Thursday, February 26, 2015


In the rafters above the dance-floor of the nightclub I still do occasionally frequent, looking down upon the people as they gather to dance, is Chucky.

That horrible little red-haired demon-doll, much beloved in the Child’s Play series, is not the sort of thing you want, in the midst of a night of revelry, three or four drinks in or, god forbid, enjoying some fun club drugs, to see watching you from above, but there he is, called or uncalled, surveying the scene.

The first time I noticed him I had a panic attack and had to leave the building in order to calm myself down.

I’m not ashamed of this fact, frankly I think most of you in my place would be a little frightened, even if you wouldn’t admit it.

And even today, when I notice him, still there, still watching, I’m mildly unnerved. But only mildly, I don’t know how Chucky got up there, but it’s a goth bar and it’s not completely out of character with the rest of the d├ęcor. More than likely he was placed there for Halloween, or as an inside joke, and forgotten, and as such has remained to this day.

That’s almost certainly it, that and nothing more.

Or perhaps…

Perhaps that’s what he wants us to believe. Perhaps it’s what he wants us all to believe, what he’s been waiting for.

Perhaps he’s up there watching, waiting for us to forget about him, and the day that we finally do he’ll spring to life, leap down into the crowd and reign havoc upon the unsuspecting throng of people amassed for what we thought would be nothing more than a fun evening out, dancing to The Cure.


But more likely it’s nothing.

I’m doing my best to put the matter out of my mind…

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Weekly Prompt Story: Strike

The Smiths
By Christopher Munroe

I did stop listening to Depeche Mode.

I didn’t NEED to, like I said, but change can be good.

I moved on to The Smiths. I also will love The Smiths until I die.

Johnny Marr’s the best guitarist of his age, and Morrissey’s a God.

I own every album, both Smiths and solo, and I listen to them whenever I can, the lyrics are genius, and he’s one of the foundational artists of a genre.

Morrissey isn’t my first crush, that was Ally Sheedy, but he was my third or fourth.

Mayhaps I’ve said too much.

Bigmouth strikes again…

Thursday, February 19, 2015

The Abyss

When you stare into The Abyss, The Abyss stares back into you…

When you look away from The Abyss, it lowers its eyes, blushing.

While you’re in the washroom, The Abyss’ friend, Loneliness, comes over to our table to ask on its behalf whether or not you’re single. I tell her that yes, you are, though I point out that you may not be ready to get involved with something as serious as The Abyss considering what you’ve been through in your recent personal life.

Loneliness tells me that The Abyss is an adult anthropomorphic personification of nothingness, and as such that it can make its own decisions with regard to its personal life, that I shouldn’t worry about it one way or the other and let the two of you make your own decisions.

And I concede that Loneliness is right.

The Abyss has existed since before the dawn of time itself, and It will exist long after the universe has winked out of existence one star at a time, if there were anything capable of dealing with the enormity of your emotionally stunted bullshit, your drinking and inability to commit and your unwillingness to admit that you’re ever wrong, it’s The Abyss. And you, much though I question the choices you’ve made up to this point, are also an adult, and though I sometimes fear for you I know I can’t actually step in and live life on your behalf.

I can barely handle my own problems, after all. I have my shit together by a thread, and I’m clinging to that thread for dear life, I can’t be expected to fix you.

Much though I might want, I can’t fix you and it would be death to try.

You would be a pyre upon which I burned myself to death, if I let you…

So, when you come out of the bathroom, Loneliness, The Abyss and I are sharing a table, laughing over drinks.

The laughter is forced, you can tell it’s forced as you join us, it has that “whistling past the graveyard” quality that all forced laughter does its best to avoid. But you join us anyway.

You and The Abyss hit it off immediately, as though you were meant for one another, made for one another, and when the two of you leave together I can’t even pretend I’m surprised.

It just seems so natural, the two of you. As though it were meant to be, as though your whole life was pushing you toward The Abyss, and as the door swings shut behind you, I force myself to hope for the best.

Yes, this might just be a one-night stand brought on by the stresses of your recent personal life, a night of profound existential despair that, come morning, you can walk away from and start the work of putting your life back together, but I can’t help hoping it’s more than that.

Because I saw the way the two of you were together, you slumped over your drink, The Abyss looming over you, enclosing you, protecting you, and I think that if you play your cards right you could stretch this chance meeting with The Abyss out into a lifetime of ennui.

If you play your cards right.

I know it isn’t the life you’d wanted, but I suspect that by this point in your emotional development, or lack thereof, it’s the best you can reasonably hope for, and certainly all that you deserve. So as you go off, together, I cross my fingers for you and hope for the best.

Myself, I spend my night in the embrace of Loneliness, and hope as I do that future nights bring better things. But that’s okay.

Loneliness is the sort of company I’m used to, I can weather it gladly that you might have The Abyss that you want.

I’m a good wingman that way.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Weekly Prompt Story: I've got "Nothing"

Depeche Mode
By Christopher Munroe

I’ve switched to Depeche Mode and all’s right in the world, because I could listen to Depeche Mode all week every week, forever.

As you well know.

My opinions on the band are known by anyone who’s ever seen me at a club, after all, they’re just incredibly good. Music for the Masses, at the moment, and loving it. Every track is genius, especially…

But none of this is new information.

What am I trying to do, after all, what am I trying to say? I’m not trying to tell you anything you didn’t know when you woke up today…

Thursday, February 12, 2015

The Moon

Since the dawn of time, it’s been the dream of every human being to reach up into the sky and destroy the moon.

