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Stories of Stan

The Continuing Saga of Stan

Darrell Curts | 6 comments | 03/27/12
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Stan could feel the ground moving under him.  Fortunately, he had been in this situation before and knew exactly what to do, go back to sleep.  Try as he might though, he could not.  It might have had something to do with someone continually tugging at him and yelling “Mister, Mister” in his face.  So, even though he was neither ready nor willingly, he opened he is eyes.   He immediately recognized his tormentor as the kid with his jacket in his tiny paw.   “Hey, don’t you know you can’t sleep here?  What’s wrong with you?  You’re gonna get hurt, stupid.”   “I wasn’t sleeping, I was waiting for the parallel universe to catch up.”   “What?” The boy said as he suddenly let go of Stan’s jacket.  Stan realized the boy was drifting away from him and knew he was still moving.  He decided to take in his surroundings.   It was apparent that he was on a conveyor belt, maybe in an airport.  Being that some gentleman in a uniform was headed towards him he decided it would be prudent to remove himself from the conveyor.   The uniformed gentleman stepped up to Stan and shook his head in very apparent disappointment.   “Welcome back Stan.”   “Thanks George.”   “Did you at least remember where your passport is this time?”   “I thought you didn’t need a passport for Mexico?”   “Stan, we went through this last time.  Laws have changed.”   “Ah, right.  Ummmmm.”   “Check your pockets.”   Stan fumbled through his pockets for a moment before finding what he needed, a flask.  He took long drag on it and looked at George.   “You want some George?”   “No, Stan.  The passport?”   “Oh, yeah.”  Stan reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a passport.   “This is not yours.”   “Oh, yeah.” Stan reached inside his pocket again produced another passport.   “Thank you. You have any idea how long you are going to be here this time?”   “Nah.  I may need a bathroom.”   “What?”   It was too late.  Stan puked all over George’s chest.   “I don’t remember eating shrimp.”   George stepped back, looked down at himself and shook his head.   “Every fucking time, Stan. Every. Fucking. Time.” He said while scraping half chewed shrimp off his chest with Stan’s passport.   “Sorry George.”   “No…

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Stan in Mexico

Darrell Curts | 1 comment | 03/27/12

Stan got into the taxi in his usual manner which was falling face first into the seat.   “Sorry señor,…

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What is wrong with Stan?

Darrell Curts | 0 comments | 03/27/12

Stan laid there thinking that this could not be happening to him. How had he gotten here? He tried to think, but…

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