American Chimpanzee

  RaisingDad by Jim and Henry Duchene Back To Four "Who would buy him?"   ...one...     Back when my beloved mother was still alive, she told me something scary that happened to her and my father when they were home alone.     Not scary in an “Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein" kind of way, even though it could have been. You see, the house I grew up in is supposed to be haunted. I say “supposed” because nothing frightening ever happened to me there, unless you count experiencing mysterious gas fumes every night emanating from my laughing brother's side of the bedroom we shared.      Anyway...      They were in the den watching TV. She was sitting on the couch and my father was in his favorite chair, when—all of a sudden—my father began to choke.      "Honey!" my mother screamed.      Panicking, she got up from the couch, picked up the remote, and...

RaisingDad by Jim and Henry Duchene Just Three "an inconvenient obligation" ...one... Not only is my wife beautiful, but she’s an excellent cook.      When I look into our refrigerator, I see nothing to eat. My wife, however, can look into anyone's refrigerator and come up with a feast. Her leftovers are better than a gourmet meal at the snootiest of restaurants. My father agrees with me, but he has a backhanded way of delivering compliments.      One weekend, I was laid low with a nasty cold, so my wife made me a hearty stew. There's no such thing as canned this or that or anything from a bag with my wife. She loves to cook and cooking from scratch is the only way she knows how. So she prepared the meat, chopped up the fresh, carefully chosen vegetables, and dropped them into her favorite stew pot along with her unique blend of spices and herbs that Colonel Sanders would be envious of. As the delectable concoction was simmering on the ...

as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine    RaisingDad by Jim and Henry Duchene Another Four Stories “let sleeping angels lie”   When my granddaughter was four-years-old we were driving back from a road trip and she was asleep in her car seat. She looked like an angel, her hair a delicate tangle of curls. She was perspiring the way children sometimes do when they slumber.  Suddenly, she startled awake. “Are you okay?” I asked her. She looked around, slow to take in her surroundings. “I dreamt my hair was on fire,” she finally told me. “Well, you’re safe now,” I assured her. After a few seconds I dipped a toe into the water. “You woke up pretty quick,” I said. She nodded. “You wake up fast when your hair’s on fire,” she told me. I guess you do. Now my granddaughter is eight, and she’s a pretty bright kid (she gets it from me). She’s back at school and was telling me they were teaching her about fire safety. She had learn...

  The Tell-Tale Trump by Stephen King as told to Jim Duchene    You’re right, you’re right. I’m nervous–very nervous–but crazy?       I only wish I were.      You see, I’ve always found Donald Trump entertaining, in a monkey playing the accordion kind of way, but I never thought he’d be president. Then he stole the election, the only known instance of that ever happening.      I could live with that. I bore him no ill will. It was only four years, after all. How much damage could he do?      But his tweets!      They drove me nuts!      No, not nuts. Not nuts. I’m not nuts. I swear I’m not.       Soon, you might say, I became obsessed with Trump and his hellish tweets. Obsessed isn’t the same as insane, is it?      Of course not.      Every ...