Crash and Soda and Crying and Gas

Since I've had a cell phone, which has only been around 2 years mind you, I've been writing little things that inspire me and anecdotes I come up with that usually end up turning into some interesting short story in my notepad. I looked at all of them today, and I have decided to share some of them. Here we go. (Remember, these are unedited, and mostly straight from my imagination.)

"When I was eight, my mom got in a car accident. All she was wearing was a blue flannel t-shirt. She still got out of the car to yell at the other lady, cellulite, bouncing boobs and all. "

"Soda fountains are amazing. They unite everyone, but some people won’t go up to get their drink while someone is up there. The way I see it, soda fountains are the key to world peace. Just imagine it, one united soda fountain with every drink ever stretched all the way around, so there’d be enough for everyone and people would be standing side by side constantly, black and white and tan and pale and root beer and diet Pepsi and Strawberry Fanta and Baja Blast and everything. No one could discriminate, as long as they’re standing together at a world sized soda fountain."

"I wonder if people really think that adorning every surface they can get their hands on with the three letters “RIP” will actually affect someone that’s already gone. Do they really think that it will grant their loved ones rest and peace? What if resting in peace isn’t what that person had in mind? What if they had been resting all their natural lives and wanted something different where they were, something unobtainable while living the only life we know while we’re here? I think that if I’m dead, if whatever comes after death isn’t just an extended period of feeling yourself die, or crouching on a cloud and watching the Earth below, or even singing old rock and roll songs with Elvis or reading short stories with Edgar Allan Poe, I’ll be swallowing fire and riding hippos completely immersed in water. I’m going to want to build an entire life-size house of cards to live in and drive a golf cart at NASCAR speeds around whatever paved road they may or may not have in the so-called afterlife. I’ll bungee jump into red Jello and breed pink and purple cheetahs. Life will be dangerous, and it won’t even be life."

"I cry in random bookstores. Whenever I feel the need, the pull at my eyelids, the weight of the tears struggling to break from their hold, I get in my car and drive to a bookstore I haven’t been in quite yet, and every time I reach one, whether I had to drive 35 minutes on the freeway or just down the block, I find a new section of books I haven’t cried in yet. Last week it was science fiction."


"He was filling up the gas tank. He left the pump in the spout to fill and walked into the Mobil mart to buy a drink or something. I slid across the middle console and took the driver’s seat. Then I started the car, and drove. The pump resisted, I looked over my shoulder to see the numbers racing towards sixty, I accelerated harder and with a huge clang the pump released and lashed back hitting the stand, swinging back and forth with the oil flowing like black sewage. As I pulled out towards the curb, about to turn onto the street, I glanced and saw him standing in front of the station, motionless, holding a Pepsi in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. I didn’t stay long enough to catch the look on his face. "