Milt Shook

Luck

By Milt Shook

            Forty-Seven million dollars. Shit!

            I check the numbers I wrote on the napkin once more. I’d written them down exactly as the guy on tv said them. Twelve and six were the month and day I was born. Thirty-six was the number of women I’ve slept with in my life. Okay; it’s the number of women I'm willing to admit I slept with. Seventeen was the age at which I lost my virginity and thirty-five was the age at which I divorced my last wife and became a free man. All of the most important numbers in my life. I play them every week. Well, actually, not every week, but a lot of them. And I won.

            It’s really hard to believe; forty-seven million dollars! I look around the bar, trying not to look too happy. If I look like I won, someone might take the ticket or some stupid shit like that. I’ve heard of shit like that happening, you know? I really want to dance a fucking jig right in front of all of them, the sorry bastards. In a matter of hours, I’ll leave them all in the dust and be richer than they ever dreamed. Finally, I’m lucky at something.

            Luck’s never been my strong suit, to say the least. My entire life’s been marked by one unlucky thing after another. When I was seven, I tripped while marching down the aisle to receive my First Communion at St. Martin’s. Little Georgie Calhoun slyly put out his foot, and I took off like a rocket down the newly waxed tile floor in the center aisle of the church. I felt like an idiot. He only did it because I’d de-pantsed him at the rehearsal. Instead of Georgie getting in trouble, I was forced to suffer the humiliation of being lifted to my feet by Sister Bernadette Marie, who used my ear, which hurt like hell. I swear I can still feel the sting.

Nightmare on Maple Drive

By Milt Shook

Lined with stately brick homes with perfectly manicured lawns and featuring a row of uniformly trimmed oak trees, as far as its residents were concerned, Maple Drive was the absolute showpiece of the town of Lawndale. Maple Drive featured running, laughing and playing children, barking dogs and the endless drone of lawn mowers and weed whackers practically year round; audible reminders that life on Maple Drive was nothing less than idyllic.

It seemed as if everyone in the state wanted to live on Maple Drive, but it was a tough ticket, because Maplers (as they called themselves) were happy, and usually refused to sell at any price. It had been nearly eight years since Old Roy Trigg had moved away, and he had been the last one. Roy Trigg’s move hadn’t constituted much of a loss, really; he didn’t cut his grass anywhere near often enough, and rarely was it cut to the optimum height. He rarely trimmed his oak properly, and its lower branches were nearly a full foot below the others. His shrubs also tended to look shabby, and he often parked his car on the street, rather than his driveway, which was a horrible breach of decorum. It was a testament to the lure of Maple Drive, however, that Roy Trigg had recently tried to buy back onto the street, albeit unsuccessfully so far.

Incarnation

By Milt Shook

Once upon a time there was a man named Phineas.

I’m laughing here, but what does “once upon a time” mean, anyway? It’s in so many of your cute little stories, but have you ever thought about what it means? It’s just so much babble. First of all, there is no such thing as “time,” to speak of; that’s just something you people use to mark the distance between life and death. Frankly, you'd all live a whole lot longer if you simply abolished it and lived your life without thinking about it. Have you ever noticed that, as you get older, time seems to speed by much faster? That’s a function of your obsession with it, you know. Abolish the concept and, ironically, you’ll live longer and happier.

I would also point out that Phineas is most certainly is not a man. But I’ll retain the term because it works by way of description, since you people are simply incapable of understanding what Phineas actually is; your perceptive skills are extremely limited, by design. “Man” is what Phineas created, and while he says he created you in his image, he’s speaking in grand hyperbole. He’s not a miracle worker, by any means; he’s not capable of creating another Phineas. Therefore, if you’re a man, he couldn’t possibly be a man. 

Cosmo & Sammy

           By Milt Shook

As I stand on my old street, I am immediately transported back to my childhood. The neighborhood has fallen on hard times, but the boarded up doors and windows and the broken glass lining the street can do little to inhibit the flood of memories of a pretty spectacular childhood. We only lived there until I was nine, but it was my favorite place to live, ever.

