Skew Short Stories

Santa Claus Cried: A Sneak Peak Excerpt from a new Dream Seeker novel!

2009-08-30T16:58:00.001-04:00

Santa Claus cried. He walked through Macy's, Sears, and the rest of the Edison Mall, looking for hope, and finding none.

He ended up a few miles East on Colonial Blvd, and found a brand new Target Superstore with a practically-empty parking lot. He walked inside, and found a shelf stocked full of $5 DVD's.

He drifted slowly over on I-75 to the East Coast, and found a crazy kind of hustle and bustle ... almost a mad desperation for that last deal before the financial Titanic hits bottom, at Ikea. It felt more like a museum than a retail store ... people bought small $1 items, more like tourists at a gift shop than consumers in a mega-store.

His plan to bring a more communal feeling to the world's consumer-driven society had failed. Instead of bringing unity, he had encouraged misery.

The goods people desired were more out-of-reach than ever.

And everywhere he drifted, he saw ... signs. Signs that screamed:

"Clearance!"

"50% - 70% off!"

"This is it! Liquidation! Everything must go!"

Billboards:

"Advertise here!"

"Foreclosed homes for sale!"

"Bad credit? Call us. We're the credit experts."

"Hulk Hogan says...."

"Blackjack at the Hard Rock."

The people had wanted change last year, so much so that they voted for it ... and boy, did they get it.

Santa was crushed. His power faded as the populace turned their hearts from him, towards the Realtor and the Gambler.

He was skinny. His famous red motif had faded to pink.

Would the Christmas season give him a much-needed boost so that he could live another year?

Santa already knew the answer. He'd get a slight boost for a couple of weeks, as the radio stations played Christmas songs and television played It's a Wonderful Life and Elf. He'd get just enough to get him through ... until the next holiday season.

After an incredible boom, things were back to normal for Santa. He was back to being a one-month Icon in a twelve-month world.

Junk Mail Granny: A Spam Master Tale

2009-08-27T16:00:00.001-04:00

"Hello? Albert?"

"Hi, Granny," said Albert to his 94-year-old mother Ella. She called almost every day to check on her beloved son.

Not that Albert had time to appreciate being beloved. He secretly wished they could co-exist on Earth without actually having to speak to each other. His wife chided him for getting mad at Granny, saying he would miss his mother when she was gone.

Actually, Granny said similar things to Albert at times when he lost his cool with her.

Whatever, he thought.

"Albert, I have a question," said Granny. "I received a letter from a company and it said I could work from home and make some money. Do you think that is a good idea?"

"Are they asking for money?" asked Albert.

"Yes."

"Then it's not a good idea."

"Yes. I can still work. I am not dead yet."

"I know, Granny. I just...."

"I am still breathing. I am still here! I can participate and make some money to help my poor son...."

As Ella ranted, Albert's thoughts turned to the shriveled vision he'd had awhile back of the Spam Master. He wondered if that ghastly apparition in his mind was also known as the Junk Mail Master, or the Telemarketing Master.

Had to be the same guy.

It occurred to Albert that the Spam Master preyed on little old ladies like his mom, conning them into mailing checks for $35.95 into his coffers.

The Spam Master probably needed all that money to keep his shriveled body alive.

"... and that is what I think, Albert. Really and truly. Are you listening to me, Albert?"

"Oh, yeah. Listening, Granny."

"Okay, what did I say then?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh, Albert! You're intolerable! What kind of son did I raise?"

"Granny, let me drive over Saturday and I'll look at that offer you got in the mail, okay?"

"Yes?"

"Yes. I'll bring the kids with me."

"Oh, wonderful! I have some books for them I bought at Wal*Mart."

"Great," Albert said, as he envisioned the skeletal features of the Spam Master's face -- charred chunks of skin clinging to bone, and those ever-present fiery yellow eyes ... was he smiling? Were they flames behind him? It almost like a Terminator promo, with the silver killing machine with glowing eyes staring at you and the world burning behind him.

Melalueca Tree Oil: a Spam Master tale

2009-08-27T07:18:00.001-04:00

Albert sat at the Melalueca distributor meeting and wondered if the Spam Master was in the audience. He looked out at the thousands gathered at the Georgia Superdome to hear and discuss the benefits of selling toothpaste and vitamins mixed with Australian tree oil, trying to see if he could spot a shrouded figure with eyes like fire and fingers like dry twigs.

