Tag: comedy

Finding Drake Novak

Drake Novak is an alien who feeds on the misery of other life forms. He runs a factory in a small Southern town — and he systematically torments all the workers. A young cop from the Galactic Precinct comes to Earth to arrest him. Finding Drake Novak is available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.

You can click here to learn more.

Copyright © 2016 Matthew David Curry. All rights reserved.

What’s Left of the Stars

My new e-book is called What’s Left of the Stars. It’s available on Kindle for 99 cents. It’s a wacky science fiction story for kids. (I’ve been working on this project since last summer. That’s why I haven’t posted much art lately.)

Nora lives in a little house on an asteroid with a cruel, evil man named Mr. Sly. Nora dreams of escaping from him. One morning, a meteor crashes into the roof and destroys the house. Mr. Sly dies in the explosion, but Nora survives. As the house burns, Nora crawls into Mr. Sly’s fancy space car and stares at all the glowing buttons on the dashboard. Terrified but hopeful, Nora flies away in search of a new life.

You can click here to see more.

Copyright © 2019 Matthew David Curry. All rights reserved.

Barack Obama and the Interstellar Highway

Barack Obama rode his silver unicorn down the Interstellar Highway. He sat up straight in the saddle, smiling at all the stars and galaxies. The Interstellar Highway was made of green, translucent pavement. It looked like an emerald that stretched on forever and ever, shimmering in the dim starlight. A steady current of air blew along the highway all the time, allowing Barack to breathe easily. He didn’t have to worry about a space helmet or a cumbersome oxygen tank. He just wore a black business suit and a light blue tie. His tie flapped gently in the cool breeze.

A little shortwave radio was tucked inside one of the saddle bags. Cuban dance music poured out of the speaker. The drums, the maracas, the acoustic guitars, and the wild piano gave him a warm, happy feeling inside. His soul tingled. He tapped his feet in the stirrups.

Up ahead, he saw a restaurant attached to the edge of the emerald highway. A neon pumpkin flashed on top of it.

Barack leaned back and tugged on the reins.

“Let’s stop here, Jerry,” he said.

The unicorn slowed to a stop. Barack switched off the radio and dismounted. For a moment, he smoothed out the wrinkles in his business suit. He raised his chin and adjusted his neck tie with a quick tug.

Then he pushed open the door and stepped into the restaurant. He was the only customer in the building. He looked around at all the empty chairs. The orange walls were decorated with bats. The front counter was black and covered with fake spider webs. The cash registers looked like tombstones.

A young woman slouched behind the counter. She had short pink hair and green eyes. She looked bored and sleepy. She stared down at a plastic tray on the counter like she was in a trance.

“Welcome to Halloween,” she said in a dull monotone without looking up.

“Good evening,” Barack Obama said, approaching the counter. “I would like to place an order for a bowl of chili and a large Frankenstein milkshake.”

Behind the counter, there was a wall that was supposed to look like stone. In the middle of this wall, there was a doorway. Barack Obama peeked through the doorway into the kitchen area. He saw an old woman with a hairnet carrying a large bag. Barack thought it was a bag of flour.

“Would you like to try our fried scorpions?” said the girl with the pink hair. “They’re only ninety-nine cents. They come with your choice of honey mustard sauce or sweet and sour sauce.”

Barack held his head high and clasped his hands together in front of his body. “Today, I only want to concentrate on the chili and the Frankenstein milkshake. But please don’t feel discouraged. Don’t cast away your hope. I’m not rejecting the scorpions altogether. In the future, you and I will engage in an open, candid discussion about the other food items you offer. I look forward with great anticipation to all the wonderful meals that lie ahead.”

“Okay,” the girl said, tapping the buttons on the tombstone cash register.

Barack opened his wallet and handed her some cash.

“I’m so pleased to be back here in the Upper Universe,” Barack said, glancing out the window at the stars. “I spent a great many years down in the Lower Universe. It was dark and tedious. Time passes at a much slower rate in that dimension, you know. And they don’t have emerald highways that alter reality and shorten distances. Down there, you have to travel in cars, trains, and airplanes. It’s outrageously slow. But I accomplished many things I’m very proud of. I was the president of a large country. And I also did some surfing. I’m pleased with all those things. Very pleased.”

“Do you want crackers with your chili?” the girl asked.

