Friday, April 10, 2009


Way back then
We had hope
We had dreams
Me the president
You my vice
Hillary and Bill

Tuesday, April 7, 2009


They promised to meet every year on their birthday in the spot where their birthday suits were all they wore for their first time together and every time since.

They'd met in that very spot on this beach ten years earlier, when life's currency was their innocence and when adults made the unbendable rules that they gleefully and wickedly broke.

Every summer they returned with their families then later by themselves, just the two of them.

They have no contact the rest of the year, just an annual date for a week of carnal bliss.

It was agreed they would meet no matter who was in their lives because this was separate and different, but if by chance one of them truly fell in love, they reserved the right to pull out.

This year, he didn't show up.

Saturday, April 4, 2009


By Richard Wheeler (Zephyris) 2007.Image via Wikipedia

Starla counted to six while the vapors took effect then confidently whisked past the unconscious security dwarf.

Most people were annoyed and angered that dwarves had gotten first dibs in the government's genetic lottery that duplicated their defective DNA and turned them into superhumans, but Starla knew there was more than met the eye.

She wound through the building's labyrinth that would baffle anyone else, but Starla intuitively knew where to go, having gotten a little genetic tweaking herself.

She was obviously chosen for this job for her stealth and skill and she knew the peace of the world was dependent on her finding that one person who could once again bring about unity, that one person who could make them beat their swords into plowshears.

Then she found him, packed away in all his frozen glory amongst centuries old computers and other ancient artifacts from a time when humanity measured success by its gross excess.

Starla used her pocket knife to spill her golden blood onto the security pad, punched in the 100,000-digit code she memorized, and watched the brainwaves of Ron Reagan come to life on the screen as she prepared to ask him the favor of a lifetime.

Friday, April 3, 2009


They came out of the woodwork from every corner of the earth: the Greek, Russian, Italian, Romanian, French and British businessmen, all together for the annual summit.

They had impeccable manners, dressed beautifully, gave generously to all who served them, and were fiercely competitive with each other for the attention of the lone female bartender, drowning her with compliments but all the while maintaining respect.

They were all far superior to the slacker American who tipped poorly, tracked their entitlement to free drinks, and shamelessly hit on her as she worked her twelfth hour and endured their wrath when she politely turned them down.

The Europeans were a nice change, she thought, as her hotel bar filled for the evening with the raven haired gods, all white smiles and twinkling eyes.

But as the week wore on, the testosterone became heavy and suffocating, their competitiveness shined through as an ancient hubristic practice, and their elevated standards became a bar too high to jump.

Exhausted, she yearned for the lazy, rude, cheap American male who gave little but expected just as little from her in return.