Nah, thought Albert. If the Spam Master was here, he'd be behind the curtain, orchestrating the sell-sell-sell-fest. Right now, a portly Italian guy with a moustache and bad suit was telling everyone how he built his pyramid ... probably reading words written by the Spam Master himself....

Albert shook his head. Snap out of it, he thought. I believe in this stuff, remember? I believe tree oil can heal people of common maladies. I believe there's a huge market for tree oil in Wisconsin. I believe....

***

The Traveller and the Nihilist bumped into each other at Atlanta's underground mall. Nihilist brought up the Spam Master, complaining about him.

Traveller asked, "Spam Master, huh? Has anyone ever seen him?"

"If you've seen the Realtor, you've seen the Spam Master. It has to be one of his minions," replied Nihilist.

"I wonder if the Realtor is jealous."

"As long as the Realtor reaps all the benefits and gets all the credit, he doesn't care who does the dirty work."

"Hmm. Interesting. So what does a Spam Master look like?"

"He could be another Realtor clone."

"Or some poor guy strapped to a chair."

Nihilist laughed. "Yeah, with an IV hook-up to keep him alive, and a laptop to do his work."

Ha ha. Ha ha ha. They both laughed at the macabre thought.

Gift Cards and Surveys Online -- A Spam Master Tale: Kneel Before Spam

2009-08-26T18:48:00.001-04:00

Albert Kinnis sold his soul to the SPAM Master last night, at approximately 8:23pm. Here are some random thoughts that ran through his mind after the sale was completed:

As I knelt down to pick up my fallen mouse, I had the distinct impression that, somehow, I was genuflexing before my desktop computer screen. In that moment, I felt I had relinquished my free will to ... Spam?

I felt there was a Spam Master behind it all, recruiting desperate individuals like me to his cause.

I had to get grocery money somehow. I just made a mortgage payment to forestall the bank's foreclosure proceedings. I needed that $250 Target card.

My kids had to eat.

My guard dogs needed food.

I had to put gas in the cars, so my wife and I could take the kids to work and go on job interviews. Those gas cards will come in handy.

My savings will be tapped out in 8 days. My credit cards will be maxed out in approximately 22 days.

I couldn't resist the offer to get those gift cards. Hey, it was advertised on Drudge, so it was legit.

I gave in. I felt like a teenager clicking on porn site ads, ignoring the harm I was doing to my desktop and mind.

It took five hours and 23 minutes, but I finally got that $250.00 gift card confirmed.

In the process, I signed up for some services that will email me survey opportunities as they come up.

As I got into bed that night, I pictured myself kneeling before some huge Sauron-like figure, with wilted, charred hands and arms, cursing my head with some unholy water and then touching my shoulders.

Free Gift Card -- Spam Master Poem (Fiction Story)

2009-08-26T07:04:00.001-04:00

The following was scrawled on several napkins by a woman named Rachel, who collapsed from mental exhaustion at a Starbucks in Estero, Florida after spending five hours attempting to get a $500 Wal*Mart gift card. The napkins were found next to her laptop. The cafe barrista wondered allowed why she wrote a note by hand when her laptop was readily available. Then she read the napkins:

Ode to the SPAM MASTER

Stealer of dreams
Taker of time
I wished for $500
Cause I don't have a dime

You came to me on my screen
Offering a free gift card
If I just fill out a short survey
You promised it wouldn't be hard

I was on my lunch break
I was on my lunch break

I give you my info
You ask me to "Submit"
I click the fateful button
Then I am hit

Survey after survey after survey
Sweetly, you say "Submit or Pass"

I pass on most
You say, pick 2 from this list
And you will get
Your free gift

I pick 2
You whisper, 2 more
I pick 2
You say, 4 more to go!
Your $500 gift is almost yours!

Before I know it
I'm on the Book of the Month Club
The Disney Movie Club
The Coffee Club
The Acai Club
I'm headed to a vacation ... Club

Discover the savings
Freecreditreport
Nationalcreditreport
Christian Living

I am dizzy

"Oh, wait! Baby there's more!"
You shout in my subconscious
Insidious SPAM MASTER
You've invaded my mind

"Don't think! Click on your Bonus Gift!"
Plasma TV, Laptop...
Wii, Playstation...
And...
And...

Another $500 gift card

Is this Bill Murray's Groundhog's Day?
Am I in hell?
I feel the sulfer and flames
Burning in my chest
Stinking my soul

Desperate
I click the gift card
And the process starts over
The Spam Cycle is complete
When I started, I was but a learner
Now I am the slave of the SPAM MASTER

Same list of companies
I have no choice
I click on different ads

Coffee Beans
Tea
Cell Phone promos
Just pay a $1 today
For a free trial 'til Tuesday
$39.98 afterwards

"What's my credit card number?"
SPAM MASTER asks each time

How long have I been sitting here?
Afraid to look at the clock
Have to go back to work!

