Stories by Crazy

A little crazy never hurt anyone…

Category: Fiction

Billy Bombs

Like most foreign exchange students, Kyung was a fish out of water, taking everything in for the first time. And while his homestay parents were kind people, his portly homestay brother Billy gave him the same disregard most would discover from an incompetent politician. If he had a choice, Kyung would probably trade Billy for the politician – or any other creature less despicable than Billy.

Everyday, Billy would taunt Kyung from the school bus stop all the way to the lunch room, upon which he would steal his foreign exchange student’s meal. If he could get away from Billy, it was usually in the bathroom – which was seldom – or after being shoved into the locker by Billy. Any friends that Kyung made, Billy would drive them away faster than a pied piper.

It was a miserable two years, seven months, and ten days for Kyung. But soon, he would graduate and return home to his motherland, and he prayed for the strength everyday to simply survive his host brother.

One particular day, Billy was in a fouler mood than usual. As such, he took out his frustration on Kyung by locking him out of his own room for enjoyment. It took nearly four hours to get it unlocked, by then which his host parents were upset that, according to Billy, Kyung had neglectfully, or intentionally, locked himself out of his room. That, Kyung decided, would be the last straw.

Kyung contemplated – no conspired – to take his own righteous and furious anger out on Billy. However, unlike his fat housemate, he bided his time, hoping to unleash his justice at the appropriate time: his last day to stay at the house. Yet, as long as he persevered under Billy’s abuse, Kyung could not formulate adequate retribution.

Until one day at lunch, when Kyung’s class took a field trip out of school. It was largely a forgettable trip involving a university campus tour, but it was the lunch break at a particular burrito restaurant that left an impression with Kyung. While ordering his meaty burrito, the line cook asked if he would like the special hot sauce. Accustomed to things of spicy nature, he decided to give it a shot, and the cook brushed a simple toothpick dab’s worth of special sauce onto Kyung’s burrito.

What he ended up tasting was the hottest ghost pepper sauce he had ever tasted. Enough so that it took an entire carton of milk and a bland bowl of rice to dull the pain. As he fanned his aching tongue, inspiration struck Kyung with so much clarity that he knew precisely what his mission and the necessary steps were to accomplish his revenge.

A bottle of DA BOMB sauce in hand, Kyung gleefully returned home, hid the explosive diarrhea inducer, and counted down the days. Twelve. Nine. Six. Four. Then, the day of Billy’s reckoning.

Packed and ready to move out, Kyung prepared a last meal for his host family as a measure of his thankfulness. While his host parents received delicious plates of teriyaki beef, Billy chowed on a special plate of spicy chicken, claiming he was man enough to take the heat. And he sure was, not only eating one serving but three.

As the family retired for a moment before Kyung’s departure, Billy began to feel a certain bubbling that most would find unmistakable. He thought it was nothing, but as the minutes ticked by in front of the television, Billy realized that the reactor in his stomach was reaching a critical mass. If proper measures were not taken soon, he would have a meltdown – and Kyung watched in devious anticipation.

Billy rushed to the toilet, slamming the door shut and immediately taking his seat on the porcelain throne. What proceeded next was the most violent, bombastic, Jackson-Pollock-esque, painful waves of spray diarrhea ever to occur in the household. Billy clutched the walls, the toilet seat, anything that would give him enough brace to withstand the strength of the terror that continued to escape him.

While Billy was lost in his euphoric expulsion, a CLICK came from the door. Billy jerked his head to see that the doorknob had been flipped the other way, and was now locked from the outside – with the now interior knob sealed with crazy glue to prevent keyed unlocking. On the other side of the bathroom door, Kyung smiled to himself, holding the last and only roll of toilet paper in the entire house.

Panic began to overtake Billy, as all the towels and all other suitable replacements to wipe his now tarnished backside were unavailable. What he did not realize was that the water to the house had been shut off after the meal, and any attempt to flush would be halted, and any attempt to clean oneself was impossible.

It was also time for Kyung to leave. Still in the middle of his overflow, Billy could not respond to his parents’ calls, and seeing as he would be late for his flight, Kyung and his host parents left to depart and say final goodbyes. Billy, however, painfully remained alone in the house with no access to cleanse himself or escape the stench of his own contemptuous misgivings until many hours later.

And so it was, that after all the mean things that he imparted onto Kyung, Billy was left with nothing but the flatulent bomb of his discontent.


The Bandage


Jason opens the oven door to clear out the excess pots and pans, and to rearrange the oven racks. He mutters his narration, trying to keep himself on task as his girlfriend, Elaine, is due to arrive in an hour. The pressure is on for this first experience as he activates the oven.


He hesitates, but then rummages through the refrigerator. He pulls out a bowl of brined chicken, a container of diced tomatoes, and another container of chopped garlic and onions. In a fury, he lays out the chicken on a glass baking dish, purees the tomatoes with the garlic and onions, and pours over the saucy concoction over the poultry.