“Yes, please,” said Barack. “Give me a pack of oyster crackers. No, make that two packs of oyster crackers. Do you know where I’m going now? I’m on a trip to Andromeda. The ruler of that galaxy is a huge, magnificent sloth with sixteen heads. I wrote a haiku poem about him on a grain of rice. I wrote it with a pair of tweezers and a molecule. It was a difficult task, but I feel like the poem was a good one. And he enjoyed it as well. He’s going to present me with an award for it. I’m humbled and honored to accept it.”

“Here’s your food,” the girl said.

She handed him a small plastic pumpkin with chili inside it. Then she gave him an orange paper cup dotted with bats. It was filled with cold, green slop.

“What an extraordinary meal,” Barack said. “I look forward to eating it. I look forward to it with great anticipation.”

“Don’t forget your oyster crackers,” the girl told him.

She gave him two packs of oyster crackers. Barack tore them open and sprinkled the crackers in the chili. Then the girl gave him a couple of plastic spoons. He picked up his chili and his milkshake and carefully made his way to one of the tables.

He sat down at the table, smiling. He admired his food for a long time before he began to eat it. When he did start to eat, he closed his eyes and savored each bite. He thought about how good it felt to be back in the Upper Universe. He loved traveling among the stars with his silver unicorn again. It was so much better than the White House.

While he finished his meal, he heard a loud smacking noise somewhere in the kitchen area. He looked toward the front counter. Now the old woman with the hairnet was talking to the girl with the pink hair. They were leaning close to each other and whispering frantically.

“The bag,” the old woman was saying. “You know, the big bag. The one with all the scorpions in it. I accidentally dropped it. It hit the floor and busted wide open. All the scorpions came out.”

“How are we going to catch them?” said the girl with the pink hair. “There’s way too many.”

The old woman moaned. “I reckon we’ll just have to stomp them all. Stomp them as fast as we can.”

Barack noticed something moving on the floor near the end of the counter. A herd of shiny red scorpions ran across the floor in a high-speed exodus.

Barack grinned. He took one last sip of his Frankenstein milkshake and stood up. He walked out of the restaurant. Outside, his unicorn still waited patiently by the front door. Barack reached inside the saddle bag and pulled out the shortwave radio. It was a gray rectangle no bigger than a deck of cards. He switched it on with a flick of his thumb. Cuban dance music burst out of the speaker. It was a tiny speaker, but the sound quality was superb. His spine tingled as he heard the fast-paced drums, the maracas, the acoustic guitars, and the wild piano. It was the most glorious sound he had ever known.

Barack walked back into the restaurant. By this time, the floor was covered with red scorpions, running in every direction, celebrating their new freedom. Barack placed his radio on the table. He raised his hands in the air and began to snap his fingers. He tapped his feet. Then he flung himself across the room in a flurry of wild movement, dancing so fast that his legs became a blur. The music flowed through his body like electricity through a power station. He crushed hundreds of scorpions under his heels in time with the music. He leapt over tables and soared through the air, smiling the whole time. His face glowed with joy.

The girl and the old woman stared at him with their mouths open.

Soon, only a few scorpions were left alive. Barack Obama crossed his arms over his chest and started hopping on one foot. He bounced across the room like a pogo stick, killing the last of the scorpions. He continued to smile and glow.

When all the scorpions were dead, Barack stood tall and proud in the center of the restaurant.

“Thank you,” said the girl with the pink hair. “Thank you so much.”

“Sometimes life calls us to take action in ways we never could have anticipated,” Barack Obama said, straightening his suit and adjusting his tie. “In these moments, we have to find the strength inside us to answer that call. When life gives you scorpions, don’t let fear grip your heart. Don’t collapse. Don’t falter. Instead, turn on your radio. Turn on the Cuban dance music and complete the task that lies in front of you. Good night, my friends.”

Then he picked up his shortwave radio and walked out the door, into outer space. He climbed onto his silver unicorn and continued on his journey down the Interstellar Highway.

© 2017 Matthew David Curry. All rights reserved.

You can click here to visit my author page on Amazon.

 

Leaving the Nest

Here is an excerpt from The Quality of Life in Outer Space

Gary lived in a nest of shredded magazine pages. Every morning and every night, he sat in his nest and stared at a miniature television set with a black and white screen, one he had found in a junk pile. Most of Gary’s knowledge about the world above him came from the television.

His nest was located on a windowsill in the basement of an old, old spaceship. All the ship’s garbage fell into the basement through trap doors in the ceiling. Gary spent his days flying over the garbage piles, searching for scraps of food and interesting pieces of junk. He was always careful to avoid the vulture beetles. They ate everything (including metal) to make room for more garbage.

