tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62957492011-04-21T16:50:33.999-04:00Short stories and even shorter stories very few of which relate to violence or musicRay Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.comBlogger111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1126129266120293152005-09-07T17:39:00.000-04:002005-09-07T17:41:06.126-04:00

NOT A STORYThis is just to fill space until I get up the gumption and get up and go ness to post more stories. A placeholder nonstory if you will. Yep. This sure doesn't make up for neglecting to update the blog for umpteen and a half months.New story soon enough...

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1084605725634716802004-05-15T03:18:00.000-04:002004-05-15T03:25:42.900-04:00

NATURAL TIPIST I’ve never made it past the second week of a typing class. I am no more than vaguely aware of any structured method of finger placement on the keyboard, nor touch typing, nor any other methods of typing for that matter. However, I do fancy myself a rather naturally skilled typist. The other night, last night I think it was, I sat at my keyboard and, keeping my eyes on the monitor

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1083644538876447592004-05-04T00:21:00.000-04:002004-05-04T00:26:22.326-04:00

BEST & WORST The best milkshake I ever tasted was made by a friendly old soda jerk in an old-fashioned drugstore in the little town where I grew up. The worst milkshake I ever retasted was made by my drunk college roommate by combining chocolate chip ice cream and Schlitz Malt Liquor in our dorm room in which I later threw up. (2004) WAR IS NOT THE ANSWER. Well, that depends on the question.

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1081491629018269292004-04-09T00:45:00.000-04:002004-05-04T00:27:25.436-04:00

SAVAGE RHUMBA (Bookstore #2) I used to work in a bookstore before I hit it big. The following is a fictionalized version of an imagined exchange between a customer and myself late one caffiene-sodden Saturday evening: “I’m looking for a book called Viajes Rimbaud,” the customer voiced intrusively. “Did you say Savage Rhumba?” I said, laying aside my comic book and turning to face the monitor

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1080725787365013912004-03-31T04:35:00.000-05:002004-05-04T00:28:15.246-04:00

OUT OF TIME Inside the burnt-out old shack, Shakey Pete weighed his options. He was outnumbered and outgunned. He could wait ‘em out, but he was already out of food and water. So much for his options. “Ya might as well come on outta there, Shakey Pete,” called the Sheriff. “We got you surrounded!” The sun rained down bright hotness from on high and Sheriff Lew Eccles was running low on

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1080204603111816952004-03-25T03:34:00.000-05:002004-05-04T00:29:22.046-04:00

BESS (Gypsy Cat 2) Last night my cat hopped onto my desk, took a seat then proceeded to lean her head between my eyes and the computer screen. “Bess,” I muttered, “I’m trying to play FreeCell and your lil’ ol’ noggin’s in the way.” Bess said simply, “I wish to be addressed as El Predatore.” “Whaa---?” I asked before lapsing into brief confusion. “Say that again.” “I wish to be addressed as El

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1077261437944661012004-02-20T02:07:00.001-05:002004-05-04T00:31:16.560-04:00

TIME OF A BOTTLE Sgt. Fife started drinking Scotch at noon. He would've started sooner but he didn't realize he was sitting on a case of the stuff until halfway into the flight. He stopped drinking Scotch at 12:45. He would've stopped sooner but he didn't realize his commanding officer was standing behind him until halfway into the bottle. (2004) DOOR The door opened to reveal a sea of faces

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1076561153071282612004-02-11T23:43:00.000-05:002004-05-04T00:32:26.513-04:00

NERVE "Hatty and Stu. Sounds like a sitcom about a lovable old British couple who argue constantly about his drinking and her meddling," Chloe remarked. "But I hope you two will be very happy together." "You left out their gossipy, bitchy neighbor who operates under these bizarre delusions she has created to protect herself from certain realities she refuses to accept." Hatty took a breath. "

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1075444255924341972004-01-30T01:30:00.000-05:002004-05-04T00:33:05.793-04:00

THE JAZZY SNAZZY LOAFERS I've been working on this story about a guy named Norton. He's your basic unassertive, but otherwise nondescript short story protagonist. His life is incredibly ordinary and dull. One day he walks into a particular shoe store intent on purchasing a pair of shoes identical to the same bland brown boring style he’s worn for most of his life, certainly for most of his

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1074839682559579042004-01-23T01:26:00.000-05:002004-05-04T00:33:31.110-04:00

GYPSY CAT As the day begins, I hear the lonely cry of the gypsy awakening from a troubled nights sleep. The chimes in my window provide the musical accompaniment. She's been sleeping here for most of the past month. I don't know where she goes during the day. That's her business. She simply prefers to leave the apartment when I do. I've made it clear that if she needs to get inside when I'm not

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295749.post-1073541135341172772004-01-08T00:52:00.000-05:002004-05-04T00:33:57.200-04:00

MYSTERIOUSLY "Officers Rush and Bender were the first to arrive at the scene. And why not, they were the closest unit. After all, they had killed the guy themselves. Being the honest and not so bright young rookies that they were, they would, of course, confess. As soon as they returned to the station. Unfortunately, they never even made it back to their car. In an occurrence best described as

Ray Zinnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10064610784869361378noreply@blogger.com0