“Where’s the cheese?”

Jason moves back to the refrigerator, rummaging for the mozzarella and parmesan. After a few moments-

“Ah! Got ’em!”

Quickly, he shreds the mozzarella before getting the grater to dust the top of the dish. He vigorously pushes the parmesan against the grater, so much so that he accidentally nicks his thumb.


He holds his injured finger betwixt his lips as he tries to find a bandage. He rips open five drawers before he finally finds the first-aid kit in the cupboard. No time for antiseptic — just a bandage.


“Aw, crap!”

Jason barely applies the bandage when the oven signals its readiness for cooking delectable deals. He shoves the prepared dish into the oven, set the timer, and moves onto the salad. Before he knows it, the front door to apartment resounds a KNOCK-KNOCK!

Jason rushes to the door, his apron flapping. He opens the door to Elaine, her floral dress and hoodie pairing.

“Hey, Jason!”

“Hey, Elaine! Come on in! I’m almost done making dinner.”

“Mmm. It sure smells good!” she exclaims.

Jason guides her to the dinner table, set with homemade mason jar candles, rustic placemats, and shined dinnerware. Elaine sits in awe at the elegant effort, examining the beauty amidst the chaotic backdrop of a bachelor pad.

“Have a seat!”

Elaine plops down on the couch, baring her soft shoulders with the removal of her hooded sweatshirt. From the kitchen, Jason schizophrenically loses his mind between the dinner and Elaine. And her shoulders.

“How about some wine?” Jason calls from the kitchen.


Jason fumbles with a bottle of cheap Bordeaux wine and a corkscrew. “You look really nice tonight!”

Elaine replies, “Thanks. And thanks for making dinner and everything.”

“Of course!” he exclaims, gritting his teeth, bracing against a wall, pulling with all his might.

POP! Finally… Jason checks the cork and notices that his bandage is missing. He frantically looks around, but cannot find his misplaced bandage.

“Can I help with anything?” Elaine asks as she approaches the kitchen.

Quickly, Jason grabs a wine glass, and in cool fashion, pours out the wine as Elaine enters.

“Uh, no! Tonight is my treat!”


“Well, I hope you’re hungry,” Jason says with a smile, handing Elaine her glass. She sits at the table, while Jason tries to pull himself together from the nervous wreck he has become.

He steels himself as he sets the table with the entree and main course, taking extreme care to plate the food for Elaine. He smiles at her as he sits down at his seat.

“Let’s eat!” he exclaims. The two bite into their chicken parmesan.

“Mmm…” Elaine licks her lips. Jason’s satisfaction with Elaine’s satisfaction is almost palpable, and all seems to be running smoothly for a romantic night in… until he sees his bandage dangling from her tongue.


Elaine continues to chew, but as she does, her facial expression shifts from enjoyment to curiosity to worry, and eventually to disgust as she peels out the very wet, very sauced bandage from her mouth.


“Elaine, wait! Let me explain!”

Her gag reflex kicks in as she vomits over the table, splattering onto Jason’s front and into his mouth. She kicks out of her seat, dragging the table cloth, food, and place settings with her. Meanwhile, Jason tries to wipe away the spittle and fragments on him and potentially in him.


Elaine grabs her purse and rushes for the door, but not before vomiting again by the shoe rack, right into Jason’s shoes.

“Oh, come on!” Jason cries out.

She cranks open the door and start to leave. Jason catches the door at the last second and pulls it open.

“Wait! What about dessert?” he asks longingly.

Elaine gives Jason a most confused and annoyed look, before another gag convulsion, followed by a very liquified spray of stomach contents. She holds her mouth and rushes off, leaving Jason at his door in a complete mess. He sighs as the coagulated drips fall to the ground, and he shuts the door defeated.

Brewing Trouble in Little Teriyaki

Stan sits at his local Startrucks, a chain coffee shop that had a truck theme, typing away at his laptop. He puts the finishing touches on his midterm essay, and as he sends the paper to his professor, he leans back and heaves a sigh, taking a sip from his overpriced, burnt, heavily-sweetened iced coffee. Finally, some me time, he thought as he opens a social media website.


The nearby patrons give a bewildered look in Stan’s direction. He plays it off as nothing as he continues perusing.


Stan’s nonchalant demeanor quickly turns to panic as he packs up his belongings at fast food restaurant rate. He shoulders his backpack and rushes to the men’s restroom. He pulls the handle, but finds resistance. No! He waits, but then remembers a Hamburger Emperor across the plaza. Surely they have a restroom!

He runs to the Hamburger Emperor and strides towards the restroom. He enters, but only to find a scraggly “OUT OF ORDER” sign on the only stall. He contemplates the validity of the sign as he opens the door, but quickly sees that the sign was telling a rather stinky, malignant truth. He gags as he shuts the door and exits.

