the Difficult Listening Channel

Did I smell mothballs and think of Grandma? Or, did I think of Grandma and smell mothballs? Both the order and the irony tormented me for weeks. Dammit Bitch! Get out of my head! This is 1955 and we don’t have flying cars or anything. Just cheap first generation jets and who wants to risk their lives on one of those! So what if you can smoke like a chimney at 30,000 feet. Not that any of this matters, and I left my erratic thoughts and went back to plowing the field. It was hot and dusty. In the distance a rabbit scampered. My useless hound paid it no attention. Then, a shot rang out and I literally watched that bunny explode into millions of bloody bits. Martha, you’ve ruined dinner again! Ike is coming over and he loves rabbit. How am I supposed to get all those soggy bits back together by sun-down? Looks like it’s time for another trip to the woodshed. The sun was still bright in the late afternoon. A light haze formed on the horizon. My heat exhaustion was just kicking into full gear and my diaper was getting wet and heavy. Just another day on the ranch. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

The last thing I remember was that she had a rag to my face. Now I’m confronted with the only smell that I consider worse than the combination of synthetic gardenia and cat urine: cooked green peas. ‘Breakfast time, Junior.’ It was the unmistakable voice of Ethel. What’s she doing here? That’s when my senses had sharpened up enough to realize that I was tied up, seated in some kind of high chair. It was cold, and that’s when I noticed that I was wearing only a diaper. Ethel entered the room carrying an overflowing bowl of steamy green peas. ‘Here you are sweetie.’ She started to spoon feed me a heaping helping of the peas. ‘Damnit Ethel! Let me go. Get that shit away from me before I fucking puke on you.’ I was both scared and pissed. ‘We’ve got to eat our peas before bath time, Junior.’ I was quickly overcome by the smell and projectile vomited all over Ethel. She wiped off her face and leaned in close to me and hissed, ‘Now don’t be difficult. It’s time to eat your peas.’ I started to squirm even harder, doing whatever I could to free myself but was unsuccessful. She continued to spoon more peas into my mouth and no matter how much I spit out she seemed to have another spoonful at the ready. I closed my eyes and tried to go to my happy place. Something told me this was going to be a long night. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

There had been some really crazy ideas brought up to combat the economic collapse. The stupidest one that was implemented had to be the one where they reanimated Ronald Reagan. I guess they figured since he did such a good job of getting the economy going in the early 1980’s, they could count on him again today. Using the latest scientific procedures and the best minds around, they proceeded to bring the past president back to life. Like I said, that had to be the shittiest idea ever. Within seconds, Reagan turned on his handlers. He had incredible strength and speed which he used to easily break free of his restraints. Then, he literally tore through the living flesh of all those around him. Doctors, scientists, military, there was no difference. Each tasted equally good to the former president. Alarms sounded and the containment gasses were released. It wasn’t enough. Reagan had busted out and was now running wild. Gunshots rang out but did absolutely nothing to slow ‘The Gipper’ down. He had taken out the perimeter guards with almost no resistance as he ripped off human limbs, eating as he ran. Once on open ground, there was nothing to stop Reagan short of an air strike which just happened to be ‘the plan of last resort’. With that, a pair of A-10 Warthogs blasted the area to shreds using their cannon and bombs. Flames and smoke covered the grounds where Reagan had briefly run amok. Victory was short lived, however, as just minutes later and a mile or so away screams were heard as fresh flesh was ripped into. Reagan was still on the loose. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

Couldn’t she stay in Boca with her grandkids for just a little longer? Maybe permanently? Is that too much to ask for? I guess so. Well, Ethel’s back and you could smell her a mile away, but that’s not the worst of it. Of course she’s got all kinds of new cat stories that she’s just itching to share. Now her sights are fixed on me. Why….? Why me? This is no way to spend my golden years, I can tell you. All the aches and pains are bad enough, but to have to put up with Ethel even for five minutes. Actually, it’s never for just five minutes. Once she’s in, she never leaves. Like a resistant infection in a sweltering jungle. You can’t get rid of it. And, oh, how the combination of synthetic gardenia and cat urine is especially fragrant today. I think the air conditioning isn’t working again. It’s always the same…. ‘Let me tell you about my kitties,’ she says. Then it spirals out of control from there. All one can do at that point is pray for a quick death. Any death as long as it’s fast. Hell, I’d take getting shredded by a rabid velociraptor over story time with Ethel any day and twice on Sunday. But, I’m not blessed with such an outcome. She’s in my room and she’s not about to leave. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

Thirty years ago this guitar riff would have been a derelict. Just a worthless magnetic signal imprinted on a cheap dusty cassette. Now, it’s the backbone for a mega hit. Had music really degraded into this? Bob was indeed perplexed. The process had evolved over decades, but his neurons had finally hit critical mass today. He angrily switched off his radio. But what was really bothering Bob was his chronic constipation. It felt like twenty pounds of crusty boulders were lodged in his gut. Like this shitty new music, Bob seemed stuck with this overbearing blockage like a massive anchor. He’d have to find his relief and inspiration elsewhere because none of his trusted remedies were working. The airwaves were congested with AutoTuned hell and his guts were filled with years of built up waste and he was beyond desperate. A deep autumn sun began to set as he thought back to his high school days of long ago. Just then, a faint wisp of synthetic gardenia and cat urine crept into his room. ‘Fuck! Ethel’s back,’ he thought. Now he had real problems. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

