Welcome to a brand-new concept for “Life Sucks. Laugh Here.” Dark Shorts is intended to supplement the longer weekly posts with some random, ad hoc, funny, shorter stories (usually just a paragraph). These will post randomly during the week as the spirit moves me to create content. Please let me know your thoughts, likes, dislikes, general feedback in the Comments section at the bottom of this page. – PS Conway
Freddy had a gender-fluid fruit fetish. Freddy was not fussy. On certain days, a buxom blonde banana or a plump perse eggplant sent him into pure ecstasy. On other days, a pudenda pink papaya or pap smear purple pomegranate scratched his prickling perversions. But nothing, not even a succulent ass-shaped squash, came close to his infatuation with mangoes. Freddy would spend hours in the produce section of his grocery store. Damp hand gliding gently along every piece of produce, delicate fingers exploring nooks and crannies, sketchy smile spreading over his face. Thank god no store allows black lights on their produce. Freddy was not a hand-washer. One of his many pervy proclivities. Above all other fruits, Freddy loved mangoes. And while all mangoes were a guaranteed trip to Bonerville, nippled mangoes took the grand prize. These unicorns of fruit sported a natural deformity, an additional hard protrusion on the tip of the mammary-like mango, much like a nipple on a breast. Freddy would whisper mango, mango, mango to himself, just loud enough for children to hear, and rub the mango hither and thither across his face. One Sunday, a protrusion burst open, and a poisonous tropical spider emerged, biting Freddy’s face. As the neurotoxin took hold, Freddy folded fluidly to the floor of the store, neck craning toward the mango display, his last whispered word: Rosebud.