welcome to the baldie stories blog.

Maybe you're bald, maybe not, maybe you care, likely not; stories here, some funny, some not.

(please visit the archives for over 97 and counting stories! Check out popular posts & visit the 'top 10' and 'collection 1'- see labels)

Friday, August 30, 2013

Baldie Drawing in Blue

      "Papa, I drew a picture of you."
     "Is this me, here. Right here with big muscles?"
     "Haha! No that's the tree silly."
     "Oh, I was wondering why I had all that hair!"
    "Those are leaves! Leaves on the tree!"
     "So where am I? Is this me, here?"
     "That!? No! Haha! That's a rock! "
     "Oh. I thought maybe because..."
     "Because it doesn't have any hair?"
      "No, Papa.  This is you."
     "Wow! That's fantastic! I didn't see it at first..."
     "Haha! Papa, your teasing me! This is your little hair, all along the top!"
     "Good job! Along is a good word..."
     "And I you have a rectangle body! And I... I forgot to put hands!"
      "Are those my eyes, right there by my chin?"
      "Yes - haha! Your engabberest!"
      "I'm what?"
      "Em-grabber-rest ?"
      "Yes that!, and I colored you blue."
      "I see that. I love blue."
      "Me too."
      "Why am I embarrassed?"
      “Haha! Haha! Cause you used to have hair and now you only have little hair!"
     "Your a funny kid. Ha! But come here, let me tickle you for teasing the old man! And you want to know something?"
      "What papa?"
      "See all this hair on your head?"
      "I have a lot and you have little!"
      "For now baby, for now! But one day...."
     “I know Papa.”
     “What do you know?”
“I’ll have more hair, like you did in the old pictures and your little hair will be even littler and littler and littler forever.”
“Come over here wise-guy. It’s tickle time again.”

Monday, May 13, 2013

Future Hair - end

     "Here Baldie-Baldie-Baldie!"
     "Alph, my head feels like jelly."
     The strobes had been disengaged, capping aisle G88's flow was rerouted to G89, and the locator sensors had a fix on Scary.
     "There he is, behind the pallet of styling mousse."
     "I see him."
     "Five-oner-one," announced Fred, "Mr. Never Ever!"
     Alph stopped. "That's his name?"
    Fred checked his tablet. "That's it."
    Scary interrupted. "future-presence shows I'm waking out of here, bald and intact. You guys smell like shit!"
    "Security is on the way, remain where you are."
    "You mean future-bringing," Alph clarified.
     "No," said Scary, stepping into the aisle to face the two makeover specialists. "I mean future-presence, a bit different, huh?"
     "What's he talking about?" Asked Alph."
     "I walk out of here, and I will be the first Baldie in seven hundred years to do so. I'll live out my life bald and as fucked up in the head as I can be!"
     "He really does need a cleaning!"
      "And some hair."
     But Alph and Fred both had a strange and uneasy feeling as they listened to Scary. They were feeling reality shifting against its natural course. Scary was in the process of bringing about that shift. Seven hundred years of perfect coifs, spotless attitudes, endearing social graces and undiminished enthusiasm for the cause of greater good was about to become a part of the real past.
     "You feel it! All that hair coming undone one pretentious follicle at a time, one affected and totally brainwashed lock after the other!"
     They could hear the Baldie Police at the conveyor entrance, bashing at the sealed security gate. Scary continued.
   "I did something none of you thought to do! So simple! I brought past-presence INTO future-bringing!"
    "Seven hundred years! Idiots! I took a ride back and brought it forward! It's happening now! Look at yourselves!"
     "Alph! Your hair! What's happening!"
     "Fred! You've got a shadow on your chin! Something's wrong with your head! I don't feel well!"
     "You'll start feeling real angry in a moment. Ouch! That's gonna hurt!"
     "You don't know what your talking about! That's why your here!"
     "The anger you know is controlled, just like all your other emotions and thoughts! Like your hairline! Like your attitudes about everything from what you eat to how dream! No more! I stuck before, after! Turned always into never-more! Me! Scary Never Ever!"

     By he time Baldie security got through the gate there was little left of causal notion. A few drips of adjustment and neatness. Mostly there were angry bald men with no sense ground, no reason to be, no pretense to righteousness, which was replaced by another false righteousness, the old one, the lousy little one that might be overcome by kindness and compassion.
     And then:
     The rest followed.
     The safe-line lineage of Never-wrecks, the suffering stream one blood relative to the next, knowing and not knowing the past and the future. Scary, finding solace in distress, bringing about the final shift, ending the new horrors and bringing back the old, pressing the reset, bringing despair upon his mother, worse for his father, and the weight of universal clarity upon himself, a bald and insecure Adam in a groundless place. All that and more!