I lived there back in the 1960s, and the flight to suburbia had not yet reached us, not that it would have mattered. Single-family homes in landscaped developments are a grown-up’s dream, not a kid’s; no kid would ever care about something so trivial. The neighborhood was already old and falling apart back then, but I loved it because I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to. Hundreds of stately red brick row homes lined my street, each one adorned with beautifully clean white marble steps and stained-glass etchings atop the huge, ornate wooden door, and each home also featured a wide picture window. Living on my street was like living in an urban canyon of sorts.

In those days, all sorts of people lived there, except black people; they weren't allowed. But there were a few poor people, a lot of working class people, and even a few people with plenty of money who just preferred to live in the city. The relative wealth of each family could be determined by the car they parked at the curb in front of their house. The thrifty Ramblers and Falcons were owned by the laborers; the steel and iron workers and the construction foremen. The Thunderbirds and Cadillacs were owned by the professional neighbors, who usually tended to work in offices as accountants and insurance salesmen. I think there was a doctor living on my block, too, but I'm not sure.

A Religious Satire for the 21st Century! Just $1.99!

A huge religious corporation is about to go under. What will their Catholic priest CEO do to get them back on track? Stage a biblical event, perhaps?

This is the novel that answers the only questions anyone really cares about.  What if a soul could be rebooted and repaired?  What is God's real name? Do angels like pizza?  What happens to kids when a soulless person becomes a priest? Why doesn't God respond to prayers? What does God really do for a living?  What really happened to Jesus Christ? What is God's favorite color? What will New York City be like after the earthquakes? If God is perfect, why does his daughter need braces?

Available as an eBook for your Kindle, Nook,

iPad, iPhone, Kobo, Sony or any other eReader. 

Just $1.99!

 

Finally! An Awesome Political Satire! Talent on Loan 2.0, $3.99 for Kindle, Nook

“This book shines the light on how Tea Party politics works, and rips the right wing a new one! I love it!” – M.L. of AZ

“I’ve never been able to laugh at the right wing, until now!” – T.S., New York, NY.

“Never have I laughed so hard at a novel with absolutely no likable people in it!” J.H. of Missouri

“This novel sucks! A fat blowhard talk show host? Like we don’t know who you’re making fun of here!” – K.A., South Carolina.

“You’re such an arrogant dick. You have no idea how conservatives think. You just hate them!” – J.F. USA

========================================

This rewrite of the smash political satire “Talent on Loan” has been updated to reflect current realities, including the right wing’s attitude toward having a black man sitting in the Oval Office.

When was the last time you read a really good, vital political satire? For that matter, when was the last time someone used fiction to turn the tables on a political movement? “Talent on Loan 2.0” does both.

While reading this novel, you will laugh yourself silly at the antics of the reprehensible souls who make up its despicable cast of characters. But when you’re done, you’ll realize you learned something about why our politics is so messed up.

“Talent on Loan 2.0” is a raucously profane satire. It will make you laugh, and it might even make you mad at what’s become of democracy in the United States.

Available NOW on Kindle or Nook for just $3.99

Pat & Jerry & Jesus

(Several years ago, I wrote a short story in which I imagined two televangelists dying at the same time, and meeting with Jesus. Jesus was not pleased...)

By Milt Shook

“Pat, Jerry, have a seat,” Jesus instructed, as the two evangelists entered through a small doorway into a small office. The room was sparse, and appointed with few furnishings and plain walls. It was obvious from their surprised looks that being ushered into a spartan room by a black man was unexpected. The fact that the black man also sported a bit of a slouch due to a bad back, and wore jeans and a yellow polo shirt probably didn’t comport with their expectations, either.

The two men obediently took their seats in two large, straight-backed white chairs situated next to a large white desk. Neither man looked directly at Him, however, which He found irritating. Apparently, these two had bought the whole “eye aversion” bunk hook, line and sinker. That damn book was a pain in the ass.

Jesus stood behind the desk and stared at them for a bit. Though they were surprised, they still had a somewhat cocky air, although he was confident that wouldn’t last long.

“Do you two know why you are here?” He asked finally.