everybody knows joe
By C. M. Kornbluth
At least two persons live in each
of us. At least one of them is Joe.
For a young man Cyril Kornbluth has been around a long time—at least in the upper reaches of science fiction and fantasy writing. His "Little Black Gag" is already accepted as a classic, his collaborations with Judith Merril "Mars Child" and Frederik Pohl "The Space Merchants," novels of high entertainment and worth. We are delighted to present him in a little story that should scare the pants off everybody.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Universe October-November 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Joe had quite a day for himself Thursday and as usual I had to tag along. If I had a right arm to give I'd give it for a day off now and then. Like on Thursday. On Thursday he really outdid himself.
He woke up in the hotel room and had a shower. He wasn't going to shave until I told him he looked like a bum. So he shaved and then he stood for a whole minute admiring his beauty in the mirror, forgetting whose idea it was in the first place.
So down to the coffee shop for breakfast. A hard-working man needs a good breakfast. So getting ready for a backbreaking day of copying references at the library, he had tomato juice, two fried eggs, three sausages, a sugared doughnut and coffee—with cream and sugar.
He couldn't work that off his pot in a week of ditch-digging under a July sun, but a hard-working man needs a good breakfast. I was too disgusted to argue with him. He's hopeless when he smells that short-order smell of smoking grease, frying bacon and coffee.