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  1. accidental organic

    January 15, 2010 by jjosh

    ARON:
    What the hell is up with all the birds in the neighborhood?! It’s freezing out and I put that bread down like a week ago!
     
    LARISSA:
    Maybe they’re drunk?
     
    ARON:
    What the hell is that supposed to mean?
     
    LARISSA:
    Sorry I meant crunk.
     
    ARON:
    Crunk?
     
    LARISSA:
    Wait, wasn’t that bread moldy?
     
    ARON:
    A little.
     
    LARISSA:
    Well that’s probably it, you know. Moldy bread makes you trip out.
     
    ARON:
    You know this from experience?
     
    LARISSA:
    No, everyone knows this. It’s called ergot. There’s that whole theory about the bible that Jesus’s miracles are really the result of everyone tripping out.
     
    ARON:
    Whaaaaat?
     
    LARISSA:
    Yeah, that there had been this big drought for two years and the crops hadn’t come up so the whole region had to make bread from grain that they had been storing for two years. But they didn’t have any way of keeping the grain from going moldy, so it developed this ergot and then all the bread that they made would make people trip out. So when Jesus was walking on the water and turning water into wine and all that, it was really just ‘cuz people were tripping.
     
    ARON:
    What about when he rose from the dead?
     
    LARISSA:
    Just people tripping.
     
    ARON:
    Crucifixion? Even if they were tripping, crucifixion pretty much kills you. Even if they were tripping, there’s no way to move that giant stone.
     
    LARISSA:
    No you’re right. For that they would have to be on PCP. I wonder if there was some way to make PCP accidentally out of organic materials available two thousand years ago…
     
    ARON:
    I smell a doctoral thesis coming on.

  2. Growing

    January 7, 2010 by jjosh

    Judy brought David’s ashes home in a ceramic urn and put them on the mantle. After a year she figured it was time to rejoin society, so she went ahead and planned her Christmas party like everything was normal. When Albert spilled eggnog on the urn – bound to happen – it was grimly funny, like when someone on crutches falls on their face. It was wiped up, no big deal, but the party kind of deflated after it happened.

    The following afternoon Judy noticed that the eggnog hadn’t been fully cleared up and had dried into a kind of crème crust on the base of the urn. She took it out onto the balcony to give it a scrub with a wet wipe and before she knew what had happened, the urn had tipped over and sent the ashes spilling over the edge. Judy leaned over the railing and watched the grey snowflakes tumble slowly down the four stories towards the earth. Most dispersed themselves around the sidewalk below, but a big clump made it no further than the flower box on the balcony below Judy’s. They settled in among the wire frames where tomatoes would grow in the Spring. There was something funny about it, but Judy didn’t laugh.

    Judy kept her eye on the plants, and in Spring when the tomatoes came up red and ripe and full, she ventured downstairs. When she explained what had happened to Mrs. Gillmary, she was invited inside, made to sit down in the kitchen and have a glass of water. Without any discussion, Mrs. Gillmary took her shears and cut a few of the tomatoes off the vine. She sliced them and put them on a plate. Judy felt sure that when she ate them, something profound would happen. But it didn’t really. And maybe that was better.