Friday, May 10, 2013

Future Hair - part 2

    Scare - from Scary, the rhyming rib of Nary, poetic for Never, which his Mom found amusing and his dad, well his dad was done before Scare was born, done and gone, forward or backward in time, but gone all the same - Scare called himself Scare, but his real name was Never. 
     What a name. Never. But Scare? Even worse!
     His mother had gossamer hopes for the boy. She wished, white-knuckled and shivering in her birthing bed, that the boy would never. ever have to feel the pain of unnerving groundlessness that has plagued her life, the life of her parents, and the generations of unhappy souls that came before them. 
She cursed her time, the discovery of "past-presence", "future-bringing",  the models and mechanics that allowed for such witchcraft. 
But Never would, and always prevailed. The universe didn't care much and Never worked out just fine, in fact better than fine, and better than the future foretold! Mama was nervous about nothing! Ha! Just goes to show.
     It was Scare that got loose in the future hair conveyor. Never, who stood up and slid away - bald, anxious, just fine!
     Never smiled, one nose-picking stroke away from a good mind cleanse and a healthy head of hair. 

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Future Hair - part 1

     Capping Aisle G88 hummed.
     Wire tests crackled, nose height; blossoms of sizzling points - carbide, magnesium, ozone-fire, yellow and orange-blue, the signifiers of sparkling efficiency in a diode haze within the pure white light shrouding the conveyor.
     Crinkle and crackle and a few moans and groans when Alph jammed a finger up nose with a smirk. Otherwise, follicle replacement and synaptic cleaning, replacement, cleaning - more and more of the same.
     "He's on it!"
     "One-twenty two!"
     "Fiver one one!"
     "Hang on, Fred... Fred? Who'sit?! We didn't wire a fiver one one!"
     "Short guy, bald.... Har! Haha!"
     "Haha! You kill me Fred! Seven hundred years later - it still cracks me in half! Bald!  Rich! Creamy rich!"
     "Five-one-one - Q-zone, section eight-six-six, bank B3-R," suicide, triple - receding hairline: affectation,  loss of job, wife, self-esteem, blah-blah-jam a finger up his nose, sniveling loser!"
     "No dice!"
     Alph didn't look like he enjoyed hearing it. He sniffed, looked about to sneeze but making like over there to a single empty seat on the conveyor, "Jeeze! He's got away!!"
     The alarm was louder than it needed to be, just to incentivize,  and the LED emergency lamps were digitally programmed to cause muscle spasms. The pulse would take down any living creature with proper electo-synaptic gap junctions. Even with the helmets and glasses, both Alph and Fred did a little involuntary jig down below the knees. A bright queasiness, unknown in the natural world, twinkle-toed in their guts, beneath their privates. Duodenal excitement, adrenal prompts, shots from groin to mouth causing spontaneous lymphatic drainage - shits  and drooling giggles.

Monday, February 18, 2013

1/2 of Stanley - part 5 - the end

     "He wants hair!?" Sidney screamed. He clutched the bed rail and shivered.
     "He doesn't even have a brain and he wants hair! He doesn't have eyes or cheeks or a god-damned mouth and he's still telling us..."
      The old man quaked. Veins in his neck pulsed and flexed and the flesh on his face jelly-rolled through a rainbow of horrific expressions, colors, ungodly contortions. Then, right before poor old sidney dropped dead, dead and quivering still - he got out the last couple of words that would finish him for good:
    "He wants a new hairdo!?"
      The sound of Sidney shattering from the inside out was audible. Darlene had an eyebrow up and the doctor, who looked more intrigued than startled, had to lift his glasses over his eyes to be certain he wasn't seeing things. He nearly spoke, but didn't.
     Darlene walked over and nudged her husbands corpse with the blunt toe of her left show.
     The doctor knelt down beside the dead man and checked for a pulse, flipped an eyelid, and thoughtlessly thumped a thought out on Sidney's forehead with a pencil.
     "He has died," said the doctor.
     At that moment, Stanley began to burble. Burble and bubble. He swayed and grasped at the air around him and a thing gruel of bloody matter erupted from the fleshy mess at the top of him.
     "What's happening?" Screamed Darlene.
     "I don't know!" Exclaimed the doctor.
     "Do something!" Screamed Darlene.
     "But... But!!" Stammered the doctor, unsure of exactly what the emergency protocol might be when dealing with a patient with no head.
     More blood and phlem splattered about as Stanley began to swing about, left and then right and then back again.
     Darlene screamed some more and then screamed again. She took it all in, dead husband at her feet, her only son - she remembered a moment of pure pleasure, the infant smiling - now reduced to this unspeakable horror...
     Her shrieks increased until she found it impossible to shriek any longer. And when the doctor bound across the room to upright Stanly with one hand and poke a finger into his fleshy blow-hole with the other to stem the loss of blood, Darlene tripped over her dead husbands body and split her skull wide open on the cast iron lift mechanism at the foot if the bed.
     Darlene was dead before the doctor felt the quality of quivering that emanated  from the orphaned boys body. It was not the quaking distress of choking. It wasn't the flailing of fear or terror. Not at all. The doctor withdrew his finger from Stanley's gullet and put a hand on the headless man's back.
     "You are laughing?" Whispered the doctor, horrified.
    "Evil through and through."
     Stanley flailed about until he found a sheet of paper. The doctor handed the headless man a pen. Stanley swayed over the sheet as he wrote. When he was finished he tossed the sheet into the air above his shoulders. The doctor pulled it out if the air.
     It said:
     Greedy people! Hated me. Wished me dead but wanted profit from this horror.