Gary didn’t live alone on the windowsill. An octopus human hybrid lived in a cardboard box right beside him. The octopus looked just like any other octopus except he had a human face (with baggy, bloodshot eyes) and breathed oxygen and complained about all of Gary’s soap operas.

One morning, Gary sat in his nest, watching a commercial for a steakhouse located on the top floor of the ship. He wondered what it would be like to eat in a steakhouse, to eat firsthand food rather than dirty old scraps someone else had tossed out.

The octopus slouched in his cardboard box and looked out the window at the stars.

“Hey, Gary, do you see that thing out there?” the octopus asked.

“You mean that giant asteroid?” said Gary. “Yes, I see that. What about it?”

“It’s coming straight toward us,” said the octopus.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not a problem.”

“Maybe you should go upstairs and mention it to somebody,” the octopus told him, shifting his bloodshot eyes back and forth.

Gary shrugged. “I’m sure they already know.”

“Maybe not. They might not be paying any attention. Everybody’s in a big frenzy. They’re all excited about the debate or something, aren’t they?”

“They’ll see it soon enough,” said Gary, shaking his head and wishing he could enjoy his soap opera in peace. “How could anyone overlook something that size?”

“I don’t know,” the octopus went on. “When you watch the evening news, you get the impression that most of those folks upstairs aren’t too bright. You know what I mean? You may want to just run up there real quick and, you know, mention it to somebody.”

“Not now,” said Gary.

“I think you should.”

Gary cleared his throat. “I may do it later.”

“It might be too late,” said the octopus, peeking out the window.

“Why can’t I sit here in my nest and watch my program?” Gary shouted, flapping his wings and grinding his teeth. “Can you at least let me have that one luxury? Please? Every day of my life is a bland, worthless echo of the one before it. I crawl out of my nest, I fly around this dark room, I find scraps of food for us to eat, I avoid the vicious vulture beetles, and then I return to the windowsill. Television is the only oasis I have. My only other form of recreation is gazing out the window at the black, infinite void and thinking about my futile existence.”

The octopus rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to miss anything, Gary, That show is a re-run, remember? All these people die at the end.”

Gary flapped his wings and screamed, “I’ve never seen this episode before! Why do you have to ruin it for me? Why?”

“Well, now you don’t have to watch it. You know how the thing’s going to end. Now run upstairs and tell somebody about that big space rock.”

“No!” Gary yelled. “Stop harassing me!”

“It’s getting closer. And it has little red patches. Looks like lava on that thing. What about that? A big ball covered in lava is coming at us. And you want to watch soap operas.”

Gary turned away from the miniature television and looked out the window again. He realized the octopus was right. The asteroid was getting closer. And there were red patches on it.

“But how would I get upstairs?” Gary asked, trembling. “The garbage associates hardly ever come down here. The doors are locked. I couldn’t go upstairs if I wanted to.”

The Quality of Life in Outer Space is available on Amazon. The book is aimed at younger readers, but adults would get a laugh out of it too. The paperback is $5 plus shipping and handling. The Kindle edition is $1.99. You can click here to order.

Summer Reading

Gary is an eagle with a human head. He lives down in the bottom of a giant spaceship and watches old soap operas. One morning, his octopus friend looks out the window and sees an asteroid coming. He urges Gary to fly to the top floor and warn the people in charge. Gary has never left the basement in his life, but he reluctantly flies upstairs on a mission to save the ship.

During his journey to the top floor, Gary learns that the ship left Earth a long time ago because war and pollution had ruined the planet. The original crew flew into space searching for a new world. But a hooded figure known as the Law Master (who talks to his dead mother’s head) overthrew the captain and took over the ship. Since the Law Master doesn’t actually know how to fly the ship, he keeps everyone divided into two groups and encourages them to argue all the time. No one realizes the ship has flown in circles for many, many years. They’re too busy yelling and screaming at each other.

Gary struggles to reason with the yellow team and the orange team before they all die. The Quality of Life in Outer Space is a good book for kids to read in the car during a summer road trip.

I wrote the book in early 2016 when business was slow at the company where I work. I was laid off for a few weeks, so I sat at home and wrote this demented little book while eating Little Caesar’s pizza and drinking hot chocolate. The main character is loosely based on a collage I made when I was ten years old. I cut out a picture of Jim Morrison’s head and glued it to a picture of an eagle. My friends and I giggled about it for a long time. I’ve never forgotten that.