He taps his foot furiously in the hallway. He glances at the women’s restroom and hesitantly takes a step to open the door. A woman walks out just as he reaches to push the door. They exchange embarrassed glances.

“H-hi,” Stan says as he tries cover his motives. The woman shoots him an angry-inquisitive look as she walks away.

Dang it! What to do, what to do?

He stomps out of the restaurant, panicking and clenching. He looks around furiously for a different establishment, and lands on a local teriyaki restaurant. He runs as fast as humanly possible whilst clenching his cheeks. The cashier greets him with a very accented, “Hello!”

“Hi, do you have a bathroom?!”

The cashier replies in Chinese. Stan gives him an unsure look.

“Oh, you not Chinese?” the cashier asked. Stan quickly nods no. “Oh, bathroom in back.”

“Thank you!”

Stan rushes for the back, shuts the door, sets up a nest, and relieves himself. In the history of his emergencies, this topped the list as the most urgent and explosive of all. It didn’t matter to Stan that the smell was nauseating, or that the splashing was gratuitous. The relief was all that mattered.

He finishes with a sigh and washes his hands. He passes by the cashier, who gives Stan a welcoming look. Uh-oh – probably need to buy something.

“Sorry. No money!”

The cashier keeps a smile on his face, but Stan knows that he pretty much broke courtesy by only using the restroom in this Asian establishment. Stan tries to play it cool as he leaves through the exit.

“Hi, are you guys still open?”

Stan looks up and sees young white man walking up from his car.


“Are you guys still open?”

Stan looks at the young man in a mixture of disgust and horror. This racist, he thought. He tries to keep his cool as he turns to the cashier.

“You can ask that guy-”

Stan looks straight into the cashier’s eyes, those eyes of judgment. The cashier raises his hand and gives him the best Dikembe Mutumbo impression, wagging his finger mechanically.

“Curse you,” transmitted the cashier’s eyes. “Enjoy karma.”

Stan nervously runs away, as the young man inquisitively watches. He shrugs and turns back to the cashier.

“Are you guys still open?”


Dear Son,

If you’re reading this, then it’s likely that I’ve passed away.

I know you’re having a hard time, and it’s probably worse now being the only man in the house. I want to thank you in advance for taking care of your mom and sister. They’re going to need you to be strong, so that they can move on. It’s going to seem impossible to do that yourself, but I know you can do it.

I know it because I saw it in you. When you graduated high school, when you graduated college, when you pulled yourself up and got a job, got more education to get a better job, and now, you’re supporting yourself. I was always proud of you, regardless of your achievements, but I want you to know that I really am very proud of you.

I hope that you got something out of the way I lived my life, at the very least about the importance of having a relationship with God. In the end, that’s all that really matters. You could be the best person in the world, or the worst, but you still have to face the Man Upstairs. Probably a better situation if you’re on good terms with Him.

Don’t let yourself sit in misery too long over my passing. I don’t want that for you. You’ve got so much of your life ahead of you, and the last thing I want is for you to crash on my account. You’ve got this, and you’ve got your mom and sister. You’ve got friends, although some of them are knuckleheads. Know that I’m in a better place, and keep pressing on, fighting the good fight. See the world. Make changes. Do all that hippie stuff. Live your life, and don’t waste it.

Take care of yourself, your mom, and your sister. I love you very much, Son. Don’t you ever forget it.



Sharing Is Caring

“Daddy, why do you love Mommy?”

Sam sat on the swing next to his five-year-old son, Max, taken aback by his question.

“Well, Max, Daddy loves Mommy because…”

He paused, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he didn’t know how to explain. How could he extrapolate his feelings and put them into words like musicians do? If he had a canvas, perhaps he could paint Max a picture, but even then, only he would be able to understand the painting clearly.

“… I don’t know. I just love Mommy.”

“But how?”

Sam pursed his lips, thinking how to answer this question. He thought back to when he and Paulina were sitting on swings, enjoying each other’s company, sharing the sparks and broken pieces of their hearts. The attraction wasn’t immediate, he remembered, but it was deep. It was a depth that could only be known if one had traveled there, had sunken to that point. They both knew that once they reached that depth, it was meant to be.

“Mommy and Daddy share something really special, something that can’t really be explained in words.”

Max looked away from Sam for a moment, then turned to ask, “Is it me?”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, Max. Mommy and Daddy share you, and we share each other. We love you, and we love each other.”

“Oh… Loving is sharing?”

Sam held his smile at Max. “Yeah,” he nodded, “loving is sharing.”

Max looked away, a little beleaguered. “I think I’m in love.”

“Really?” Sam asked. “With who?”


“You mean from kindergarten?”

“Uh-huh,” Max nodded. “We shared animal crackers together.”