Shuggy for Mayor
“Okay, this guy, Shuggy what’s-his-face, he is fairly ambitious but doesn’t know jackshit about politics. Same goes for everything else.”
“That’s not necessarily bad. All he’s got to do is promise he’s going to cut taxes. Also, his sweeping ignorance can be used to market him as the middle-of-the-road type who’d reach across the aisle.”
“What aisle, Frank? We’re a small town, there’s no such thing as aisle here. No aisles. Most people in these parts don’t know the political meaning of the word. Nine out of ten wouldn’t know how to spell aisle.”
“Does not matter, Bill. It sounds just right and they hear it on TV all the time. Truth be told, I am more worried about his lack of education. Every time he writes himself a note he uses capital letters. And he keeps blurting out four-letter words with alarming frequency.”
“Yeah, Frank, that’s kind of worrisome. We have to keep his public speaking to minimum and practice with him the day before. We’ve also got to invest in a teleprompter.”
“Still, I’d feel better if we could turn down debates and let him give only one TV interview, questions submitted several days in advance.”
“Sounds like a plan. We can be sure of one thing, this guy’s going to be obedient like a puppy dog. Might’ve just found the ideal candidate for us.”
“I believe we have, Bill. By the way what’s Shuggy’s real name?”
“For the life of me, I don’t remember. Obviously not Shuggy. Okay, quick mental note: Find out Shaggy’s first name. Not that we’re ever going to use it, except on official papers. Everybody in town calls him Shuggy.”
We told the fledgling candidate to keep it simple, pledge to lower property taxes, eliminate vandalism and petty theft, etc. Still the campaign proved rockier than expected. The biggest problem was that Shuggy couldn’t memorize his speeches and had a hard time reading the prompter.
The promises were well received but the rest of the show remained crude. Shuggy would use curse words whenever he didn’t remember what he was supposed to say, which was always, and threw out witticisms such as “a rollin’ brick don’t make no friends.” He’d repeat the phrase so often that it was gradually becoming the campaign’s unofficial slogan. Worse yet, other towns and villages in our county soon took to calling us “the place with rolling bricks and no friends.”
We had to make several corrections, especially to his favorite colloquial phrases, the worst of which was to end his statements with “I tells ya.” I sat down with him and explained that “tells” is third person singular so it can’t be used with “I.” He asked me, “So who’s that third person we’re talkin’ about?”
Shuggy hit bottom when the local TV interviewed him and he gave the following brusque answer to a softball question on education: “I can’t ponder that issue right now after so much strenuous work and heavy drinkin’ today.” In the same interview later, it got catastrophic when family values came up. “As you all well know I been with the same broad for nearly twenty years. A happily married man, and as such I gotta rely on hookers for sex.”
It must have been his folksy style and the promised tax cuts that got him elected by a sizable margin.
After his inaugural address, which was probably his worst delivery but who could tell by then, we had a celebration party for him. First he got completely wasted on hooch and beer, then expressed love for everybody and announced he’d remember who his friends were.
On day one, he gave all building and road-repair contracts to his friends. On day two, he raised our property taxes.
First published in Dissident Voice on August 28, 2025.
Concise
At the end of the semester, the instructor challenged us to write an essay with body paragraph shorter than the title—at least one word shorter, preferably by two or more. “The prize is high, guys,” he added, “much higher than just getting a good grade. The winner and the runner-up will receive a one-year fellowship in the field of creative essays. In addition to free faculty housing and $80,000 stipend, a generous travel allowance to writers’ conferences will also be provided.”
We looked at each other; talk about early Christmas!
The instructor lifted his hand indicating he was not yet done talking. “You have one hour to complete the assignment, which is plenty of time considering how little scribbling is required. Then, as soon as all the evaluations are in from our panel of literary magazine editors, I’ll tell you the results.”
Next class he announced we all passed, that is, grades between B- and A+. “And now let’s ask our two champions, the fellowship winners to read their long titles and short sentences to the class. Then we’ll discuss.”
The triumphant ones—who wouldn’t have to search for gainful employment the next twelve months—read their writings. Frankly, no great shakes, either.
My grade was a pedestrian B.
My title: No War Can Be Won Without Many Brave Men Dying.
My essay: No war can be won.
First published in Friday Flash Fiction on July 18, 2025.
Possibilism
During the wedding reception several guests asked me about my father-in-law. I told tell them he’d died after colliding with an Amish buggy, a relatively uncommon accident in the San Diego metropolitan area. The old geezer must have been very well liked because it put quite a damper on the party.
When next day I got an angry call from him, peppered with four-letter words, I explained, “Actually, the untimely departed was my imaginary father-in-law from Lancaster County, PA, much older than you. He, despite his osteoarthritis, loved to go for long jogs on country roads weather permitting, and on top of that he believed himself a virtuoso horse whisperer.”
(Artwork by Toni Verkruysse.)
Published in Spillwords on August 27, 2025.

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