The Quality of Life in Outer Space is aimed at younger readers, but adults would get a laugh out of it too. It’s available on Amazon. The paperback is $5 plus shipping and handling. The Kindle edition is $1.99. You can click on this text to order.

Copyright 2016, 2017 Matthew David Curry. All rights reserved.

The Space Cop

Carl and Christine watched an Atlanta Braves baseball game on their old TV. They were both in their eighties. They both wore thick glasses and hearing aids. Carl sat cross-legged in his armchair, staring at the TV with droopy eyes and a lopsided grin. He wore a button-down shirt, slacks, and brown suspenders. Christine sat on the couch not too far from him. She had a pen in her hand and a folded newspaper on her lap. She was more interested in the crossword puzzle than the baseball game. She wore a pink house dress and black tennis shoes.

Carl and Christine lived in a brick house in the country near the outskirts of Malmut. Their front porch overlooked a small lake. In the back yard, there was a garden, a few peach trees, a rusty tractor, a storage building, and a Chevrolet pickup truck.

As they watched the game, a big white ball came down from the afternoon sky and landed in their front yard beside an oak tree. The ship looked like a golf ball big enough for a man to stand in. Carl and Christine sat straight up, straining to see out the front window, staring at the big ball. They looked at each other, confused.

“Is it some kind of egg?” Christine asked.

“I don’t know,” Carl said in a deep, rumbling voice. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. But I don’t think it’s an egg. I can see a window on the side of it.”

A door opened on the side of the white ball. A young, tall, lanky man stepped out and looked around. He stared at the lake, the sun, the hills, and the house. He wore a shiny red helmet, yellow tights, and white boots. He held a device in his hand that looked like a TV remote control. He slapped the device a few times, shaking his head.

Carl and Christine sat frozen in their seats, staring out the window. As they watched, the stranger in the yellow tights walked through the yard and climbed the brick steps leading up to the porch. A minute later, he tapped on the front door.

Carl stood up and walked across the hardwood floor, frowning and tugging on his brown suspenders. Carl was a tall man with long arms and long legs. He pulled the door open but not all the way. He looked into the stranger’s eyes.

“Can I help you?” Carl asked, still not opening the door all the way. Christine stood beside him, leaning back and forth, trying to get a good look at the visitor.

“Yes, I’m sorry to bother you,” the young man said, taking off his helmet and tucking it under his arm. “My name is Malpheus Mallock. I work for the Galactic Precinct.”

Malpheus looked like any ordinary human being from Earth. He had a mop of wavy brown hair. His neck was long. His Adam’s apple bulged.

“I’ve come to Earth to arrest somebody,” Malpheus explained, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “I know he’s in the local area, but my tracking device has stopped working. The man I’m looking for is an energy parasite who likes to enslave people and feed on their pain. He’s a member of an ancient, evil race. Thankfully, most of them have died out.”

***

You’ve been reading an excerpt from Finding Drake Novak, a science fiction comedy about a malevolent alien who runs a factory in a small town and feeds on the misery of his employees. Finding Drake Novak is available on Amazon. The paperback version is $6 plus shipping and handling. The Kindle edition is $2.99. You can click here to order.

Copyright 2016, 2017 Matthew David Curry. All rights reserved.

Under the Electric Sun

With rubber paws and synthetic fur, Tristan looks just like a real raccoon. But he’s not. He’s a government-issued tutor. He can talk, crack jokes, and give history lessons about World War III. Unfortunately, Tristan has developed a cynical attitude about life because his last student always abused him and swung him around by his tail.

However, Tristan’s current student is a gentle young man named Jake Sheldon. The two are best friends. They live in a vast, high-tech city under the ruins of Washington, DC. People have lived in the underground city ever since a nuclear war poisoned the surface nearly a hundred years ago. One afternoon, Tristan and Jake visit Bailey Park, a large room filled with plastic trees and tiny speakers that play recorded bird songs. As they sprawl out in the artificial grass, an alien visitor approaches them and says he has studied Earth for many years.

After informing Tristan and Jake that it’s safe to live on the surface, the alien leads them on a journey up a long staircase. While Tristan and Jake are delighted to see real trees and sunlight, their lives quickly become more complicated than they ever could have imagines. As they taste freedom for the first time, they also suffer immense pain and tragedy.

Under the Electric Sun is available on Amazon. You can click here to order.

Copyright 2013, 2015, 2017 Matthew David Curry. All rights reserved.