The Verse They Can Do

Life-Altering Poetry from Lembrey and Quibble



Ball Puncher
by Victor Lembrey

Pain is such a waste of time she said.
She’s often mistaken for a teacher
Or a stupid ass.
Pain in necessary he said
But no one was listening
So he bought a megaphone
With a loan
From a woman named Joan
Who’d grown
From the last time he’d seen her.
You look big he said
So she punched him in the balls.



Jour Par Jour
by Maven Quibble

Jour par jour
My toes hurt
More and more.
Where’s my friggin’ foot cream stuff?

The Cul-De-Sac of Office Drones

A Poem by Oliver Cassidy



I don’t like you.
You don’t like me.
So what are we gonna do about it?

Nothing, I guess.
Just keep working together,
Hating each other.

Great.
Just great.

Two Rules for Happy Living

A Five Chapter Story by Maven Quibble



Chapter 1
We traveled very far to meet him. When we first arrived, he gave each of us a dark chocolate bar. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said. “It’s what life’s all about.” One of us said, “Dark chocolate? That’s what life’s all about?” He told us to shut up and sit down.

Chapter 2
Three young women with perfect faces and curvy bodies took our coats. We were rocked by their beauty. “Ask yourselves a question,” he said. “Why do you think they hang out with me?” One of us said, “Because you pay them?” Another offered, “They’re your sisters?” Again, he told us to shut up and sit down.

Chapter 3
He lived in a cool house near the ocean. Modern design, lots of wood and stone. He said, “These girls hang out with me because I’m addictive. And why am I addictive? Because I follow my own rules.”

Chapter 4
His rules were the reason we came. We’d heard about them. We’d heard about this guy who created his own rules for living and how everyone considered him the happiest man on earth, so we decided to pay him a visit. “Just two rules,” he said. “They’re all you need to know to live a happy life.” So we asked him what they were.

Chapter 5
He had a heart attack and died. The women blamed us and called the police. We were arrested and jailed. We asked the police if they saw a notebook or a piece of paper or something with two rules on it. They told us to shut up and sit down. So we thought, could that be it? Shut up and sit down?

The Backup Plan

Fiction by Victor Lembrey
Author of Explaining My Cupcake Habit



When Mr. Hall was twelve, one of his goals, which he documented in a journal, was to visit each of the fifty states. Mr. Hall is now eighty, and sick. He feels close to death and he’s worried. Despite a life filled with significant professional accomplishments and a fifty year marriage to a wonderful woman, he has never been to Idaho, and time’s running out.

Last Saturday, as Mrs. Hall spoon-fed her husband some mashed bananas, an anonymous letter arrived in their mailbox. Mrs. Hall opened it and read it. It’s not important who I am, the letter began, but rather, who I was, and what I have to offer. I own some beautiful property in BLACKFOOT, adjacent to a lake. If you like, you may use my property as a burial site, but only on one condition: you must both agree to never visit BLACKFOOT, or any part of IDAHO, ever, prior to your deaths.

Mrs. Hall was confused and frightened. The letter was yellowed and typed on what was surely a very old typewriter. The anonymous writer included a contact address, but no phone number.

“Amazing, truly incredible, but it seems too good to be true,” Mr. Hall said after his wife read the letter aloud.

“Why would you even consider this?” Mrs. Hall said. Mr. Hall thought for a while. He explained that he thought it was a neat little compromise. Mrs. Hall reminded him that he had never been one to compromise his goals, so why start now? He said he didn’t see it that way. He saw it as taking advantage of a unique opportunity, a clever way to – in a way – fulfill a goal he had no other way of realistically fulfilling. She expressed concern about the mystery of it, the motive, the creepiness of the anonymous benefactor, the legitimacy of the offer, the denial of visitation rights and a few other things, including the caps lock on city and state, as if variables on a form letter. Mr. Hall waved her off.

“I don’t think you’re thinking this through,” she said.

“I’d like you to contact this person,” he said. She fed him more mashed bananas and attempted to change the subject. He resisted at first, staying on topic, asking to dictate a letter, but he soon became confused and tired and then asked to be left alone to sleep. Mrs. Hall wiped his mouth and adjusted the covers. She kissed his head.

Mr. Hall is now sleeping. He is dreaming of being a twelve-year-old, writing in his journal. BACKUP PLAN he writes in big red letters. Then, underneath: In case I miss some states, I will write detailed letters with blank spaces, and work out that great idea I have about filling in the blanks with cities and states and having them sent to me when I’m old. I’m not sure about all the details yet or how this will work, but I think it’s a great backup plan. Hopefully, I’ll visit every state and won’t have to do this. And hopefully, if I don’t visit every state, it won’t be more than one that I missed. I don’t think this idea will work any other way because I’m not supposed to be cremated. That’s a sin. Maybe if God changes the rules, I can be cremated and sprinkled on more than one state. But the main goal here is to avoid this super-clever backup plan by visiting all the states.