He throws me $25 gift cards
To keep me going
At least I'm getting something
I tell myself the first five times

After multiple tabs
And multiple windows
Flood my screen
I wonder, "Why?"

And I am done!

The SPAM MASTER owns me

Desperate
I click on the gift card status link
I am mocked
"You were asked to click on 2 Silver Offers ... None have been confirmed"
"You were aked to click on 1 Gold Offers ... One was confirmed"

But

***

The paramedics arrived and carted Rachel and her laptop away.

The barrista kept the napkin.

614

2009-08-05T13:07:00.000-04:00

October 5th.

Credit Score? 614.

Got another email from my mortgage broker, asking me to pay off my Capital One Card -- the bank will complete the application process after receiving proof of payment.

I call my friend Darley and ask for $300 today for a burger on Tuesday, or something like that.

***

December 1st.

Credit Score? 648.

The closing was last week. We got a new house for Thanksgiving!

What will we have for Christmas? The house is enough, right?

Not for my 21st century kids, fed with dreams of DS and Spongebob, Princess games and make-up -- all from the viewscreen ad reality. Bubble Yum for your daily dose of pleasure, children, getting you buy, uh, by until the Christmas blowout. Your dreams will be below the plastic or dying pine tree, cardboard boxes wrapped in recycled wrapping paper -- irony wrapped in a lie, holding momentary satisfaction and wistful memories for your adulthood ... inspiring you to wash, rinse, and repeat the cycle with your offspring.

"Welcome, my son, to the machine."

What's a father to do? Apply for a credit card! A $4,000 Target credit card later, and Christmas is saved. The savior in the manger can remain sleeping.

***

February 23rd.

605.

I filed my 1040 February 2nd. I couldn't wait to get that home buyer's credit -- eight grand will go a long way towards reducing my credit card debt.

The refund was deposited yesterday. I paid off all my credit cards except for my AmEx and my bank's line of credit. I paid, like, two grand on each of those.

***

February 25th.

I got a letter from my bank, saying that "Due to the recession and activity on my credit report," my credit line has been discontinued.

I still owe thousands on that credit line -- and now I can't use it!

I was counting on using the line of credit during the summer, when my wife's not getting student loan money.

***

February 28th.

I opened a letter from AmEx that said my credit limit or whatever was reduced by $2,000.

So, now I can't use the AmEx.

I paid them two grand IN GOOD FAITH. I GOT SCREWED AS A RESULT.

It's going to be a looooooooooong summer.

***

July 15th.

Credit Score? 596. And dropping.

I am now 45 days late on the mortgage. I'm a month behind on my car payments.

I'm waiting for a life insurance settlement to kick in ... my sister died in that California train wreck last year, and they still haven't paid us ... they just keep asking for documents. It's like dealing with that mortgage broker times a million.

MEANWHILE, I'm stuck. My mom passed away four weeks ago ... I had to max out my cards to pay for the funeral and burial ... and this was after paying for my sister's....

I can't even mourn! You feel me? Like, I got to spend more time stressing over bills, talking to call center credit card reps, begging them for mercy, only to hear that the computer screen isn't dispensing mercy today, and less time FEELING.

I can't cry for my mom. I can't cry for my sister.

I got to cry for my AmEx.

This is life? Plastic takes priority over loved ones?

I call AmEx for an emergency limit increase ... they agree to give me 50 bucks to fill up the gas tank.

I need five grand, not fity (pronounced fih - t'ee) cents.

Credit Card Clause giveth gifts in December, and taketh away food, house, and happiness in July.

If THEY would just throw me a lifeline, I could get through until the life insurance check arrives. Instead, we're eating Rama Noodles and feeding the dog last week's leftovers. I'm talking to Darley on my cell (got to pay that bill) about how he JUST got laid off Friday ... we both know we can't loan each other money, so we commiserate about family spending and sick pets.

I'm out of options. I've played all my chips. All I can do is wait for the money that's owed me, bro.

Let me check out creditkarma ... damn. I'm down to 592. I couldn't qualify for a student Discover card if I wanted to.

At least I still got a job ... you know, the one that can't cover my expenses and life's emergencies? Yeah. THAT one.

