Author--Larry Webb

Larry Webb

The Attorney General sat in the snack bar at the back of the congressional bookstore, nibbling on cannabis laced chocolate brownies while sipping his coffee. 

Life was good since President Webb’s unfortunate demise a year previously. That’s when, at the end of his gynormous parade, his Space Force rocket mysteriously went out of control and bypassed the moon instead of encircling it and then landing again on the parade grounds as planned. 

For some reason or the other, it had soared directly into the sun and melted. Much to the AG’s glee, he hadn’t been insulted once since. In fact, the new president had stayed refreshingly low-keyed. It was almost like the new POTUS guy had been avoiding him. No problem. The AG liked it that way.

In fact, the only thing concerning the AG these days was the fact that the president always looked at him with this strange, eerie expression on his face anytime they happened to meet up. He couldn’t help but wonder if POTUS was somehow suspicious. After all, it had been him who’d pushed the button to send the rocket on its journey—obviously, the most glorious and self-fulfilling day of his life.

As the AG sat there, peacefully enjoying himself, his cell phone rang. “Now, who the hell can that be?” he asked . He and the merchant behind the counter were the only ones there, so he could rant a little about it out loud without bothering anyone. “I told everyone I was in the middle of an extremely important mission and didn’t want to be bothered.”

He took another bite of his brownie and then looked at the name on caller ID. It said, PRESIDENT WEBB. 

“What? Is this somebody’s idea of a joke? Webb’s cell phone, telephone number, fifteen Twitter accounts, and email have all been decommissioned since he died. This has gotta be a humungous hack job of some kind.”

The phone continued to ring and never went to voice mail.

“Would you answer that damned thing?” Yelled the merchant, who was cleaning the glass countertop with Windex spray and a paper towel.

Finally, the AG had heard enough and couldn’t ignore it any more. He knew it had to be a robo-call. Smiling, he decided to give it his best robo-call response when, on those rare occasions, he actually answered one of the damned things. 

“Hello! You have reached the secret CIA Assassination Squad. No way could you have ‘accidentally’ called this number. Therefore, you will be eliminated. Do you have a preference for your body disposal? We always recommend the Dead Sea.”

“Bullshit! AG, that is the lamest thing I’ve ever heard you come up with, and you’ve come up with some doozies. You always were the most worthless piece of crap I’ve ever met. Why I never fired you is way beyond my imagination. SAD!”

The AG recognized the voice immediately. It was either President Webb or his freeking ghost. “What? This can’t be you. You’re dead. I saw the close up video replays from the telescope. You and the VEEP flew directly into the sun and your Space Force rocket disintegrated. I saw it! I saw it! You’re dead! You have to be.”

“I don’t think so. Admittedly, we are in a much different place, but I don’t think we’re dead. When our rocket exploded, we fell for, what seemed like, forever and then landed in a huge bright-red giant body of blood—known here as Blood Lake. Since then, the only problem we’ve really had is the heat. The blood in the lake is kind of boiling, making everyone sweat copiously when they first get here. It’s nothing like the delightful lakes on my own, private golf course. At least there aren’t any gators here, and that’s another plus. However, I don’t want to talk about those giant blood snakes bobbing their heads in and out of Blood Lake for air—gross!”

Sweating profusely himself and stomping back and forth behind his library table with his delicious brownies long forgotten, The AG screamed, “You’re in Hell—right where you belong!”

“Quiet over there,” yelled the merchant. 

“You’re bothering the other clientele—namely me.”

The AG glared at the man behind the counter. Didn’t that idiot know who he was?

“Irrelevant!” President Webb continued. 

“That’s not why I called. I wanted to be the one to let you know you’re practically on your way here to join me. Let’s face it, I know what you and the generals did. My genius allowed me to figure it out. After all, let us not forget, I am one of the smartest individuals on the face of the earth.  

Anyway, I finally managed to get used to this insufferable heat a bit. It took almost a year, but now I’m good. So, with that little problem taken care of, I asked one of these weird looking dudes running around here with forked tails, tongues, and always carrying a pitchfork how I could get you here. He graciously complied, after I told him I need a masseuse to rub in my suntan oil and hair bleach. I figured, after all, you were completely useless as my AG so maybe you could be of some kind of value to me somehow. If nothing else, I need an oarsman for my raft out here on Blood Lake.”

“No! No! No!” the AG screamed. “I’m not going there. I’ve had it with you. I’ve been faithful my whole life. My Savior loves me. He won’t let this happen.”

“Oh, you seem to forget. I’m the greatest deal maker ever born, and I’ve made a deal. Like I said, you’re practically on your way.”

“Forget it!” The AG screamed again. “No way I’m ever going there.”

About that time, the merchant slammed his fist on the back counter. “Either you knock it off, or I’m calling 911. This is your last warning.”

Getting more and more frustrated, the AG flipped him the bird and then concentrated on his phone again.

POTUS Webb continued, “Oh, don’t worry about a thing. You’ll love it here. And, in the whole scheme of things, you don’t really have to sit naked in that barrel of boiling oil they stuff you into on arrival all that long—only a few months. It just seems like forever when you’re doing it. Sure, you’ll sweat abundantly at first, and a lot of your excess skin and body fat will melt and peel off, but you get used to it. Then, finally, they’ll let you go cool off in Blood Lake, which is only bubbling a little in comparison to the barrel of oil. At least you don’t have to worry about snow, and that’s a good thing. Oh, yeah, the torture chambers are no big deal either. I’ll be more than happy to be your tour guide.”

As the AG screamed again, the merchant lifted the receiver from the phone hanging on the wall. Within mere seconds, security rushed the scene.

“You’re not taking me anyplace,” the AG shrieked at them, reaching in his front pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He shook it at them, planning to call his people.

He never heard the shot. The next thing the AG knew, he was falling through the air, tumbling end over end, and flailing his arms. It was then when he opened his eyes, only to see a huge bright red body of blood directly below him and President Webb with wide open arms and a huge smile on his face. He was standing beside his raft and leaning against its mast, which was carrying its beautiful skull and wishbone flag.

 “Welcome home, LOSER!” POTUS called out to the AG.

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Really Short Shorts is a compilation of forty short stories—most ranging from four to six pages. There is a wide range of topics included. Most of the stories deal with people--from little kids to seniors. Most of them involve some humor. Some are pure fantasy, others are more serious. Keep in mind that my ultimate goal in writing is to entertain myself. If you enjoy my stories, then that's a plus. Read and enjoy.
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