This was just like a ‘part 2’ of an epic trilogy where the bad guys get the upper hand and it looks like there’s no way out. Jeff was in the middle of a massive body cleanse. One that was ripping apart his digestive tract in an attempt to eventually reset his whole system. However, the effects were horrible, even worse than when he ate those tacos at that Ukrainian beach bash last year. During the middle of his twelve hour straight, gut wrenching contractions, he managed to dislodge a small alien probe which had been implanted many years ago. The pain was excruciating leaving him with only enough strength to quietly weep. It was about two inches long, blemished and rusty. There was a small yellow blinking light on one of its ends. Through the intense pain, his curiosity was triggered. He briefly considered reaching into the waste-filled bowl to retrieve the small probe, but decided against it. God only knew what else was in that blob of festering ooze. That’s when the light started to blink faster. Then came the whining sound. Louder and faster the sound and light increased exponentially. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

The boy had lied all along. There was a spoon! And what resulted was devastating. Even worse than when Dr. Von Zurnbler crossed zombies with vampires. And nobody has forgotten that. The entire city was under siege by those blood-thirsty, brain eaters. And how the hell do you kill one? Exactly. Well, now we find out that there actually was a spoon. And that damned boy was caught in the act, eating Rice Kripsies with it. The nerve of that little bastard! Well we showed him. Kind of like how that town reacted to the monster of Frankenstein. That’s right, they burned that little bastard to a crisp, then spread the ashes into the lake just to make sure. Oh, and the spoon? It was melted down and dropped into the ocean, never to be heard from again. Overkill you say? Well, obviously you weren’t there. You didn’t suffer through it. But, had you been, I’m sure you’d have gone along with the rest of us. Unless, you too, are hiding a spoon. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

‘I have a voodoo doll and I know how to use it.’ With that, Tom knew Jessica was breaking up with him for good. And he began to really fear for his life. During the ‘puppy love’ time, back when they first got together, Tom enjoyed hearing Jessica’s stories of how she terrorized her exes from afar with the help of a strange doll. He never saw the thing, and he didn’t really believe. But there was that one time. That time when the two of them actually ran into one of her ex boyfriends named Frank. Frank was a complete wreck. He looked like he’d been through a war. He was practically homeless and penniless. All he kept doing during the short encounter was apologize and beg Jessica to forgive him. She just smiled, then glanced at Tom. Well, a year went by and Tom had only briefly thought of that chance meeting. But now the relationship soured and Jessica had cut the cord. Not that Tom didn’t have it coming. I mean, what good can come from drinking that much and hanging out at strip clubs? So Tom wasn’t entirely surprised the next day when he was in the shower and, while scrubbing his groin, he noticed a rash. This was only the beginning. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

Sammy especially enjoyed when his officemate Jane dressed up as Lord Humongous, made him wear a diaper, gagged, and tied him up in the mail room. It was a strange relationship, but one that the two of them had grown used to. Yes, there were rumors that circulated amongst the staff. Even management had caught a whiff. But sales were up and profits were huge, so the gossip was largely ignored. Things would get a little weird at the annual Christmas party as the fresh scent of baby powder filled the room. Also, you couldn’t help but trip over the discarded ball gags, or slip on the slimy drool. Then Sammy got transferred to another division. Sales dropped and he became deeply depressed. Even though he petitioned management for his old position, he was refused. A year later, Sammy was the night manager at a nearby Pizza Hut. Occasionally, Jane would stop in for a large supreme, dressed in her old costume. But it wasn’t the same. They tried hard to bring back the magic, but all the baby powder, diapers, and ball gags just didn’t seem to work. Maybe the stale pizza sauce and greasy aroma dampened their senses. Nobody knows for sure. But, looking back, some consider it the greatest love story ever told. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com

Horned toad said we should go to Mexico. But, again, nobody listened. Was it that he was so small, he was considered insignificant? Or, that he was just a reptile? Centuries ago, when people were less civilized, they listened to the horned toad. Nowadays, his suggestions are noise in the wind. Truth was, the horned toad was wise. Wise beyond his years. And when the horned toad told someone they should go somewhere or do something, well they really should. Not only that, the horned toad also picked stocks and predicted the winning lottery numbers with a laser-like accuracy. Problem was that nobody ever listened. Then, one day, the toad was gone and along with him all the knowledge and advice that he had. Now, humanity was really on its own. And for the first time, in great peril. Shortly thereafter, divisions of AK47 wielding cats were simultaneously dispersed across the planet. Their mission was complete world domination. And to think that this could have all been prevented if the people would have just listened to the horned toad. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com