Stork Raving Mad: Wednesday’s Free Write

While taking a Creative Writing class in college, I was asked by the professor to spend an hour each day writing fiction.  It could be about anything I wanted.  The point of the exercise was to get used to writing on a daily basis.  After many years of being lost on one of my thumb drives, I have recovered them.  


Stork Raving Mad

The wedding far exceeded my expectations, and I can say with confidence that Sarah felt the same.  Her white dress received nothing but compliments from both sides of the family. I have already wasted too much time writing about the dress, and this is nowhere near where I want to go.  A far better way to start this tale would be to say that when a man and a woman fall in love, they want to express their feelings physically.  Unfortunately, certain things can get in the way.

We arrived at our suite on the island of St. Lucia after a long flight featuring two feature-length films starring Carrot Top.  As a believer in Karma, I saw this as a sure sign that the honeymoon would not disappoint.  The week the Reese’s Big Cup appeared in stores, for example, I lost my job and the ability to perform simple math equations.  Interestingly enough, I was re-hired the day after switching over from Skippy to Jif when I calculated that the change would save me well over forty thousand dollars in the course of my lifetime.

After an entirely satisfying meal, Sarah and I rushed back to our room to engage in some marital relations.  Unfortunately, very unfortunately, we were stopped.

The giant stork was at least considerate enough to knock on the window.  I slowly rose out of bed in order to investigate the situation.  Incredibly, he spoke to us, and in our native tongue.

“It is vital that I speak to the both of you this evening,” he said.  I, like anyone else in such a position, froze in disbelief.   “You must not keep on what you’re planning.”

“Who are you?” I bravely asked.

“I am The Stork.  I’m in charge of delivering human babies to the world,” he said.  Sarah sat up in the bed, since the subject of children sparked her interest.

“You can’t possibly exist,” she said.


“I’ve heard it so many times over the years.  You see, when you’re children you discover the truth early on.  You find out where babies come from, and they come from me.  For some reason, when you get a little older you start believing that babies come as the result of sexual reproduction.  And, let me just say, that is the silliest fallacy you people have ever created.”  Now I knew it was a dream, or at very least a hallucination.

“Alright then, what about pregnant women?  What about the fact that children often resemble their parents?  What about all of those births in hospitals?”  I knew he could not reply to these with anything reasonable.

“Your minds couldn’t possibly comprehend the complexities of this illusion.  If I even hinted at the truth of it, you would surely fall dead where you’re standing.  All I’ll say is that the very idea that humans have complete control over the creation of life is laughable.”   I found it quite convenient that he dodged any true explanations, but I went along with him.

“Fine, then why are you here?  If sex has nothing to do with it, why are you here?”  The Stork then shattered the window with his beak and crawled through the opening.  Sarah and I shrunk back into the covers.  He stood, over six feet, at the foot of our bed, with wings fully spread.

“I can’t take it anymore!  Your son waits in the wings.  I’m breaking the rules.  I’m changing the system that has stood for thousands of years.  Take him.  Take him now, and don’t ask me any questions.”  At that moment, he tossed the baby boy at Sarah, who caught it in the sheets.  In a flurry of feathers he escaped through the window.  I watched him fly into the night sky before vanishing in a flash of light.

There’s a lot I don’t know, but I do know that before our honeymoon there were two of us, but after our honeymoon there were three of us.  Two plus three equals five.  That means we need to buy more peanut butter.  I am not concerned about financially supporting my ever-growing family.  If one jar brings in forty grand, then three jars will support all five of my kids for the rest of their lives.



“Oh no, I’m all out of money,” said one of Peter’s customers.

“Well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles,” Peter responded.   Upon hearing those words, the customer jumped over the counter. He pummeled Peter’s face until there was only blood and clumps of flesh. Dozens of witnesses looked on in horror.

At another location, moments later, another fatal exchange occurred.

“There are still large chunks of cookie in here,” said a customer.

“That’s how the cookie crumbles, sir,” replied an employee.  The man pulled out a knife in front of his children, and stabbed the employee thirty times in the chest and head.

