The Gynecology Office

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by: Greg Pellam

I found a dirty penny on the ground. Now I had quite a story to tell, and yet I had no one to whom I could tell it. There were many people, more than ten, I'm sure of that, but I think less than twenty. But I found the one quickly, something about his green John Deere hat screamed: "Kindred soul here!" like a neon sign. Stealthily I made me way through the crowd of motley aristocrats and well-to-do children until I was standing next to him.

Waiting for the perfect moment, I said to him, "I have a cold woman."

"Excuse me?" he looked at me differently than I had expected.

"I have a cold woman."

"I am not a woman." He said.

"I said, 'I have a cold woman.'" I said.

"Yes," he said, "to which I replied, 'I am not a woman.'"

I thought for a moment, and upon realizing the misunderstanding, I corrected myself, "I have a cold woman. Meaning my woman is cold. I wasn't calling you 'woman'. If that were the case, then my statement would have been: 'I have a cold, woman.'" He smiled briefly after my clarified annunciation.

"Ah," he still seemed slightly staggered by the conversation to that point, but then he continued, "I see, but don't sing the blues to me. I haven't a woman in my life to complain about."

I smiled.

The Condom Expidition

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by: Greg Pellam

I couldn't believe my eyes, but I really could. I knew it wasn't an impossibility, so I chose to give them the benefit of the doubt. It's probably just the last thing you'd expect to see upon opening your underwear drawer. Well, I suppose, I would expect to see this in my underwear drawer before I would expect to see a bloody human head, or a million dollars, or a deity of some sort there, especially if you put it there. But I didn't put it there. When I had first seen it, I reached down to pick it up, but realizing that it was a used condom that I saw in my underwear drawer, I recoiled in disgust. I racked my brain to figure out where it had come from. My first thought had been, "Hanna! How could she cheat on me?" I dialed her number quickly and, after the usual 17 rings, she answered her phone. I asked her about the condom. I asked her if it was hers. She paused for several moments and began screaming something about how could I call her at work and accuse her in this accusatory tone?! "...And finally," she said, "Why would I cheat on you in your house? Perhaps you should ask your wife!" She hung up on me. I couldn't believe it would be Matilda, we have a relationship based on honesty and trust. She knew that. I began to laugh to myself with pride. "Heh heh, Cody, my boy, Cody my ... man." I walked down the hall towards his room. Outside the door, I heard a lot of moaning. Not wanting to interrupt, I entered the room unanounced. Upon finding my son in the act of masturbating to a poster of Lara Croft with his left hand and playing Half-Life by ear with his right, I realized it wasn't him.

I was utterly perplexed. I couldn't believe that it could be Matilda. I considered it for a moment, perhaps it was her. I saw my dog Joan, I patted her on the head. I was reminded of an earlier time in my life.

The Homelessexual

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by: Greg Pellam

Tony was gay. He was also homeless. I don't care if he's gay or not. What he does in the privacy of his own home is no business of mine. When I first met him, he was sitting outside the convenience store. I was just going in to use the ATM. I needed $17 to buy my son a book he had been asking for. It was called "Sticks and Stones May Brake My Bones: 170 Methods of Self-Mutilation." I wasn't going to buy it for him. He told my wife that the title was "doubly decieving." He spoke always in an alienating alliteration, it usually didn't make sense. My wife said I should buy him the book because he needed an active hobby, "Something," she said, "that can get him out of the house and help him make friends." I consented.

The sex was bad.

Tony asked me for cash. I ignored him. He followed me into the store. "Oh thanks, man, I really need this." I thought I had ignored him. I was going to give him the remaining three dollars from the twenty I had to withdraw. Andy, the guy who worked at the convenience store, wouldn't give me change without buying anything. If I bought something, I would no longer have three dollars, so I took Tony with me to book store. He was an interesting man. I bought the book and gave him the three dollars. I went home and saw my wife.

The sex was great.

Jesus was a Pornographer

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by: Greg Pellam

The awards ceremony was just moments away before I realized I had won. But it hadn't always been this ay. Just a year ago, if someone had told me that I would be the recipient of the highest honor awarded to East Somali pornographic filmmakers (The Benjamin Joseph Zhumghali Memorial Lifetime Achievement Award for East Somali Pornographic Filmmakers), I would have had a good laugh and sent them on their way. The award, which we in the business call The Benjamin Zhumghali Lifetime Achievement Award, or TBJZMLAAFEAPF for short, to this point had only been given to pornographic filmmakers who had immigrated to East Somalia from the West. Their twenty year monopoly on the award resulted from their obvious financial and physical advantages. Fortunately though, several weeks ago I watched a pornographic film for the first time and was told about the award and dedicated the rest of my life to winning the TBJMLAAFEAPF for my people. The struggles I faced in the following weeks were myriad and inconsequential I learned a lesson and I changed the world, then I changed it back. My wife still shivers with ecstasy when I wave my TBJMLAAFEAPF statuette in front of her in bed.

Cleopatra Didn't Show

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by: Greg Pellam

Paul Simon's lyrics laced my thoughts and the angst poked at my wrist like a warm needle. "It's a light and tumble journey..." I thought to myself. Gerald Ford told me that and I closed my eyes. I picked up my guitar and began to strum a tune, the words came to me: "I found Jesus Christ today..." and I closed my eyes. I always prefer to admire my writing with my eyes closed. The Golden Girls were on TV and I closed my eyes. I couldn't remember what I was going to write. The novel in my head disappeared. So I began to write again, and the crowd in my head stood and cheered. It made sense to me. My wife and son came in from outside. They had been shopping. When my wife took her keys out of her pocket and laid them on the table, some change fell to the floor. I followed quickly after and searched through the change. I couldn't find a penny. I had to open my eyes. She was beautiful.