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Friday, August 15, 2008

Skeletons In the Closet



A woman takes a lover home during the day while her husband is at
work.
Her 9-year old son comes home unexpectedly, sees them and hides in
the bedroom closet to watch.
The woman's husband also comes home. She puts her lover in the
closet, not realizing that the little boy is in there already.
The little boy says, "Dark in here."
The man says, "Yes, it is."
Boy: "I have a baseball."
Man: "That's nice"
Boy: "Want to buy it?"
Man: "No, thanks."
Boy: "My Dad's outside."
Man: "OK, how much?"
Boy: "$250"
In the next few weeks, it happens again that the boy and the lover
are in the closet together.
Boy: "Dark in here."
Man: "Yes, it is."
Boy: "I have a baseball glove."
The lover, remembering the last time, asks the boy, "How much?"
Boy: "$750"
Man: "Sold."
A few days later, the Dad says to the boy, "Grab your glove,
let's go outside and have a game of catch."
The boy says, "I can't, I sold my baseball and my glove."
The Dad asks, "How much did you sell them for?"
Boy: "$1,000"
The Dad says, "That's terrible to over charge your friends
like that...that is way more than those two things cost. I'm taking you to church,
to confession."
They go to the church and the Dad makes the little boy sit in the
confessional booth and closes the door.
The boy says, "Dark in here."
The priest says, "Don't start that shit again; you're in my closet now."

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My small contribution to wide world of sharing useless, random, pointless, yet interesting information across the web. A shameless plug for my awesomeness. A collection of random and amazing things.

I write reviews, I write stories, I write about my daily occurences, I complain about everything. I have a few blogs throughout the world, but this one is my favorite, mostly because it's mine.

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Words Of Wisdom

Both reading and writing are acts of supreme faith. They are both, in essence, a call to grace, a belief in the miraculous - that we might come to see through stories what we had not previously seen, that we might come to understand what had, before that moment, remained uncertain, undefined. The mask of fiction, of writing and reading stories, does not, in the end, disguise our faces but instead reveals who we really are. In the, stories acknowledge life's difficulty and sadness but insist that we go on anyway, that we always hold to our faith, to our belief in grace.

- John Gregory Brown

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