Of course this memory never happened, this is a dream, but Mr. Hall is making it happen, making his mind okay. He needs to feel safe. Smart. In control. He needs to know that when he sets a goal, he reaches it. He’s at the end of his life, a very delicate time for logic and sanity. Plus, he’s never been averse to taking credit for others’ work, so the dream flows guiltlessly.

Still, this doesn’t explain the anonymous letter. The impossible coincidence. Who would know to do such a thing?

The Pancakes Setup

Mad Skills by Maven Quibble



I didn’t know much about Peru, so naturally I was anxious when Terrance sold our house and told us we were moving there. Now that I’ve been here for a while, I still don’t know much about Peru, other than the incontrovertible fact that I hate it more than anything, more than anything the greatest creative minds in the world could concoct if asked to create the most odious thing ever. Peru blows.

I can’t find pizza. I can’t find Yankee caps. What kind of a place is this?

You know what’s so stupid about Peru? They have mailmen who wear giant purple hats. I’m not kidding. Terrance has been fixed in slot numero uno on my UNCOOL list since the move and he has little chance of getting off unless we move somewhere else. Soon. I keep asking for Chile or Turkey, but he ignores me and serves me pancakes instead.

HAHAHAHAHA! Serves me pancakes! Get it?! HAHAHAHAHA!

Damn, yo! I am SO friggin’ AWESOME!

The Thibideaux Situation

Advice from Oliver Cassidy



Back during the first week of February, when Matilda – who at the time was wearing a short wool skirt, black stockings and black heels – asked if he’d be interested in signing up to run the 10K race in McLaren Park, Thibideaux said, “Sure, cool,” and signed up. He rarely said “cool.” Matilda, in whatever outfit, was his weakness. She clouded his mind. He had a thing for the fitness girls. Plus, he’d been meaning to get back in shape. Three months seemed like the perfect amount of time.

Three months later, it was race day, and he hadn’t trained a day, not one day, and at first he thought he needed an excuse. He would not run the race like a wounded gorilla and embarrass himself. What if I have to walk? What if I throw up? Why the hell didn’t I train? There was no way he would run the race. Then Matilda saw him in the hall and asked if he was running and he said yes. Cowardly instinct. She was wearing a tight red t-shirt and jeans and he said yes. So at first he thought he’d go. I’ll run the race. I’ll try. I’ll take it slow.

What Thibideaux didn’t know was that Matilda was trying to give him a heart attack. Literally. Dave Ball, Thibideaux’s underling at the office, wanted his job and wanted him incapacitated or dead. Ball was secretly dating Matilda, and made it clear to her that what was good for him was good for her. In the event of Thibideaux being removed from his position, Ball promised Matilda twenty percent up front of whatever his new salary turned out to be (likely in the $150,000 range), and a meeting with his cousin Ellis, a Hollywood casting agent. Matilda wanted to act.

“Show Thibideaux your headshots,” Ball once said as Matilda rode him. “Be innocent about it. Ask what he thinks. Get him involved. And make sure you show him the saucy schoolgirl shots.”

“Okay,” said Matilda. She pushed her breasts together and smirked.

“I want you in his mind as much as possible. I want him distracted.”



The night of the race, while Matilda ran her eight minute miles and Ball manned a table of plastic cups of Gatorade Ice (one of which was laced with adrenaline), Thibideaux quietly ate a late dinner with his wife. He was turning ideas over in his mind. What do I say tomorrow? Should I call in sick? Say I got sick tonight? His wife popped a thought balloon when she asked how his day went.

“Fine.” He nudged a yam with his fork.

“Anything interesting happen?”

“Not really.”

They ate in silence for a few moments.

“Wasn’t that race tonight?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“So… I guess you’re not running it?”

Thibideaux dropped his fork on his plate and grabbed his wine glass. “Does it look like I’m running it?” He marched to his den and clicked on The Daily Show.

If Thibideaux knew the truths of his life, his head might explode. He’s not particularly good at his job. He doesn’t take very good care of himself. His wife, rightfully so, is cheating on him. Why shouldn’t she? He’s distant and unappreciative. And his weekend wardrobe is despicable. His kids barely notice him. A woman at work is using him for profit. A man at work is trying to kill him.

A friendly warning: don’t let this happen to you.

Fourteen Stupid Questions

A Dozen and Two Inquiries from Maven Quibble



ONE:
If you abbreviate the word infinity, does it matter?

TWO:
Can you wear toast?

THREE:
What's the difference between someone who dies and someone who up and dies?

FOUR:
Can the President declare war on a little girl?

FIVE:
Is it possible to nap while skydiving?

SIX:
Can you lead a horse to water and make him smoke?

SEVEN:
Is anyone unfit to be tied?

EIGHT:
If you can feel felt, can you smell smelt?

NINE:
Can you judge a book by its back flap?

TEN:
If you're driving to a halfway house, and you're halfway there, aren't you really a quarter of the way there?

ELEVEN:
Can an individual letter be misspelled?

TWELVE:
What's better, an F or a zero?

THIRTEEN:
Can you milk a cow in your mind?

FOURTEEN:
How many times can you step on a bug before it completely disappears?