Status Updates From Tall Tales with Short Cocks...

Solid collection

second best ATM story I've read.

"My Tapir" is the short story Kafka would have writ had he a goddamned soul. And a menagerie.

“So, now what’s this terrorist organization you wanted to tell me about?”
“They are in Siberia,” Alexey said, lapping more vodka. “Very bad. They hate America and support Al Qaeda. At least, that is what I have heard. Their name is The Yeti.”
“The Yeti?” Christian said. “That sounds familiar.”
“No, you are pronouncing it wrong. The Yeti.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“It is a Muslim name. Excuse me.”

Alexey explained the situation with the Yetis and bears, and the Chairman nodded his fat head thoughtfully.
“Do we know the ideological persuasion of these Yetis?” he asked.
“No,” Alexey said.
“And you bears all accept the basic tenets of Marxism-Leninism?”
“Oh, yes,” Alexey replied, even though he had no idea what Marxism-Leninism was.

All over Russia, bears were depressed. The Yeti were moving west. This was due to global warming, but the bears hadn’t gone to university so they didn’t understand the bigger picture. All they knew was that one day bears were the best animals, and the next these strange creatures were punching them in the face and eating all their salmon and berries.

Alexey was a Northern Black Bear. He weighed 480 lbs and stood seven feet tall on his hind legs. His fur was thick and his rock-hard skull could withstand a round from a .22 rifle. He was death on four paws. Hikers felt their bowels turn to ice water when they heard his growl. He was massive. He was intimidating. He was terrifying. So he was very surprised to find himself getting punched in the face by a yeti.

He pulled a pair of business cards from his jacket pocket and handed them to Calvin and Rosa. “We’re part of the Greater Albuquerque Gay Men’s Gnome Eradication Front.”
“Gagmigef?” said Calvin, staring at the card and attempting to pronounce the acronym.
“Your house was built on an ancient gnome burial ground.”

Rosa threw the dishwasher open as she stumbled past, its door falling like a giant foot in a Monty Python sketch. Nine angry gnomes were instantly pulverized as she hopped up onto the counter, and twice as many cracked collectibles immediately took their place. They swarmed across the fallen door, taking up dirty knives and crusty forks along the way.
“You said you did the dishes!” Calvin screamed.

“This was a spectacularly terrible idea,” Rosa observed.
“I’m beginning to see that now,” Calvin replied, reaching for the metal rolling pin. He then began rapidly rubbing his feet over the small patch of carpet left to them.
“What are you—”
“Static electricity,” he said, “I’m gonna pull a MacGuyver on their asses and electrocute them with science!”
“That rolling pin has a non-stick rubber coating, Cal.”

Safely hunkered down in their furniture fort—with only minor burns from Calvin’s ill-conceived toaster-fork-launcher attempt—Rosa & Calvin ceased swatting at the pint-sized predators to take a quick inventory of their supplies: the rolling pin, the comal, 6 Snickers, 3 coffee mugs, and a television remote.
“If we take the batteries out first, we’ll have THREE things to throw,” said Calvin, disassembling the remote.