Posted by on January 7, 2017

Short Stories by Joey To

Written & Illustrated by Joey To

February 17, 2016


Dear Diary,
No offense but I’m only writing because I have to. As if I’ll write down anything private here. As my uncle always says: “Keep your private thoughts private and your private videos hidden.”
I’m not sure how to tell Mr. Harrison diplomatically that I find this “English exercise” pointless and tacky. Surely, there’s a way to blackmail convince the English department to actually start teaching. I rather write some analytical essay than this so-called diary.
Anyway, no “issues” to add… My mother is alive and well. My father is not a drunk. Both are dutiful to a fault. My neighbor hasn’t molested me yet and I don’t have delusional ambitions of being a champion figure skater.
Looking forward to the 45-minute train trip home and dinner. And stupid reading, because I love reading bombast passed off as literature for English. Rah!!!
Warm regards,
P.S. Some teachers certainly have interesting pictures on their laptops.


Mr. Wolf, you bully, I’m not scared of you. You’re just a punk. A frigging punk. You tried to eat that girl in red and you picked on my two friends but you won’t intimidate me. No, you won’t cos I’m ready for ya. Damn straight I am. You think I’m just a fat piggy? You think you can take me cos you’re soooooo cool. Want to suck on my fat, do you? You’re welcome to try so come to my house of brick and blow, blow your hardest like never before and then you can taste my 12-gauge. Bitch.


The Bored Drummer by Joey To

James slid the lightning rods into the usual gap on top of a bass drum. Finally, time for the last song. Time for full sticks. They were new. And hard.
He thundered something in 4/4. Walls shook. Heads turned. Alternating to 5/4 during the chorus, his sweating band tried to keep up with his litany of polyrhythmics. Then more heads turned with piercing glares, the number in proportion to his increasing volume. And just for good measure, he transitioned to 13/8. Cos he can.
When James finished the song with a cannonade of toms and double-kicked bass, there was a congregation of knitted brows. One scowl stood out: the priest wasn’t impressed.