My father always told me, "Son, if you're going to start something, start from the beginning." I think that's pretty good advice. Especially for reading these stories.
Email To My Brother: Not A Flesh-Eating Bacteria
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Our father asked me if the Coronavirus was a flesh-eating bacteria.
I don't know what it is about newspapers, but they must think their readers have unlimited time and money to cook the recipes they feature in their pages. Most of us, we have jobs. We don't want to come home and spend hours fixing something that can easily be bought at Sam's or Costco or the corner gas station. Not to mention the cleanup afterward. Also, if I fill my refrigerator with food, where am I supposed to keep my beer? The recipes always seem to require an excessive number of ingredients that you probably don't have and will never use again. When Jesus fed the multitudes, He wisely kept it down to two items: fish and bread. It just seems to me newspapers should acknowledge we live in a different world now. There's no longer enough hours in the day for us to prepare these extravagant meals. Like my price point when I buy things, five or less should be the only numbers required. Recently, my local newspaper printed something by The Culinary Institute of Amer...
I’m not afraid of doctors. They don’t come close to my wife telling me we have to talk. Marriage comes with its ups and downs. I've noticed that when we're watching TV and my wife tells me she doesn’t care for the show we’re watching, what she means is I'm never going to find out how it ends. But I was talking about doctors... When my youngest daughter was just out of her toddler years, my wife and I took her to her pediatrician. Unfortunately, he was out of town, so we saw someone new. Trying to win our daughter over with his friendly bedside manner, he playfully asked if she knew our first names. "Of course," she said politely. "My mommy's name is 'Sweetie' and my daddy's name is 'Babe.'" Before I retired, my job required me to take yearly physicals. Yearly, because I suffer from sleep apnea and have to u...
The Tell-Tale Trump by Stephen King as told to Jim Duchene You're right, you're right. I'm nervous. Dreadfully nervous. But crazy? I only wish I were. You see, I've always found Donald Trump entertaining, in a monkey playing the accordion kind of way, but I never thought he'd be president. Then he stole the election, the only known instance of that ever happening. I could live with that. I bore him no ill will. It was only four years, after all. How much damage could he do? But his tweets! They drove me nuts! No, not nuts. Not nuts. I'm not nuts. I swear I'm not. Soon, you might say, I became obsessed with Trump and his hellish tweets. Obsessed isn't the same as insane, is it? Of course not. Every time I picked up my smart phone I'd scurry to Twitter to read the latest verbal monstrosities from not-my-President Trump. Idiotic ramblings. Lies. Misinformation. There was no horror I have ever created as a writer that was more terrifying than this lyin...
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