Every paycheck gives me hope for a nanosecend, before turning into change in my pocket. If that.

Prayer Warrior

2009-07-10T20:15:00.002-04:00

The prayers of little boys can be quite silly. Peter, age six, would pray for the world to be healthy, for flowers to grow, for people to eat and be strong, "So that no one gets a cold," before finally blessing the food at dinnertime. Occasionally his mom or dad would have to lean over and whisper, "Bless the food," in order to move him to the end of his prayer, lest the food get cold.

Little did his parents know the power of Peter's prayers. I'm not saying he cured the world's ills with his dinnertime prayers ... the maker of heaven and earth took those kind of prayers under advisement, but could not apply them to everyone all at once. Things didn't work that way on this Petri dish called Earth -- a place where living beings were left alone with no clues given and the task of discovering "Truth."

Some people never got around to figuring out the task.

Such was the case with Paul Wender. On July 6th, 1965, Paul drove his '63 Buick Riviera into a railroad bridge abutment in Nashville, Tennessee. The only reason he did not die was an overwhelming instinct to slam the brakes even as he nodded off at the wheel.

The overwhelming instinct was fueled by prayer. Peter one night, in the year of our Lord 2008, had prayed that drivers not get into car accidents. This random prayer had the random effect of saving the life of a man who Peter would never meet -- Paul had died of a heart attack in 1996.

In between 1965 and 1996, Paul and his wife raised three kids. He was given the chance to live a good old-fashioned life, one small cog in the American machine. He worked at the Jack Daniels distillery, made friends, lived well ... and late in his life, at least began to consider truth through the prism of the Southern Baptist Convention. It was a start for Paul's spirit, even at the finish of his flesh.

Classic Vahl Short Story from 2003: Were You On the News Today?

2008-08-12T19:09:00.003-04:00

Mark woke up at 5:30 a.m., just as predicted. Mark turned on the radio and walked into the bathroom.

" ... And there's an accident about to happen on the BQE. Please avoid this road at all costs."

Good thing I take the train, Mark thought to himself as he brushed his teeth.

The E train was not crowded, but it would be. Mark lived near one of the early stops, so he was able to grab a seat and read his morning paper in relative comfort.

Mark turned immediately to the back page sports headline. Mark was shocked by what he read.

"Collins To Get Hurt Tonight, QB Okay With Fate," Mark whispered to himself.

Mark was so accustomed, as were we all, to the society he lived in. Today, however, Mark questioned the wisdom of following your routine, even if you knew something terrible would happen to you.

The general public believed in accepting your fate. We were taught to follow our routine until the bitter end. The prevailing wisdom was to confront, instead of prevent, tragedy.

Mark wondered now if this was wrong, just as predicted. How could we simply allow death and mayhem to occur, without lifting a finger to stop it? Was the future our god, and if so, why did we worship so blindly?

Mark thought these thoughts as he climbed the stairs onto 42nd street and Times Square. A news blurb from the wire services caught his eye: "148 people will die in a tragic plane crash, later this afternoon."

How can those people board that plane, Mark thought to himself, and how could the airline allow them to take off?

The real kicker to all this was that the majority of people could not see into the future. The general public did not have the third eye.

Those who did were recruited by the media and military. Prospective children as young as six years old were taken from their parents and trained in the art of future prognosticating.

Future Thought, as it was known, was big business. Advertisers used Future Thought to predict the success of ad campaigns. Human Resource officers were now required to display at least a level three awareness of Future Thought, so that potentially homicidal workers could be weeded out.

Elections were won and lost before people voted. Wars were won and lost before a gun was fired. The public was now accustomed to this foreknowledge, and treated the future like the past or present. The public saw the future as inevitable, and unchangeable.

Gamblers still gambled, even if they knew the outcome was against their bets. Their bets were usually on minor details: whether a base hit happened in the 5th or 6th inning of a ballgame, or whether someone rolled a 3 and 1 at the craps table, and not deuces. Although the predicted outcome was the same, sometimes the way the outcome happened was a little different, and this made for some interesting bets.

Mark, having grown up in a world where Future Thought teachers knew you would give the wrong answer before the question was asked in class, was struggling with what was happening. Mark did not know what to do, just as predicted.

As Mark entered the elevator that would take him to his job on the 34th floor, he began to think there was nothing he could do. Were he to prevent an incident, he would probably be fulfilling Future Thought.

But that's insane! How can a man think or act if he knows his fate is sealed, Mark thought angrily. He slammed his fist against the side of the elevator, and accidentally, but predictably, dropped his newspaper.

