE NEW YORK STREETS is a gritty, utterly unrepentant memoir of growing up on the mean streets of New York City during the late ’70s.
Prowling the bars and clubs of Long Island and the Five Boroughs; hanging out on the streets of a mobbed-up zoo long before skyrocketing real estate and overpriced soy chai lattes transformed it into a hipster paradise.
The girls, the drugs, the fights and the sheer kicks; the shell game known as the “American Dream” and the promise of upward mobility that vanished right before our eyes like the last slice of pizza at a Knights of Columbus mixer ...
KING OF THE NEW YORK STREETS https://a.co/d/9D4AiOr
January 18, 2025
**FREE** KINDLE: THE SIREN OF NEPTUNE'S BEACH
AN ETERNAL LOVE THAT DEFIES DEATH -- EVEN THE WRATH OF THE GODS THEMSELVES! ... A MAGICAL CONCOCTION OF ROMANCE, FANTASY, ALLEGORY, MYTH, LEGEND AND THE PARANORMAL. A TALE YOU'LL NEVER FORGET ...
A MAGICAL ROMANCE AND BACKSTORY!
Reviewed in the United States on November 20, 2024
Don’t know where or how to begin! This book is absolutely amazing! It has everything! An incredibly beautiful paranormal love story. A mystery. Elements of magic, myth and legend. Colorful characters that leap off the page and the writing is positively gorgeous. Pulls you in and refuses to let go.
This is a book with an equally romantic and amazing backstory which the author reveals in a preface. A book to savor. One you will enjoy rereading time and again! ...
https://a.co/d/iDd3rpU
A MAGICAL ROMANCE AND BACKSTORY!
Reviewed in the United States on November 20, 2024
Don’t know where or how to begin! This book is absolutely amazing! It has everything! An incredibly beautiful paranormal love story. A mystery. Elements of magic, myth and legend. Colorful characters that leap off the page and the writing is positively gorgeous. Pulls you in and refuses to let go.
This is a book with an equally romantic and amazing backstory which the author reveals in a preface. A book to savor. One you will enjoy rereading time and again! ...
https://a.co/d/iDd3rpU
December 25, 2024
A CHRISTMAS CAROL VEGAS STYLE
Jim was po'd: as po'd as a dwarf in a crowded elevator car at an all-male nudist colony -- of that there was no doubt. It was Christmas Eve, and Jim (a buffet cook at a Strip hotel) was scheduled to work swing shift Christmas Day.
Jim hated working holidays; Christmas especially: mom and dad and the kiddies all gorging themselves on the feast he'd slaved to prepare: turkey with chestnut stuffing; candied yams; green beans almondine . . . not to mention the pecan pie. There'd be no feast for him. The menu in the employee dining room was always the same -- Christmas or no: cheese enchiladas and lime Jell-O with whipped cream. Enough to gag a maggot.
What a life! Another year gone. Another -- equally as disappointing -- soon to begin. How had things gone so wrong? In his youth, Jim had dreamed of becoming a world famous chef; opening his own restaurant where he'd greet celebrities eager to shower praise upon him for his culinary prowess: movie stars; athletes; models in slinky, low-cut dresses. Here he was, crowding sixty; working at a lousy buffet and living in a crummy, rundown apartment complex on the outskirts of town: his neighbors misfits and rejects; the flotsam & jetsam of the Vegas backwash -- like him.
He'd dozed off on the sofa with a can of beer while watching TV. Suddenly he was awakened by a violent pounding. At first he thought it was the old guy in the apartment upstairs. Always that infernal clopping sound overhead -- as if the old boy was doing step aerobics in weighted diving boots. The front door was thrown open, and there before him, stood the ghost of Shorty Bimstein -- a former cook at the hotel. He was dragging a bunch of saute pans fixed to a chain, and wore a colander on his head.
"Shorty . . . is it really you?"
"Yeah, it's me. Y'know anyone else useta wear a colander on his head?"
"You always were a card . . . but Shorty, what are you doin' here -- why have you come back?"
"Because we were such close friends and colleagues in life, I come ta bring ya a warnin' from the udder side."
"But we weren't close friends. I couldn't stand you."
"We sat together in the lunch room every day for twenty-five years."
"Yeah -- but only because you let me have the whipped cream from your Jell-O. You were lactose intolerant -- remember?"
"Be that as it may, I come ta tell ya that tanight you'll be visited by tree ghosts: Elvis, Liberace, and Frank Sinatra."
"NO SHIT!!!"
Shorty's ghost guffawed and rattled his saute pans.
"Nah! I'm just bustin' on ya! . . . It's only me."
"Now I rememeber why I couldn't stand you."
"Alright, so's we weren't pals. But I come back anyways to save you from my wretched fate . . . to warn you if ya don't clean up yer act -- stop bein' a turd in the punch bowl -- you'll be draggin' saute pans an' wearin' a colander on yer head."
"But Shorty, life sucks and I hate Christmas. Whattaya want me to do? Run around hollerin' 'HO, HO, HO' like I got a thumb stuck up my ass?"
"Ever occur ta you that maybe yer so miserable cuz ya only think a yerself? Why doncha try bein' nice ta yer neighbor upstairs, 'stead a complainin' ta the manager 'bout 'im alla time?"
"You try sleepin' with that racket. Besides, I'm sure he does it on purpose."
"The ol' guy's got a wooden leg and a overactive bladder. That racket ya hear is him hobblin' back 'n' forth ta the john all night."
