Bob Flicker Presents


A Series Of Very, Very Short Stories






(Too Busy To Read? Not Any More. Now Read An Entire Story Over A Cup Of Coffee.)


Today’s Emotion: GREED



-No Indians Allowed-


         New Mexico had the biggest ranch in ten counties. How many Indians did he have to kill to get it? He lost count after he reached two hundred, that owing to the fact he couldn’t count any higher. As for the Mexicans, there weren’t that many he killed, maybe seventy or eighty. He wounded a lot and maybe some of them died and that would add to his total


         It’s true that his name gave him trouble but New Mexico was the only name available and it was a lot better than his given names, Percy Poopotty. The names, Texas, Oklahoma, Montana, Nevada, Wyoming and even Arizona and Idaho were taken and Kentucky wasn’t western enough.


         He no longer was the fastest gun in his part of the country. That title now belonged to that Jewish kid, Kid-Jew they called him. Fortunately for New Mexico, Kid-Jew gave up gun fighting to become a standup comic in Santa Fe.


         Trouble for New Mexico rode in on a white horse. He sat tall with no saddle and was called EM Horse (EM being the initials of it’s owner, a masked Indian known as Easy Money on Horse). Next to him rode his temporary partner, Kid-Jew, who had taken a few weeks off from his standup gig in Santa Fe to help his masked Indian friend. It would be the masked Indian, EM Horse, and his partner, Kid-Jew, against the greedy killer, New Mexico and his gang of cutthroat ranch hands and perverts.




         EM Horse, the masked Indian, figured it out. He opened a gambling casino. In a matter of weeks, New Mexico and his gang of cutthroats and perverts went broke gambling and lost the ranch, cattle and horses. EM Horse gave the ranch, cattle, horses and all the stolen land back to his Indian brothers who celebrated the return of their lands with their Drum Dance.

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         Kid-Jew ran the casino and continued doing his standup comedy routine (occasionally shooting a trouble-making customer).


         New Mexico became a drunk and had the job of cleaning out the spittoons in the casino.


         EM Horse opened six more gambling casinos and became the richest masked Indian in the territory.




You Can’t Have Everything


         From the time he was a baby there was never enough of anything for him, now he owned anything worth owning in the town of Pigsberry. Stanley Schmink-Dinkle (Schmink on his father’s side and Dinkle on his mother’s side) was miserable. There was only one think that Stanley knew how to do and that was to make money, lots of money. Now, there was nothing left in Pigsberry to make money with and he marked his 35th birthday being rich, alone, and hopelessly in love.


         They went through grammar school together. Clarrisa was always blonde, beautiful, plump and poor. Stanley Schmink-Dinkle expressed his love to her in kindergarten by giving her his half-eaten candy bar that he promptly took back when he found he could sell it at a profit to Fatty Fartzwhistle. Clarrisa never spoke to him again and that was 30 years ago.



        Clarrisa never finished high school. She got pregnant and married Big Jim Junkbottom, the star of the high school football team. Their marriage lasted one and one half years and produced four children (two sets of twins).

Stanley Schmink-Dinkle looked on, still hopelessly in love, and kept on making money.


         Now, they were both thirty-five years old. Stanley was a lonely, rich bachelor and Clarrisa was divorced three times with six children and still blonde and beautiful, full-figured and still poor.


         Stanley heard about Clarrisa’s eviction from her mobile home due to her failure to meet her mortgage payments to the bank. There she was with her six children sitting on an old sofa in front of her former home, surrounded by the few worthless things she and her children still owned.


         Now, at last, was his chance to win Clarrisa. He made a call to the bank on his cell phone and bought Clarrisa’s mortgage. He was about to present the paid up mortgage as a gift to Clarrisa and her six children when Fatty Fartzwhistle drove up and made Stanley an offer for the mobile home that he couldn’t refuse.


         Stanley Schmink-Dinkle pulled the paid-up mortgage out of Clarrisa’s hand and sold it to Fatty Fartzwhistle at a big profit and lost the love of his life, forever, muttering, “You can’t have everything.”





         Smeddly loved Honey-Bunny (at least he said he did) and Honey-Bunny loved Smeddly (so she thought she did). He didn’t mean for Honey-Bunny to take him at his word when he said, he couldn’t live without her love. Smeddly was greedy. He wanted all of Honey-Bunny although there was so very much of her to go around.


         Honey-Bunny was beautiful, buxom and dumb. That’s the way Smeddly wanted her, beautiful, very buxom and dumb. He lied to her when he said he loved her so much that he would die a lingering, painful death without her love.


         Honey-Bunny met and fell in love with Creeper Crickferry and at the same time fell out of love with Smeddly. Honey-Bunny felt sorry for Smeddly, taking him at his word that he would die a lingering, painful death without her love. Although she no longer loved Smeddly, she felt guilty that she would be the cause of his dying a lingering, painful death.


         Honey-Bunny did, what she thought was the right thing. Creeper Crickferry was a hit man for the local mob. She had Creeper shoot Smeddly and end his suffering from his lingering, painful death without her love (so she thought).







         It was Angus McKloo’s final, stadium performance after forty years of playing before sold out crowds. He had become rich and famous beyond his wildest imagination and now it had come to an end just as he knew it would when he first was lent the battered, old acoustic guitar and agreed to the terms.