What do you mean, no it hasn’t?

Just me? Huh, weird. I’d assumed everyone felt the same burning hatred I did when they looked up at that big smug sphere floating up there in the sky, dickishly smirking down at us as we go about our lives like a hideous, unblinking eye, watching what it has no right to watch.


I’m serious, I’m sick of that thing, I’m sick of it’s arrogance, the way it just sits there in the middle of the sky like it owns the place, like it thinks it’s somehow better than the rest of us down here, somehow above us, I’m sick of how it comes and goes as it pleases without so much as a how-do-you-do or an attempt to ask our permission to intrude upon our night. And most of all, more than anything else, I am sick of the Werewolves.

You guys, I can’t even with the Werewolves. For reals. If I never have to fight another werewolf again in my life it’ll be too soon.

And, with a little bit of luck, I’ll never have to fight another werewolf again in my life, because we’re finally, finally doing it. We’re going to blow up the moon!

No need to thank me.

Oh, right, right, it’s just me that wants that and you have no reason to thank me, I’d forgotten.

Anyway, we’re going to blow up the moon. We’ve built the rocket, my team’s in place and we’ve bought a number of tactical nukes from breakaway former soviet satellites, a process that was distressingly easy to do. We seriously have got to crack down on loose nukes at some point, you guys. I bought, like, a LOT of nukes and never once even felt like I was in any danger of being caught, and I’m not even that smart.

But that’s a project for another day, methinks. Today, the moon must die!

Or, to be more precise, Tuesday next the moon must die, because that’s when we’re scheduled to launch. When the sun rises on Monday, be sure to say goodbye to that fat, evil orb for the last time, because you’ll never have to suffer under its oppressive gaze again! And finally, FINALLY we will be free, free of werewolves but most importantly free of the moon itself! Free!!!

Oh, I know what you’re thinking, something-something-the-tides-worldwide-destruction-something. And also: But what if astronauts some day go to a planet that has more than one moon, and they don’t know until they get there that one of them is a werewolf and he transforms into a wolf ALL the time because two moons and there’s nothing any of them can do because they didn’t pack a gun with silver bullets for their trip to outer space because who even brings a gun with silver bullets to outer space anyway?

And to that I say: Try not to worry.

Oh, worry about the tides, that’s going to be disastrous in ways I can’t even begin to predict, that will be just horrible.

But don’t worry about the astronaut-werewolf thing, it probably won’t be a problem, and if it is, it’s a future-astronaut-werewolf problem, not a you-here-now problem. I’m sure they’ll come up with something. They’re astronauts, they’re pretty smart.

Though I’ll admit, a team of astronauts where one member is a werewolf visiting a planet with two moons that turn him into a wolf full time would make a great ‘50s B-movie.

Okay, you know what? Forget about destroying the moon, new plan: Let’s make a movie!

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Weekly Prompt Story: Eat

Adam Ant
By Christopher Munroe

It’s dog eat dog out there.

No, literally Dog Eat Dog out there, I’ve been listening to old Adam Ant tunes for the past week and it’s gotten stuck in my head.

Which is great, it’s a classic, it’s just that, given time, I fear it will drive me mad.

The driving beat and repetitive chorus, blocking out all other thoughts, distracting me from my day-to-day life, causing me to lose my edge.

And I need my edge.

It’s dog eat dog out there.

It’s dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat WATCH ME DADIO!!!

Sorry, yeah, I may need to switch it to Depeche Mode…

Thursday, February 5, 2015

My Career in Television was not a Long One...

It was, all things considered, surprisingly easy.

Convincing anti-vaxxers that, in reality, ALL science caused autism, and that therefore the only way they could keep their children completely safe from the ravages of the modern world was to move them to a commune and live lives free of technology of any sort, medical or otherwise, took less time and WAY less effort than we’d budgeted. We were, after all, telling them what they already sort of believed and, by virtue of who they were, they weren’t terribly interested in testing the scientific validity of what they were told.

Once on the commune, struggling to set up a viable farming community with basically zero knowledge about the raising of crops, our hidden cameras gave us a look at their day to day lives that we then cut together and brought to our viewers, who ate it up, as we had predicted they would.

After all, these were the sort of people who would argue AGAINST medical science for hours at a stretch, the conflicts started early, came fast and furious and were frequently hilariously insane. Even if you didn’t like the premise of the show, it was hard not to watch.

And watch people did, by the millions. It debuted at number one in its time slot and by it’s fourth episode it was the third biggest show on TV.

“Wake Up, Sheeple!” was a huge hit, and we were rightly celebrated for producing it.

And yet, in spite of this, we never got a second season.

In hindsight, introducing Smallpox in the season finale was a misstep…

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Weekly Prompt Story: The Mesopotamians #FebruEighties

The B-52’s
By Christopher Munroe

Don’t get me wrong, I love the B-52’s. Classic new wave band. Roam, Summer of Love, Good Stuff, all brilliant .

However, the song Mesopotamia, I’m out.

It’s just that they have moments where they’re too cutesy by half, and by “There’s a lot of ruins in Meso-po-tamia” I can’t deal with it.

HOWEVER, I am still feeling the ‘80s vibe, so I switched to Adam Ant. You might agree with this decision, you might not.

That’s fine, I’m used to it.

It happens all the time.

All of those who get to know me, become admires or my enemies…