Archives
- 11-01-2008
- A Splinter from the Devil's Mirror by Bryn Greenwood
- Between You and the Man-Sized Prophylactic with the Zipper by Tom Bradley
- Chief by Warren Buckles
- 09-01-2008
- Routine by Felipe de Oliveira
- Automatic Transmission by Warren Buckles
- 08-01-2008
- The Axiom of Choice by Jim Chaffee
- 07-01-2008
- A Pleasure Jaunt with One of the Sex Workers Who Don’t Exist in the People’s Republic of China by Tom Bradley
- Making the Switch by George Sparling
- 06-01-2008
- The War Prayer by Mark Twain
- 05-01-2008
- About the Dog by Robert Aqunio Dollesin
- 04-01-2008
- The Coup by Peter Schoenau
- 03-01-2008
- Art School by Zach Plague
- Consitutional Puppies by JR
- 02-01-2008
- Selection from The Vicious Circulation of Dr. Catastrope by Kane X. Faucher
- Party Pooper from Make Me by Eli Richardson
- Una Noche Perfecta para Sanguijuelas por Jim Chaffee (tr. Sonia Ramos Rossi)
- 01-01-2008
- A Night in Cameroon by Kelly Jameson
- Missile by Jason Jordan
- 12-01-2007
- Nothing by J.R.
- Sacrament by Sonia Ramos Rossi
- 11-01-2007
- Green Mountain Incumbent by D E Fredd
- When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot by Robert Levin
- 10-01-2007
- The Book of Ancient Wisdom by Hugh Fox
- 09-01-2007
- Dog Days by Robert Levin
- Junk-Pure by Forrest Armstrong
- 08-01-2007
- Beefsteak Mistake, Jake by Kelly Jameson
- Sand by Jim Chaffee
- 07-01-2007
- How to Make a Baby by Robert Levin
- A Rude Little Monkey by Kelly Jameson
- 06-01-2007
- Revolver by Sandra Ramos Rossi
- Brian and Mona by Jim Chaffee
- 05-01-2007
- El Castrator by Thomas Head
- 04-01-2007
- Alone, As Always by Jennifer Gardner
- 03-01-2007
- Polar Regions by Gayla Chaney
- 02-01-2007
- Two Stories of Sex Beyond Erotica: Editor's Introduction by Jim Chaffee
- Photo Finish by Anya Wassenberg
- Mephisto and Me by Lily Edwards
- 01-01-2007
- Management Case Study 17: Down East Chicken by D. E. Fredd
- MoM by David Quinn
- Full TEX Archive
Constitutional Puppies
By J.R.
"Look, I can't help the poor without a college degree, you know that. I don't even know what I want to do. And one thing sir, if this is real, sir, you're acting, I don't know, unprofessional. Maybe. I don't know, just saying. I can make my own decision. If this is supposed to be an experiment, you shouldn't be haranguing me."
"Roger, in all honesty, you were right about one thing before—you don't know the purpose of this experiment. Do you think I believe any of that bullshit?"
"No, I don't, and yes, I understand that I'm some guinea pig. And I know you weren't lying to me technically, because I don't even know what this experiment is about. I am sure you're instructed to play devil's advocate. But the idea of hitting a button and killing someone in Africa is illogical. We don't have self-destruct buttons inside us."
"True. Yes, you are right; it seems logistically impossible. But what do I know? This is fascinating data."
"Can I go now?"
"Roger, if you really believed what you said, if you thought this was so ridiculous, you'd be pragmatic, hit the button, collect the money, and go home with a clean conscience."
"I hit this button, and I get $500?"
"Yes, you can leave this little self-contained universe $500 richer."
Roger was hungry. Roger was tired. He was a little dehydrated (he worried that he had consumed too much sodium yesterday).
"You guys are gonna run of out money real soon."
He clicked the button. It stayed down.
"You can push it in again if you like. Double-tap it. Double the cash."
So Roger did it. He sensed that he would get paid, but couldn't imagine such a situation really happening. But, surreally, from some yet unseen slit, a crisp hundred dollar bill came out, followed by another, and followed by another, by another…
Ten in total.
Two pages of computer paper came out, one after another, both facing Professor Graber. Roger could see some lines of thick black ink, could see two words separated by a comma, both words on Roger's right larger then the words on the left. The other words on the page were very faint, the ink less dense. Graber took the papers.
Roger couldn't believe this. These bills were real, so crisp and fresh; they were rigid like paper tomahawks.
Graber stood up.
Roger held the money in his lap like a cornucopia of overflowing fruit.
If you liked this story and want to read more, the author will send free, postage paid, a bound edition of his stories. Write J.R. at correspondence9876[@]gmail.com
© J.R. 2007