As he bent down to pick up the scattered pages, Mark's eyes ran across a headline on page three. So, Mark thought to himself, my fate is sealed.

"Man Who Questions Reality Dies On Elevator," read Mark out loud.

Mark Wallace looked at the ceiling panels.

"Mark Wallace, a 24-year-old investment banker with Metrogroup, dies this morning at 8:43 a.m. while riding an elevator to his office."

Mark refused to accept his fate. There has to be a way out! he thought.

"Ironically, Mark will begin to question Future Thought, the process by which news is acquired, just minutes before the accident."

Mark climbed to the top of the elevator car. Okay, Mark thought, I just have to wait for the car to drop, and then I'll grab onto something, and be okay.

"Unfortunately, Mark does not bother to read the article before escaping to the top of the elevator. If he did read this, he would know that the elevator does not plummet to the ground, as he assumes it will."

Mark looked up. The top of the elevator shaft was getting closer and closer.

"If Mark would simply read this article, he would prevent his death. Unfortunately, because Mark will not trust the media, he will pay the ultimate price with his life. Future Thought would save Mark's life, if he would follow his predetermined path."

Mark had forgotten that the 34th floor was where this elevator shaft ended. With growing horror, Mark realized the article was merely predicting his panicky actions. Future Thought had predicted that Mark would kill himself. If you attempt to save your life, you lose it. Isn't that what Jesus said?

"Those will be his final thoughts before he dies."

Eyes of the Future

2008-08-07T18:57:00.000-04:00

You could see it in his eyes.

You could see it in many people's eyes -- that curious, voyeuristic look ... looking at you and through you at the same time.

Inside, behind their eyes, a series of digital machinations. Synapses firing. Electric impulses going back and forth, connecting human flesh with organic machine.

Signals -- going back and forth, from within that person's skull to distant towers and satellites ... messages bouncing back and forth as people searched on face-recognition databases ... taking organic photos with their eyes ... pulling down data from the ether, learning about a stranger without even saying hello.

At times, this was ... actually, a quaint existence. People were sometimes happy to be interrupted by a perfect stranger who seemed to know them better than they knew themselves, or remembered a detail they had forgotten.

I witnessed one lady, wearing a long blue skirt and blouse, today on the subway. She said, "Excuse me?" to a younger woman wearing a black vinyl jacket. "I couldn't help but notice that your son has lymphoid hyperplasia. My son had the same condition when he was a little boy. I just wanted to let you know about the treatment we used."

The younger woman smiled and said, "Really? You know about that? I can't seem to find anyone who relates to that."

And they struck up a conversation.

SURE, it was an invasion of privacy by 20th century standards ... but we're not in the 20th century anymore, are we? It's 2051.

You have to deal with the reality that's around you.

Privacy? That's a thing of the past.

Privacy today is not getting arrested for looking like another criminal. Privacy is keeping your nose clean, staying out of trouble.

Everybody's watching you, but nobody cares.

Well, not everyone. Only the people that are around you, that's all. Searching, searching, referencing, looking up ... but not everyone does that!

Some people ignore the technology that's in their head.

Some people even opted out for awhile ... until they realized they were completely disconnected. Completely unplugged. Ostracized. Only the strongest, or craziest, depending on your point of view, could stay that way.

Hate to make it sound like a movie, but it is what it is.

Sometimes, speaking of movies, it almost feels like that classic Minority Report, except it's the people that do the enforcing. If you've committed a crime and your on the run, you will get caught. There's no ifs, ands, or buts about it. As soon as someone searches your face and you come up on the FBI's most wanted list, or a local wanted poster ... the local authority is immediately alerted to your presence.

By the time you get off the subway, you'll see police waiting, taking that person in handcuffs.

SURE, sometimes it goes wrong. Sometimes the wrong person is arrested, but they always sort that out at the station. They don't detain people against their wills or anything. Come on! We're human beings.

This isn't 1984. It's 2051.

It's a whole new world.

Is it brave? Not really. It's kind of L-M-E, on some level.

You would think, with all this technology, that we would be closer together ... and like I said, people do get to know each other who are perfect strangers. But for the most part, people like me? We just search, and don't say a word.

I read all about people's thoughts online. I see stuff they've highlighted, photoed, videoed, experienced. I smell it. I feel it.

All I need is a face, and I'm off.

Can you imagine if someone from the past time traveled here? Ha ha. That would be crazy. They would be totally out of their element. They wouldn't know what to do. Totally and completely crazy.