Tag: humor

How to Make an Artist Miserable

Once, my boss asked me to draw a portrait of his children, but I didn’t want to do it. In order to draw a picture, I have to WANT to draw it. I can’t spend three or four hours huddled over a piece of paper if there’s no passion in my heart. I’m not a picture machine.

But my boss kept hounding me. When I reluctantly agreed to draw his children, he gave me a tiny photo of them. I could barely see their faces at all. In fact, the kids didn’t even appear to have noses. My boss didn’t seem to understand that I needed to SEE the kids in order to draw them.

Since then, I’ve learned how to say no to people. It’s one of the greatest skills I’ve ever learned. My life is so much easier now.

This book is more than a grumpy rant. It’s a story about coping with annoying people. How to Make an Artist Miserable is available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.

© 2015 Matthew David Curry. All rights reserved.

Starlight Desperado

Good morning. My new book is on Amazon now. It’s a story about growing up in church, feeling extremely uneasy about God, leaving church, struggling with anxiety, using substances to cope with that anxiety, and then eventually realizing that God wasn’t the scary monster I thought He was.

I’ve been clean for eight years now. Even though I still struggle with anxiety sometimes, I’ve learned to lean on God and pray during those nervous moments — instead of grabbing pills. My life is much better now. I don’t miss my old habits at all.

The book is available in paperback and on Kindle. 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.

Cat Drama

I had to take my cat Frances to the vet yesterday because of a stubborn skin allergy that makes her itch all the time. As always, the trip to the vet was a challenge. I had to change clothes when it was over. Frances is thirteen years old and full of issues. Even though she likes to snuggle up beside me and purr while I lie in bed, her heart normally burns with hatred for all living things. She often screams at me for no reason. When people come to visit, she sniffs them one time and then walks away, making them feel thoroughly unwelcome. I could tell you more bad things about her, but I won’t.

Frances is a solid black cat with intense yellow eyes. Her body is round and plump. She weighs fifteen pounds and waddles when she moves. Not long ago, my friend Angie looked at her and said, “You look like you’re pregnant with a whole bunch of kittens.”

When I first got Frances, she was tiny. I held her in one hand when I carried her home. She stared up at me the whole time, howling and bawling. I assumed she missed her mother. I assumed she would calm down eventually. She didn’t. Thirteen years later, Frances still stares up at me and makes loud, horrendous noises like she’s trying to tell me something urgent … and she’s upset because I don’t understand her. I live under a cloud of guilt, constantly wondering what she’s mad about, wondering why there’s so much frustration in her eyes, wondering what I’m doing wrong. I feed her quality cat food and tuna. I pet her and talk to her. I scratch her back. But she keeps on flooding me with guilt and shame.

Yesterday, when it was time to go to the vet, I scooped Frances up in my arms and carried her out the front door. Right away, her fur stood up. Her tail bristled like a toilet brush. She squirmed and thrashed with unusual strength. I locked my arms around her and held on as tightly as I could. I walked to the driveway and stood beside my car, struggling to open the driver’s side door and maintain my grip on Frances at the same time. It was a tough job. As if the situation wasn’t hard enough, she decided to empty her bladder on me too. She soaked my shirt. And the side of my car.

Putting her inside the car was almost as hard as pushing a rope up a hill. But somehow I managed to do it. Once she was inside, I threw myself into the driver’s seat and jerked the door shut. I pulled out of the driveway and started down the road, gnashing my teeth and grumbling. Frances waddled behind the driver’s seat and hunkered in the back floorboard, screaming like she’d been shot.

She kept screaming all the way to the vet’s office. And I did plenty of screaming too. Over and over, I yelled, “Frances, I’m taking you somewhere to help you. I’m going to pay somebody a bunch of money to make you stop itching, okay? You’re welcome, Frances! You’re welcome, you’re welcome, you’re welcome!”

When we got to the vet’s office, I stumbled into the waiting room, holding her in front of me like a hostage. I didn’t even try to be gentle. I was too irate for that. My shirt was covered in black fur and fresh urine.

I mumbled to the lady behind the counter. I told her my name. I told her I had an appointment. Then I sat down in a chair in the corner, scowling. Frances sat on my lap, huddled against my stomach with her head down. She still despised me, but she was too scared of the waiting room to pull away from me. We both sat there a long time, quietly hating each other.

I go through cycles with Frances. In spite of her wretched disposition, I always love her. I think of her as a mutant roommate, a furry companion who greets me every day when I come home from the mill. The love never goes away. But sometimes I forget that I love her. Then I just think of her as an angry bag of fluid.

Two ladies walked into the vet’s office together and sat down across from me in the waiting area. One lady held a gray tabby cat in her arms, wrapped in a blanket like a baby. The cat’s eyes were half-open. He looked groggy and feeble. The lady holding the cat never spoke at all. She just cried continuously and held the cat against her chest, petting his head the whole time. The other woman leaned forward and whispered to me for few minutes. She told me the cat’s name was Oscar.

It was time to put Oscar to sleep, she said gently.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I bit my lip. I felt sad for them. They weren’t just bringing the cat in for a routine visit. They were bringing him in for the last time. They were saying goodbye to a friend. It was a dark day for them.

I looked down at my own cat. She was lying on my lap like a sack of potatoes. I picked her up and held her close. I stroked her fur and looked into her strange, yellow, alien eyes. I kissed the top of her head. I told her I loved her.

Eventually, the vet called me back to one of the examination rooms. I carried Frances into the room and placed her on a cold, metal table. She looked up at me, meowing softly, sniffing the air. The vet trimmed her claws and gave her a quick shot in the butt.

I paid for the shot and left. Frances and I were both happy to get back in the car. The ride home was much different. We stayed calm and quiet. She didn’t scream at me. I didn’t scream at her. We just listened to classical music all the way home.

***

Thank you for reading. You can click here to visit my Amazon page. All my books are available in paperback and e-book format. I write science fiction, Southern Gothic, and humorous essays. 

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