     Their son....     I want a head. Make me a head. Put hair on it!
     Don't get greedy.
     Stanley shook with joy. He was feeling better, much better indeed.

     The end

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Bald in Russia !

     Well I am very pleased to note that Baldie Stories has found it's way to Russia, where I seem to be more popular than here in the U.S. - we are all brothers bald! And sisters. And occasionally have bald pets. I would love to hear from any followers, and please follow and comment - it's lonely here in this bald story place a lot of he time, and I would live to publish a Baldies book of short stories, so more followers and readers, better chance of publishing. In the meantime, please enjoy the stories, and my gratitude to all who do, those who may, and the others who really couldn't care less after all!!

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

1/2 of Stanley - part 4

         Later, after Stanley refused to drop dead and after the doctors admitted that science could not account for such a lack of cooperation with modern medicine,  a simple plan of action was initiated. They would, for lack of a better plan, attempt to rebuild a structure around the spot where his head used to be.
      "Mostly to, uh, close up the wound here.” 
“Prevent infection, other damage. Yes.” 
“Of course, a skull, something of a skull. The reintroduction of facial elements... mostly cosmetic,”
“But the throat, perhaps... the, uh...  It may be possible , but then again..." 
Overtly apologetic in tone, razed to annoyance by clinical Swiss German accents, the specialists finally gave up using words and pushed their  fingertips into prayer before their lips as they observed the very little that was left of Stanley.
       "In a strange way," Darlene chirped into the silence, "he's better now. In a way. Would't you say, Sidney? Sidney?"
     Sidney slowly drew himself away from the posture of delicate failure. "Huh?”
      "Better than before," she repeated.
     Sidney had been ignoring Darlene for the past few days. He saw her, watched her jaw move up and down, followed the wrinkles in the nose he had once lovingly nuzzled. But all he could hear was the sound of jet engines screaming across hot tarmac before fading into oblivion.
“He doesn’t hear me anymore, since this, since Stanley...” but she tried again finally he responded.
"He’s better? Better Darlene? Because he's burbling again? Shitting on us through that hole in his neck? Because he's still alive a month in with no head? Because now that it’s become such a freak-show that even the deal with Geek-TV fell through?! Look at the doctors, Darlene - they’re horrified"
     "No," Darlene shouted, "I don't mean since he's been here! I mean generally!" she shook a few weak fingers forward, toward what was left of Stanley. "I mean - better like this than...."
      "Than what, Darlene?"
Stanley had the vibrations to work with, he’d caught the gist, saw the future in tentacles of grey matter antennae. He sat upright, leaned over and his hands dashed about for paper and pencils. He spoke, but the little left of his bottom jaw had been secured and the flap of tongue he'd previously wiggle about to structure the air from what had remained of his windpipe was weak. The sound that now came out of Stanley when he spoke sounded like the slow sputtering hiss of an old radiator.
       Darlene made for the sheets of paper that Sidney had dropped on the tiled floor.
“What’s it say?” asked Sidney.
Darlene put the pages beside one another.
“He’s heard me. He’s heard what I was saying - that he’s better now than he was when he was... whole. When he was Stanley. He wants - I think he wants them to finish his head. I think he’s saying that he wants hair on it.”
“You’re daft.”
“Look for yourself.”

end part 4