Bad Biscuits Make The Baker Broke, Bro

Jack Swain, staff writer

“Do you know what you are doing after you graduate?”

“What are you doing this summer?”

“Are you nervous for your orals?”

“What’s it like to be queer?”

“Did you see the moon last night?”

“What do you dream about?”

“Do you have siblings?”

“What are you proud of?”

“What’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?”

“What’s the nicest thing anyone has ever told you?”

“When was the last time you cried in front of someone?”

“What do you think about when you shower?”

“What do you think of Kanye’s new album?”

“Are you afraid of spiders?”

“Did you read Harry Potter?”

“Has anyone you know ever died?”

“What’s your wi-fi password?”

“Do you want a lime?”

“Do you think you are going to get married?”

“Was it you who cleaned the kitchen?”

“How was your day?”

“Where did you get that sweater?”

“Hey, are you feeling any better?”

“Can I borrow this?”

“Should I keep inviting you over or do I ask too much?”

“Are you ready for your children to hurt your feelings the way you hurt your parents’ feelings?”

“What are you up to tonight?”

“Can I show you something?”

“Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

“Can I take these off?”

“Tryna order some Domino’s?”

“Where are the band-aids?”

“You want another beer?”

“What did you put in this granola?”

“How long have you been playing guitar?”

“Dude, where’s my car?”

“What’s the name of your band?”

“Is there weed in them?”

“Do you wanna go bowling some time?”

Norbert Cherbley was organizing his computer desktop when he came across a .jpeg of his ex-wife, Cindy Chudly-Eisenhowber. In the photograph, Cindy was in the kitchen. She was cooking an omelet.

“Oh Cindy, oh darling,” Norbert said out loud, cooing like a dove. A pocket of drool spilled from his jowls.

Cindy had left him over five years ago, for a municipal county judge named Journey Trap.

Staring at the .jpeg, Norbet had never felt more alone in his entire life. He reached across the beanbag for his cell phone. His long, decrepit, white fingers closed around it. With a heaving sigh, he twirled the phone out of the window. It spiraled three stories to the ground before landing on the pavement, unscathed and perfectly unharmed.

Four minutes went by.

Then, suddenly, the phone rang.

It was half-past-seven when young Bernie Chople-Baxley finally woke up. It was the morning of Bernie’s fifth birthday. He was very excited and leapt out of bed. For breakfast, his father made Bernie’s favorite food: pancakes.

Bernie’s mother sat with him on the couch, holding him close. After breakfast, they all watched Aladdin together.

“Mom,” said Bernie, “If you found a genie, what would you wish for?”

“Bernie, my angel,” his mother spoke softly, “With you, all my wishes already came true.”

“Happy birthday.”