Tell Me No Lies

I had time to kill, as I waited for the bell to ring.

A long overdue heart to heart chat with an old childhood friend was decidedly in order.

And so the questions began.

Will I win the lottery this week?

Cannot predict now.

Will I be happy this year?

Don’t count on it.


Will we go on an amazing vacation this year?

It is decidedly so.

Will I be famous someday?

Outlook good.

(I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this.)

Will I win the lottery?

As I see it, yes.

Will my writing career blossom this year?

It is certain.


Will I get run over by a tractor?

Outlook good.

Will I get mauled by a bear?

Most likely.

(Good God.)

Is the sky orange?

Signs point to yes.

Will I win the lottery this year?

You may rely on it.

(I’m liking the consistency on this one.)

Will the Cubs ever win the World Series again?

Without a doubt.

(Cubs fans, rejoice!)

Will I get sucked up by a tornado?

Outlook not so good.

(Way to burst my bubble.)

Should I buy a pet dolphin?

My sources say no.

(Damn it!)

Will Donald Trump be our next President?

Cannot predict now.

Will Hillary Clinton be our next President?

Reply hazy. Ask again later.

Will Homer Simpson be our next President?

Signs point to yes.

(Would that really be such a bad thing?)

Will I be stuck in No Man’s Land for a while?

Better not tell you now.

Will I get kicked by a cow?

Without a doubt.

Will I ever see a real, live unicorn?

Outlook good.

(Ha! In your face, doubters!)

Am I going to Hell?

Cannot predict now.

(Fair enough.)

Will 2016 be my best year yet?

Very doubtful.

Will 2016 at least be a good year?

You may rely on it.

Will I win the lottery?

It is decidedly so.

(And there you have it.)

The car door swings open and jolts me from my thoughts.

“Why are you talking to my Magic 8 Ball?” my older son asks.

“Because I need help, buddy. I need lots of help,” I tell him.

After all, the sky is orange, Homer Simpson is about to become our next president, and I’m in danger of being mauled by a bear in the very near future.

Clearly, I need all the help I can get.

But it’s okay.

I’ll soon be able to get the best help money can buy… once I win the lottery.

The Magic 8 Ball told me so!

But what if I can't handle the truth?

But what if I can’t handle the truth?


21 thoughts on “Tell Me No Lies

  1. I’m not on Twitter but that Happy Friday picture you had of the Minion was adorable. How could you not have a Happy Friday after seeing that? Here’s what fascinates me about Powerball. So many people only play it when it gets up to a Gazillion dollars. We play a couple of bucks on each drawing. We can suffer by with 30 million or so. I know the odds are the same regardless of how many plays are played but is it not hysterical when people race to get a ticket for a handful of these drawings a year instead of trying to win each one? I read one person bought 5,000 tickets for the last monster amount. Why not spread that out over a year or two…humans are comically quirky. Hey, that sounds like a good name for a blog…

    Liked by 2 people

    • Humans are indeed comically quirky creatures. And it seems it’s a universal flaw among all of humanity to want to win that lottery so desperately, because it’s clearly the answer to all our problems. I, too, would happily settle for a modest 30 million. 😀

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Oh, awesome! So, you’ll win the lottery and THEN get mauled by the bear. It’ll make the news and I’ll be like, “Oh, my god! I know that chick!” At your funeral, Alanis Morriset’s song, Ironic, will be playing:

    …An old man turned ninety-eight
    He won the lottery and died the next day


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