Wham Bam Stories by Simpson

Liam works for AAPT (Animals Are People Too). It's a tough job, as daily he has to make sure livestock animals are being treated humanely before destruction. Prior to this employment, Liam worked as a deckhand on freighters that circled the globe. He led a wild, carefree life, boozing and whoring his way from Boston to Bangkok to Buenos Aires. Until that day on the Black Sea off the coast of Romania... 

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We have a couple boys here, men actually, dealing with some personal issues, when out of the blue they dang near slam their large vehicles into one another. Gonna be hell to pay if they don't calm down and pull themselves together. 

But can they do it? What with one dude dealing with a cheating spouse and the other dude recently off his meds without his doc's knowledge. One guy with a rebellious teenager and the other guy with an ex-wife who took his teenagers clear across the country.

These boys are on edge.

Kids. Wives. Work. Life for crying out loud. A volatile mix. 

One that can, in a heartbeat, blow up into some serious Road Rage.

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This is the mostly true story of the short unhappy life of Constance Sillence. It's a sad, devastating story, but unfortunately all too common in the annals of human history. It's Biblical in its simplicity of birth, suffering, and death. A quick review of First Timothy Chapter Two Verses 9 thru 14 will assist the reader (listener) in grasping the plight of Constance and so many of her sisters.  

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Every evening Sock and various companions meet at the park to go for a walk and discourse on a variety of lofty topics. Art. Religion. The Meaning of Life. On this particular evening, cold and blustery, it appears it will only be Sock and his faithful hound Sally. But just as they set off, a young woman appears and together the trio ambles up Lyceum Hill. Soon talk turns to Camus' Four Conditions for Happiness. These conditions—live as much as possible in the open air, abandon ambition, love lustfully, and live creatively—are discussed with great enthusiasm. But suddenly this newest member of The Walking Philosopher's Club bids her farewell and vanishes into thin air. Was she ever really on the walk? Or had Sock conjured her up in his imagination? Does it matter? Does such a phenomenon as reality even exist? Join the walk and see what you think. 

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After years of Talk Therapy Tad finally has a breakthrough. He finally spits out the Truth. Finally utters the unutterable. But is his Shrink listening? Or has his Shrink checked out of the Game, consumed as he is by his own angsts and anxieties, his own  dreams and desires?

SHRUNK asks those old Socratic questions: Do our fellow humans hear a word we say? Or does all the gibberish just fall on deaf ears?

Was it, me wonders, a giant cosmic joke to allow Humans to Communicate with all these silly little utterances that spill from our mouths?

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Stu's up in his hilltop mansion cradling his AK-15 assault rifle. He's waiting for the barbarians. Waiting for the blacks. And the immigrants. And the mouthy women. Waiting for The End.

While Stu waits he remembers. Grows nostalgic. Longs to revisit the glory days of his youth when, fresh out of college, he lived free as a bird for a couple years out on the open road. Free of possessions. Free of responsibilities. Free of attitudes. Free of hate.

Stu hears them. Coming up through the woods. He sees them racing across the manicured lawn. Over the wall and up onto the patio. A lawn chair crashes through the picture window.

They're coming Stu. They're coming to get you!

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Bob's been coaching high school hoops for a lot of years. But he's never seen a referee like this dude. A giant. At least 6'3". 230. All muscled up. Bald as a billiard ball. And tats covering most of his body. 

On his right arm a tat of a nearly naked glamour queen. On his left arm a tat of a bird cage with an open door and three birds making their escape. On his right thigh an American flag. On his left thigh an M27 Infantry Rifle.

The game gets underway. The ref runs the show with military precision. No nonsense.

In the third quarter the power goes out and the lights go off. During the outage Bob learns a thing or two about the ref's combat tour in Iraq.

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No photos of the graveyard in the Airbnb listing. Plenty of pics of the lovely cottage on the Maine coast and the spectacular view of the Atlantic from the front porch. But no shots or mention of the ancient cemetery right next door.

The Smiths arrive after dark. And so first notice the graveyard in the morning. Soon thereafter the family hound goes exploring among the headstones, frantic with all the new scents.

Young Jack Smith and his dad hike over to retrieve their hound. They find gravestones dating back to the 1700s and 1800s. And then Jack spots a stone with his name on it: 

Jack Smith
Born July 4, 1910
Died July 4, 1920
Age Ten Years

Jack will be ten years old the following day: July 4, 2020. He's 100% certain the gravestone is a harbinger of his death and that he is going to die on his birthday.

His father reassures him, but that night he falls ill with fever and a bellyache.

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When the IED exploded and ripped through the Humvee, PFC Walker, on his very first patrol, survived, but with his brain scrambled. 

So now he walks. Walks and walks. Seven days a week. Seven miles to the Walker family toy store. Where he recreates, with toy soldiers, the Battle of Antietam.

PFC Walker—another victim of The War.

Any War.

Every War.

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Larry has it in for Coach Rizzo, his old Little League coach who some years ago mocked and belittled his inferior baseball skills. Larry's ready to take his revenge.

He's right now out in the woods beyond the centerfield fence. In a deer blind high up in an ancient oak.  

It's a beautiful spring morning. Opening Day of a brand new baseball season. The sun is shining. The grass is green. The boys are ready to play ball.

Too bad Larry, like crazy armed nut-jobs from sea to shining sea, possesses a Bushmaster XM-15 with a Vortex Spitfire scope and plenty of ammo.

Unless sanity suddenly intervenes, unlikely, prepare for more American carnage.

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