         He sat back in the same old, orange easy chair he had for those past forty years, (a gift from the old man), alone in his dressing room long after everyone had left. The old acoustic guitar stood, leaning against the wall giving no hint to the magical power it possessed. He recalled what it was like before he received the guitar. “Angus McKloo,” he spoke aloud, “you were an over-aged nobody singing and playing in bars to people who never listened, talking and laughing over your performances.”


         His thoughts drifted to the night that changed his life. It was his thirty-fifth birthday, his career was nowhere and he was alone and lonely. There were just six people in the bar when it was his turn to sing and play for the lousy, few dollars he was paid to humiliate himself.


         He was in the back room of the bar, putting away his electric guitar when the old man shuffled in holding a battered, old, acoustic guitar.


         “Not a very good audience tonight.” said the old man sympathetically.

         Angus looked up from where he was putting his electric guitar in its case. “Nope. Never is.”

         “Happy birthday.”

         “How’d you know it was my birthday?”

         “Oh, it’s my business to know those things.” the old man replied, running his fingers across the strings of his acoustic guitar. “Could be better. A great deal better.”

         “What could be better?” replied Angus, just trying to be civil.

         “Your career as a performer.”

         “Sure. Sure.” Angus took his guitar case and started to leave.

         “Wait!” said the old man. “I have a proposition for you.”

         “What kind of a proposition?”

         “I will tell you tomorrow night after your performance in the bar.”

         “What has that got to do with anything?”

         “You will see. Oh, yes. You must play this acoustic guitar.”

         The following night the bar was packed with standing room only. How did that happen? Angus took the small stage accompanying himself on the old, acoustic guitar. The standing room crowd went wild, calling him back again and again.


         The old man was waiting for him in the back room of the bar. “Congratulations.”

         “It was the acoustic guitar, wasn’t it?” said Angus excitedly. “It was like...like magic.”

         “It was magic.”

         “I want the guitar but...but I can’t afford to buy it.”

         “Yes you can.” replied the old man, smiling.

         “How? Tell me how!”

         “You can have the acoustic guitar for one year and for that one year you must give me one year of your life.”

         “You want me to trade you one year of my life for one year of performing with the acoustic guitar?” replied Angus, disbelief showing in his tone. “Suppose...just suppose I can repeat what happened tonight for the next year and—

         “And you will but for only one year. After that you will be where you are now—nowhere.” interrupted the old man.

         “It’s a deal. I can’t be any worse off than I am now except for losing one year of my life that isn’t worth very much.”


         And so it came to pass that for one entire year, 365 days, Angus McKloo, with his borrowed acoustic guitar, was the most popular performer in the music world. It was standing room only at every performance. On the 366th day he appeared for a stadium performance only to find the stadium was empty of people.


         He stood alone on the stage, bewildered and frightened. The old man appeared from one of the wings carrying an orange easy chair. He walked up to Angus and took the acoustic guitar. “The year is up.”

         “No! It can’t be!” Angus exclaimed, knowing full well it was true. “I must have the guitar!”

         “You can have it but for a price, a price you will not be willing to pay.”

         “How much? I’m rich now. I can pay anything you ask.”

         “It is not money I want.” replied the old man, clutching the guitar with both arms.

         “What is it then?” exclaimed Angus, hysteria creeping into his voice.

         “The same arrangement as before except longer.” answered the old man.

         “You mean you want a few years of my life for the guitar? How many? Two? Three? Five?”


         “Forty? I didn’t notice the one year of my life I traded for the one year performing with the guitar but forty? I can’t be a performer at age 76.”

         “I understand.” replied the old man. “I will collect your forty years now but will not use them until the end of your performing career in forty years. If you agree then mark this date, July 4, 1975.”


         Angus nodded and took the magical guitar in his hands and was handed the orange easy chair. “The easy lounge chair will give you comfort after each performance.” That was the last thing he remembered of the old man. A spot light momentarily blinded him and the roar of a stadium filled with his adoring fans found him ready to deliver what they wanted this July 4, 2015.”


         Where those forty years went was more than he could explain to himself as he layback dozing in that ever so comfortable, orange lounge chair after the concert. He heard the old man’s voice first.

         “It’s collection day.”

         The voice was familiar but when Angus looked up from his orange, easy chair he saw a young man. He knew, at once, who it was. “It’s you!”

         “Yes.” replied the young man. I have collected on our arrangement.”

         Angus stood up and hurried to the mirror on the wall. The face he saw was that of a 76-year-old man. Next to the mirror was a calendar with the date July 4, 1975.  

         “Why is this old calendar hanging on the wall?”

         “It isn’t an old calendar.” replied the young man, formerly the old man.

         “What—what happened to those forty years of success?”

         “You dreamed them in the orange lounge chair.”

         “And—and the magical, acoustical guitar?”

         “It was there on your lap while you napped for one hour and dreamed of your forty years of success.” answered the young man taking the guitar.

         “I gave up forty years of my life for—for a dream?”

         “ Did the dream seem real to you?”

         Angus hesitated before replying. “Yes.”

         “Your dream was all you ever wanted. Isn’t that true?”

         Angus nodded.

         “Who can ask for anything more?” replied the young man, leaving Angus in his orange easy chair to ponder about his bargain.




Look for more VERY, VERY SHORT STORIES dealing with all the emotions. If you have an emotion you would like me to create a very, very short story for, let me know, I’ll try to accommodate you.


Bob Flicker


 © robert 2014