Category: fiction

Bedtime Stories for the Emotionally Exhausted

Fairy tales with practical results

Annika found the old teapot on the beach. As she rubbed the sand off, a Djinn popped out. “I will grant you three wishes,” he said, with great solemnity, despite all the sand in his face. 

Annika thought for a minute. “I wish for a billion dollars.”

The Djinn crossed his thick forearms and nodded his great head. “Your wish is granted,” he said, his sonorous voice reverberating in the sea air. “And your second wish?”

Annika thought for a minute, though not as hard. “Nope, I’ve got a billion dollars. I’m good.”

And she left. To live on a billion dollars. 

Full story at Inglenook Lit [June 22, 2026]

Best of 2025 Somewhere

I just discovered I made the Weekly Humorist Best of 2025. (#64 down).

I just discovered I made the Weekly Humorist Best of 2025. (#64 down).

The piece:

Corporations Count as People, and Thanks to A.I., I Am Now a Real Boy
The Weekly Humorist [March 31, 2025]

Thanks to A.I., the Fundl Corporation is now a real boy.

Many years ago, the Supreme Court ruled that corporations were people too. Thanks to A.I., the Fundl Corporation is now a real boy.

I was also in Best of 2024 and 2023.

Homebody, a travel story

“That’s the time machine?” Sarah asked, since he hadn’t offered.

This started as one thing and I’m not sure how it became this other thing.

Tom entered the shed and turned on the overhead light. He edged over to let Sarah in. He motioned for her to close the door behind her. Sarah motioned that this was ridiculous. It drifted on its hinges and partially closed on its own. He shuffled over to the wall to the right of the door, the nail holding the rake snagging his t-shirt for an inch before releasing it. There wasn’t much room. It seemed a mistake to be in here wearing flip-flops. She kept her ankles as close together as possible without falling over while she found a level spot. Sarah looked around, which didn’t take long: The gas lawn mower; the partially filled hole described in his hilarious groundhog invasion story at the cookout last Saturday night; six useless flowerpots, cracked and spilling dirt; and the time machine.

“That’s the time machine?” Sarah asked, since he hadn’t offered.

“Homebody” by Walt Maguire. The Saturday Evening Post Friday Fiction