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, July 18, 2014

Baldie Chops

     A little spittle rocketed off his lip each time he shouted the word into the phone.
     The word echoed across the empty field. The anger in it threatened peaceful gaps in time beneath lavender shadowed trees, trilled the dew in the morning grass, and sent a shiver thorough the two quiet children who had been standing motionless beside the shouting man.
     A sad looking Lab nipped at the echoes and suddenly took down the field to a row of crows that were resting their wings near the end of the world.
     "That's what he said!" Shouted the man after a long pause.
     Beyond the end of the world something stirred.
     The boy was lean, blond, and long-toothed. He edged toward me, leaving his sister to shiver quietly near her frothing father.
     "What's your name?" He asked.
     "Skeezix" I said, and nodding to my son, "that's Alfonso."
     "Want to play?" Asked the boy.
     The father was ranting and spitting but he saw his son speaking to a stranger and paused for just one guilty moment before picking up the rant once more. "I told him! I said,
You've got to be kidding me!! I'm only thirty-five! Son of a bitch! How could I be going bald!"
     "What's your name?" I asked the boy.
     "Walter," he admitted, weakly. "That's Horatio," he nodded to his sister.
     "Isn't that...."
     "Doesn't she..."
     "We call her Henrietta."
     "I see."
     Alphonso tickled his nose with a blade of grass and sneezed.
     "Your dad's angry huh?"
     "Jeepers..." said Walter.
     "Henrietta looks frightened, don't you think?" I asked.
     "She always looks like that - Hey! Hey Henry!" called Walter.
     Horatio ignored her brother.
     "You want to play with me?" Asked the boy.
     "We wouldn't mind," I said, pointing to Alphonso, "but what about Henry?"
     "Oh she's not feeling much like playing, right now," said Walter. "We were supposed to go to the pool. Then dad got mad and now - no pool."
     "That's too bad," I said.
     "Sure is."
     "Why's your old man screaming cause he's bald?!" Bleated Alphonso. "What's the big deal?"
     Walter shrugged.
     "My papa's bald, you don't see him screaming!"
     "Hey now, be nice, Alphonso! You  just didn't hear my screaming. I screamed plenty."
     "No you didn't!"
      "Sure I did, you just weren't there  to hear it."
     "Well then, you stopped anyhow! That guy just keep screaming."
     Walter frowned, Henry made a little red fist and threw it against her hip.
     "He's mad at his bald because mother didn't like him and she moved out."
     "She moved out because he was bald?" Asked Alphonso, surprised.
     Henry finally couldn't stand it. Her father was so deep into his rant that he couldn't fix himself beyond the end of his cell phone and the rage kneading up his lips.
     "She didn't leave because he was bald, you idiot! She left because daddy never stops screaming about it! She said he was a dummy."
    Alphonso pulled the Velcro strap on one sneaker up and down. Then he looked at me and said, "Papa, Mama just says she doesn't like you thats all. She doesn't say bad words."
     "I'm glad to hear it." I said.
     Far off the little spot that was the Lab chasing crows in the field grew larger.
     "What's the name of your dog?"
     "Tick-tock," she said.
     "Why's that?" Asked Alphonso.
     "Cause his she's go like this..."
     Henry made like left and right with her big brown eyes.
     "That's funny," said Alphonso.
End part 1

Friday, August 30, 2013

Baldie Drawing in Blue

      This story will be available in Baldie Stories 1 through Kindle.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Future Hair

     This story will be available in "Baldie Stories 1", through Kindle.

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!!

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

a room filled with 4 year olds

     "You rascals! What's all the noise!? The grown ups are trying to talk down there! Hey! You! The one that looks like me! Poor sod! Do I know you?!"
     "Papa! It's me!"
     "Me?! My boy? Is it you? Yes, he llook like me, just, nearly - only the hair - you have all that hair!"
    "It's Mason!" 
     The children laugh. They shout it, shout his name because they know the routine. They love to know the routine. Everybody loves to know the routine.
    "How could it be? All that hair! Where's MY hair!? Whatcha laughing at? Hey! You! You laughing at me? This bald head? Huh?"
     Even those who haven't been in this scene before, they pick up the cues like pros. Small gestures, big ones - my son makes google eyes at me - then even the quiet one in the corner comes out to see where he trick is hiding. 
     It's a lot for a four year old to hold in, but they're trying hard to stay in character . The longer they hold it the funnier it will be when they let loose.
     "You! You got my hair?! Huh? Is that it in your pocket? My hair? How about you?! You're laughing - you look guilty! What's all that rolling around on the floor?"
     "Where's you're hair?" It's a kid I don't know. 
     "What? Did you say...? Did ask me? My hair? Where is it?! That's what I'm asking!"
     "It's not on your head!"
    It's the punch line. They roar. It's done. We did it again. Now the close.
    "Who said that? Who.... Say now, you're all teasing me! Go ahead, laugh! All of you! I'm leaving!"

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Baldie Stories is 3 years old!

       The Baldie blog is 3 years old this October. There are now 90 stories; the first 26 were written prior to starting the blog, edited, and reworked over time for the blog. 
       64 new stories, or entries, are all works created for the blog as my own workshop and place to share. The story below, Baldie Bistro, was the very first Baldie story written somewhere around 1993. 
       I still had hair then. Thanks for being there, helping, reading, and sharing.