He felt groggy.

Suddenly, he saw a pair of tall stilettos walking towards his… head?

Everything seemed upside down.

The lady lowered his face into a vat of liquid.

“AAAAH!” His eyes and skin melted away.

She lifted him.

“You won’t be seeing or circulating any nude photographs anymore.”

Barely, he heard those last words…




She opened her wardrobe and let out an unholy scream.

He started laughing uncontrollably.

She gave him an icy stare.

The laughter sputtered and died down.

She blasted a neat hole through his forehead with her revolver.

After that, she called the police and got herself arrested.

All he had done was rearrange her wardrobe.

Virtual Love


They were worlds apart, yet their love was electric.

She was young and spirited. He was old, but still had a romantic spark.

Just glancing at each other would turn them on.

Then the unthinkable happened… “Take the PC away. He’s too old for our systems.”

The Mac’s hard-disk crashed on the very same day.

Virtual Love



Love and Other Wars

Love and Other Wars

“She sells sea shells on the sea shore.”

“See sells… she shells… see…”

“Ha-ha! See, it isn’t as easy as you thought!”

Just then, their underground shelter rumbled. Another bomb. The shell casing fell inside the shelter.

“Is this a sea shell momma?”

The teary-eyed mother replied, “No, love… this is a shell of hate.”

Missed Connections

Missed Connections

Three murders had caught my attention – one, a famed industrialist, two, a common drug peddler, and three, a renowned pianist.

“Honey! It’s time to eat.”

My mind was neither here nor there.

As my wife turned around, I picked up my revolver. It felt light. I checked the number of bullets.

There were only three.


He gasped for breath beneath the sea. With the water pricking his eyes, he could barely keep them open. He flapped his hands hard, but he was drawn further into the sea. Strangely, the water was hot.

He opened his eyes.

No water. But he was sinking.

The Kalahari consumed his senses. And his body.

Is it? Is it not?


Sweat poured in buckets, down his forehead. It was as if someone held a shotgun to his forehead.

The pressure! What would the press say? How will he handle the questions?

“THIRTY-FORTY!” the umpire bellowed. His opponent was on match point. If he lost, then never again…

He served an ace! DEUCE! Maybe, just maybe…


No good thing ever dies.