At the end of this day, an employee at every cookie crumbling shop in the world met a bloody end.   Peter Crumb’s wife turned to food for comfort after her husband’s death.  She died when her stomach exploded after eating twelve pounds of cookie dough.

More than a hundred years later, experts are still searching for a reason why that catchphrase had such a negative effect on everyone who heard it.  Some believe it to be a curse on the Crumb family.  Peter’s great grandfather had saved a small community from an evil warlock by sealing him in an ancient tomb.  The warlock apparently put a spell on all of his descendants before rats gnawed his face off.  Others insist that it was purely coincidence.


What do I think?  I think there was something in those cookies.  It also explains how Mrs. Crumb ate herself to death.  She needed them so badly that she could not wait for them to cook.  All of the killer customers faced some setback in their cookie eating experience.  The catchphrase merely pushed them over the edge.  Or maybe it was a curse.  Maybe that warlock had a sense of humor.

Free Writing: Monday and Tuesday

While taking a Creative Writing class in college, I was asked by the professor to spend an hour each day writing fiction.  It could be about anything I wanted.  The point of the exercise was to get used to writing on a daily basis.  After many years of being lost on one of my thumb drives, I have recovered them.  

Monday and Tuesday

            We live in a time of professionals.  As children, we want to grow up to be policemen, firemen, astronauts, actors, ballerinas, and of course, any kind of athlete.  We want to be heroes, and sometimes superheroes.  The following is a tale of a profession that has not existed for nearly a century.   During its short existence, it provided the masses with a service that brought happiness to all corners of the globe.  It should have been one the greatest success stories in human history, but it fell victim to the very saying that it created.

Most humans with taste buds know the satisfaction that comes from biting into a good cookie.  Peter Crumb, a British schoolteacher during the late 19th century, appreciated the taste of cookies more than any normal person should.  He spent his weekends perfecting the old family recipe, which called for four sticks of butter and a half pound of chocolate.  On one occasion he was found passed out on the floor after consuming nearly a full pound of batter.  The next day he ate six cookies.


Peter would have been just another man with a sweet tooth if not for a student named Bill Lewis.  Peter brought in a batch of cookies to class every Monday, which brought a little sunshine to the children.   On one particular day he placed them on the floor in order to clear some room on his desk.  After no more than thirty seconds he heard the sound of a box being flattened.  Bill Lewis slowly lifted his foot from the now crushed container, and turned to face the wrath of his peers.

“Now wait a minute students,” Peter said.  “A cookie in pieces tastes just as good as a cookie whole.”  Brushing off the mud from Bill’s shoe, Peter opened the box to find all them smashed.  “I suppose what we’ll do is reach in for a handful.”  After sharing with the students, Peter took some for himself.

The taste of crumbled cookies elevated Peter to dessert heaven.  From that moment on, he vowed to spread his newly discovered joy to all the people of the world.

When he told his wife that he wanted to open up a cookie crumbling shop, she responded, “That’s an awful idea.  Who would pay for broken cookies?”

“Don’t think of them as broken.  Think of them as reborn, like the phoenix.”

It took nearly two months of convincing, but Peter’s wife inevitably came to support her husband.  They built a modest cookie stand on one of the busier street corners.  The sign read, Crumb’s Cookies, which Peter decided was divine providence since a man cannot choose his own name.  On the menu were four varieties, including chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin, and sugar.  No one requested anything other than whole cookies that first week.

Walking to the cookie stand, one day after school Peter came up with a solution to his crumbling problem.  He removed the sign and replaced it with a new one, which read Crumb The Cookie Crumbler.  Immediately, people asked about crumbling, and Peter sold out his entire batch.  This was the beginning of the phenomenon.

Peter was able to upgrade his stand to an actual store within the first six months of sales.  People from all over Great Britain came to taste his special brand of crumbled delights.  By the next year Peter and his wife were living the high life with more and more shops spreading throughout Europe.  Everyone raved about “the greatest invention since the cookie.”  But, like with most fast rises to fame, the Crumb’s, along with their shops, soon fell hard.