I tell my son two new stories a day. And when I say "new," I mean—well, at first, I shamelessly borrowed Hollywood’s finest. Yes, my child spent his formative years believing I personally invented laser swords, one ring to rule them all and for some reason a women dressed in all pink going to Harvard! Look, it was easier! My brain was already juggling a small boy, two backpacks, one umbrella, and the ever-present threat of oncoming traffic. Who has time for original plotlines when you’re basically starring in your own live-action survival movie? But, inevitably, Hollywood let me down. There’s only so many blockbusters you can rip off before your kid notices every main character is named "Luke," and the plot always involves a lost dinosaur. So I switched to improv .. my professional wheelhouse! (Did I mention I have a PhD in improv? You’d think this would help.) But my son is a tiny, merciless director. Halfway through a story, he’ll demand, “Make the dragon allergic to cheese!” or “Now it’s raining pancakes!” Suddenly, all those years on stage feel like rehearsal for this. Parenthood’s ultimate improv show, with a much tougher audience. Here’s my logic: if I churn out two stories a day, that’s 730 per year. Statistically, at least three have to be decent, right? (Look, I’m no mathematician, but I like those odds.) Sure, 80% of these tales are complete and utter nonsense, but why not let a few loose on the world? Maybe some will resonate. Or maybe, centuries from now, a future civilization will unearth my archives and say, “Ah, the legendary saga of Princess Pancake and the Cheese-Intolerant Dragon.” Or maybe the real question is: why not? So here they are: a selection of my finest, weirdest, most questionably educational stories. Not the ones I told my son (he’s still recovering from the plot twists), but the ones that spilled out once I realized I’m basically a story factory with questionable quality control. Release the stories! Let’s see what survives in the wild.