"Shorty, you sure have changed since you dropped dead. I remember the way you useta cuss out the servers -- you were a real terror!"
"Yeah, an' look what it got me. I'm warnin' ya, if ya don't turn the leaf, start appreaciatin' the beauty a life, you're doomed -- just like yours truly."
"Maybe you're right, Shorty. Know what? I'm gonna call out sick tomorrow. Take the day off. Get me onea those microwave turkey dinners at Walgreens -- maybe a frozen pumpkin pie . . . and a mini, plug-in Christmas tree . . . yeah! They're showin' 'A Christmas Carol' all day on onea the cable stations -- I love that flick!"
"That's the spirit! Look, I gotta be pushin' along now -- I still gotta drop in on Donald Trump. You take care Jim, and have a merry Christmas!"
"You too Shorty -- and thanks!"
Jim watched Shorty's ghost float out the door and disappear into the dark chill of the Las Vegas night. A light snow was falling, and the moon winked from behind a passing cloud. Life sure was beautiful!
Back inside, Jim cranked up the fireplace and cracked open another beer. Tomorrow he'd buy two microwave turkey dinners and invite ol' peg leg down for Christmas dinner ... why not!?
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! ... 🎅🎄🎁☃️
Jim hated working holidays; Christmas especially: mom and dad and the kiddies all gorging themselves on the feast he'd slaved to prepare: turkey with chestnut stuffing; candied yams; green beans almondine . . . not to mention the pecan pie. There'd be no feast for him. The menu in the employee dining room was always the same -- Christmas or no: cheese enchiladas and lime Jell-O with whipped cream. Enough to gag a maggot.
What a life! Another year gone. Another -- equally as disappointing -- soon to begin. How had things gone so wrong? In his youth, Jim had dreamed of becoming a world famous chef; opening his own restaurant where he'd greet celebrities eager to shower praise upon him for his culinary prowess: movie stars; athletes; models in slinky, low-cut dresses. Here he was, crowding sixty; working at a lousy buffet and living in a crummy, rundown apartment complex on the outskirts of town: his neighbors misfits and rejects; the flotsam & jetsam of the Vegas backwash -- like him.
He'd dozed off on the sofa with a can of beer while watching TV. Suddenly he was awakened by a violent pounding. At first he thought it was the old guy in the apartment upstairs. Always that infernal clopping sound overhead -- as if the old boy was doing step aerobics in weighted diving boots. The front door was thrown open, and there before him, stood the ghost of Shorty Bimstein -- a former cook at the hotel. He was dragging a bunch of saute pans fixed to a chain, and wore a colander on his head.
"Shorty . . . is it really you?"
"Yeah, it's me. Y'know anyone else useta wear a colander on his head?"
"You always were a card . . . but Shorty, what are you doin' here -- why have you come back?"
"Because we were such close friends and colleagues in life, I come ta bring ya a warnin' from the udder side."
"But we weren't close friends. I couldn't stand you."
"We sat together in the lunch room every day for twenty-five years."
"Yeah -- but only because you let me have the whipped cream from your Jell-O. You were lactose intolerant -- remember?"
"Be that as it may, I come ta tell ya that tanight you'll be visited by tree ghosts: Elvis, Liberace, and Frank Sinatra."
"NO SHIT!!!"
Shorty's ghost guffawed and rattled his saute pans.
"Nah! I'm just bustin' on ya! . . . It's only me."
"Now I rememeber why I couldn't stand you."
"Alright, so's we weren't pals. But I come back anyways to save you from my wretched fate . . . to warn you if ya don't clean up yer act -- stop bein' a turd in the punch bowl -- you'll be draggin' saute pans an' wearin' a colander on yer head."
"But Shorty, life sucks and I hate Christmas. Whattaya want me to do? Run around hollerin' 'HO, HO, HO' like I got a thumb stuck up my ass?"
"Ever occur ta you that maybe yer so miserable cuz ya only think a yerself? Why doncha try bein' nice ta yer neighbor upstairs, 'stead a complainin' ta the manager 'bout 'im alla time?"
"You try sleepin' with that racket. Besides, I'm sure he does it on purpose."
"The ol' guy's got a wooden leg and a overactive bladder. That racket ya hear is him hobblin' back 'n' forth ta the john all night."
"Shorty, you sure have changed since you dropped dead. I remember the way you useta cuss out the servers -- you were a real terror!"
"Yeah, an' look what it got me. I'm warnin' ya, if ya don't turn the leaf, start appreaciatin' the beauty a life, you're doomed -- just like yours truly."
"Maybe you're right, Shorty. Know what? I'm gonna call out sick tomorrow. Take the day off. Get me onea those microwave turkey dinners at Walgreens -- maybe a frozen pumpkin pie . . . and a mini, plug-in Christmas tree . . . yeah! They're showin' 'A Christmas Carol' all day on onea the cable stations -- I love that flick!"
"That's the spirit! Look, I gotta be pushin' along now -- I still gotta drop in on Donald Trump. You take care Jim, and have a merry Christmas!"
"You too Shorty -- and thanks!"
Jim watched Shorty's ghost float out the door and disappear into the dark chill of the Las Vegas night. A light snow was falling, and the moon winked from behind a passing cloud. Life sure was beautiful!
Back inside, Jim cranked up the fireplace and cracked open another beer. Tomorrow he'd buy two microwave turkey dinners and invite ol' peg leg down for Christmas dinner ... why not!?
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! ... 🎅🎄🎁☃️
