Category Archives: Tom Allman

Same Room, Different Planet by Tom Allman

The bespectacled eyes of two lonely people met across a long, musty cardboard box. On the last day of the comic book convention he was looking for Mutant Revenge Team #6. She was looking for Love, and a Brave Teen Trio Omnibus.

Neither thirty something exercised regularly, preferring the armor of Nerdy T-Shirts to protect their bodies. She wore way too much purple eyeliner and he often forgot to comb his hair and floss. Fate, just like in Moth Maiden’s latest issue, was about to intervene.

“Do you have Ninja Marmoset Hipsters #1,” she asked coyly? He flinched, clearly no Casanova.

“Of course I do,” he scoffed.

She’d soon coaxed him to a nearby restaurant then to her hotel room. She arrayed today’s comic haul on the bed and excused herself to the bathroom. He checked to make sure that they had Cartoon Channel on the cable.

She soon emerged wearing only a smile and Wonder Wench undies. He craned his neck to see past her and catch the end of Star Wranglers.

“Now, for all your fantasies to all come true,” she purred. His jaw dropped and he nearly shouted.

“You have a Mutant Revenge Team #6?”

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Earth Day by Tom Allman

I have sailed the eternal ether sea

between stars

I have pushed out to meet the silence

and laughed

I have touched the mote in god’s eye

and wept

Today is my earth day

intrepid explorer

I have returned home

hero’s welcome

I shall lie beneath her green grass

and rest

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Sweet Revenge by Tom Allman

Delores’s Family told her that she was being paranoid; which proved that they were out to get her! Her Cat, Mr. Puss, confirmed her worst fears. “Darling, your loved ones mock you whenever your back is turned.”

Delores decided to have a third eye grafted into the back of her head. She took a “ME” weekend and had it done on the sly. It was neatly covered by her mop of auburn hair. “I’ll show those eye-rollers and tongue-sticker-outers,” she fumed.

The duplicitous feline told the rest of the family what Delores was doing. “He’s been so helpful and given us such good advice since the operation,” they all said.

When she returned home they followed her around striking lewd poses and making “do you want your face to freeze like that” expressions. This was the last straw.

Terrible and irrevocable things were said, dishes and collectibles hurled. This home was now broken. His job complete, Mr. Puss lay in a laundry basket grooming the area where his testicles had been and savored his sweet, sweet revenge.

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Magdalena by Tom Allman

Magdalena followed the receding tide, her tiny feet leaving no rumors in the hard sand. She gathered only the most beautiful shells and presented them to her waiting Abuela. Her grandmother told her that the only things that a woman truly owns are her dreams. She told her that she should lock her dreams in the shells and hide them under her bed.

When Magdalena showed the first signs of becoming a woman her parents started their negotiations. Her father was a landowner and had several head of cattle; there were many suitors. Magdalena sat in her room, with her shells, wondering at the commotion.

The morning of her wedding Magdelana’s Mother and Grandmother explained what her duties would be. Magdalena excused herself, retrieved the hatchet from the hearth, and went into her room. The older ladies heard a gentle sobbing then the crash of hatchet on conch and chambered nautilus. Wiping away the last tears of a little girl, she stridently emerged and announced that she was ready to be a good wife.

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Rotten (a parable) by Tom Allman

Miscovitz is a vile wretch of a man. Other than his long-suffering Mother, everyone reviles him. In ’78 the Gods reached into the core of his putridness and removed his soul. When informed, his mother was inconsolable. To ease her suffering he promised to find a suitable replacement.

Miscovitz traveled the world consulting sages, clerics, and prostitutes. After a few years he came to the following conclusions: that he was truly rotten, and that his immortal soul was more of a hindrance than a help. “Good riddance,” he shouted. But, he had promised his Mother.

Miscovitz found a disgraced surgeon who could replace his soul for $500 cash. He grafted a mayonnaise jar into his abdomen (with the mouth and lid protruding). He told Miscovitz to write down every bad thing that he’d ever done on little pieces of paper and put them into the jar, so that whenever he did a good deed he could open the jar and throw away a sin.

Miscovitz has learned no lessons. His new soul is overflowing with sinful confetti. But his Mother is happy, and the Doctor is now making millions in Hollywood.

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The Lion of the Nile by Tom Allman

The “Lion of the Nile” walked onto the balcony to acknowledge his adoring subjects. Legend has it, as a young solider, he’d killed a lion with a dagger then mounted the lionesses seven times each. Now, the lions of the Delta are gone, save one.

He gave the peasants a tight smile and a half-hearted wave. He failed to notice the upturned faces were gaunt, hungry and bent on revolution. The Lion believed that his teeth and claws were still sharp and that none dare oppose him.

His most trusted Toady tugged at his elbow and said, ” The people are starving, your excellency.”
“Throw them a few pennies to ease their hunger,” the Lion said.

“There are no pennies left to give, your excellency,” the last part delivered with a sneer. The Lion thought that the old Lickspittle was making a joke.

His fate sealed as well, the Lions’ servant angered, “Perhaps we should throw them a Mercedes or two, you have plenty to spare.”

It was then that the Lion noticed the torches and scimitars. He could now see the circling vultures and hear the hungry yelps of the jackals in the square. Only in zoos do lions die in their sleep.

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Downstream by Tom Allman

My body is stuck in an inner tube bobbing slowly down our little river. My mind is moving somewhat faster. I zip past a paddle wheeler whose cub pilot is marking twain. Then, after shore leave in the Big Easy, I ship out to the Heart of Darkness to find the White Whale.

My bony old butt scrapes a rock and I have to paddle like an upside-down turtle back into the current. Under full steam again I scoot by Gilligans’ Island and render honors to Darwins’ Beagle. Soon though, I arrive at my ultimate destination, my tiny kingdom somewhere in the Pacific.

This is where my dreams always end, in a hammock under the bluest sky you’ve ever seen. Every morning the children gather flowers to weave into my crown. In between sunrise and dinner I manage to fend off European invaders and a giant squid. This is the somewhere I’ve never been that is more familiar to me than my own skin.

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