The realities of having a rollercoaster in the house would be a nightmare; all the maintenance, security, city permits (of which there would be a plethora for safety, zoning, expansion, etc.) not to mention that riding the same ride would get old.
She reached the steps of the temple and started to climb. At the top, a figure dressed in yellow robes appeared. She hoped he would have a bowl of rice and maybe some sake.
The seagull shit was the easiest to get. All we had to do was climb up the masts and scrape the white chips into a cup. The job could even be done without looking.
Marie, not sure about those origins, though we have a great grandma or great-great grandma Maria.
She was in a foul bate sitting in traffic. Her knuckles were white, gripped around the steering wheel and she was gritting her teeth. She refused to look at the drivers or passengers in the cars all around her.
Jerry’s dead now. Susan came by with a carton of milk that had been in the fridge for two years. She doused him with it. While he was trying to rub away the milk from his eyes, she asked him if he wanted a towel and instead handed him a plugged in toaster.
“For the follicular-ly challenged I have this hair powder. Mix with raw egg, a splash of gin and leave it on your head for two days.” said the medicine man.
“Hey,” said Jerry. “what do you miss most about home?”
“Toilet paper,” said Miles. “As many plies as I want plus folded. Toilet paper.”
Do I belong here for my ideas? Or will I always be a female body with ideas, doomed never to be separated from my anatomy?
The guy who said “follow me” was our tour guide. His outfit would have been fine in the jungle but we were in downtown Los Angeles in July. This jungle required less clothing.
Kramer’s character, as I heard Michael Richards describe him, isn’t dumb or crazy, he’s actually one level above everyone. Unconcerned with what others think, the world is his playground.
Like collapsing a tent pole, all the bones in my leg broke in a chain reaction; the ankle popped, pushing up my tibia and fibula up into my knee cap with a crunch, bruising my femur and dislocating my hip.
Maybe we had forgotten the other side of life, the parts that aren’t fun. The parts where I drink too much, maybe she’s a little too flirty, maybe I look for too long when we go out, the constant barrage of comments from strangers and familiars about her weight (no matter what it is).
It wasn’t the food that was bad. No, in fact it was quite good, albeit unhealthy. It was the motion of the boat rocking along in the chop of the Northern Atlantic. It would be a wonder if I could finish the meal without a brisk walk to the room while tightening my sphincter, out of necessity rather than for pleasure.
I kept wanting to pull at the flesh of my nose between each nostril. Each touch, however, sent me into an eye-watering, blink frenzy.
The cauldron would be impossibly heavy and hot to carry but she had placed the fire under a steel cart with wheels that could be locked.
“Yes chef!” He grabbed the knife and stabbed it into the cutting board. I flinched and peed a little but nobody noticed.
“Managing the Living Experiences of Like-Humans: A Manual and Practical Application of Puritanical Mores”
On paper, I could read the emotions of any language by the jaggedness of lines, indents left by utensils and letters spilling over lines and bumping into other letters.
Suddenly, a wave of water washed over the dry valley, hitting the mans skin with a sizzle. The earth, however, soaked up the water and the sun quickly dried everything.
Then the morning star sprinkled what looked like moss into the larger hole. He blew a kiss and the moss caught fire.
The woman stared at the circle for days, comparing it to objects around her. Her navel was that shape, the eyes of the animals were that shape.
Honey and old cheese is what we use to lure the roaches. A bucket is how we trap them.
The trucker looked back at my girlfriend, he put his bloody forearm in my mashed potatoes and dragged himself further onto the table.
The liquid in my left hand hadn’t quite separated my skin from my nervous system so I had time to switch on the news.
You want a long line of individuals trailing out the door at your funeral. You can’t die in overalls, you’re from the suburbs.
When I first saw him, he was playing drums for the band that was opening for the band everyone had come to see. His band had some non-conformist dada-esque name like “band” or “music group”, I can’t remember.
Fast forward to hour 3 and we’ve got a border, a frame with nothing in the middle but 5 pieces stuck together making up the only red splotch of paint that we can see on the box.
In a grandiose show of feverish creativity, the artist asked for a blank canvas and paints, loudly enough for the PR rep. and art critic nearby to hear.
I saw thin fingers curl around the lid and slide the top aside. In the distance I could see the two gravediggers taking a break behind a tree. The cherries of their cigarettes marking the end of their occasional laughter.
It’s the first name of a horse with literary fame. The dye of clothing chosen by the dead actress bisected. A type of humor laced with death, loss, illness and spite.
Don’t be a curmudgeon! Be a corn-mudgeon and eat cans of corn from Mr. Cron’s Corn Corner.
3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320 The piña colada had already melted. What sat in…
For myself I bought a pair of Looee Veetawn penny loafers. Classy, real gubernatorial-like, you know?
I went back to the cart and this time used his words in the form of a question. The vendors eyes widened and he smiled warmly, probably because no one wanted to buy a hot dog from his stench locker.
Blah Blah Blah
The consequences? The simplistic torture of eating only garbanzos for the rest of ones life.
The entire evening I would reach to shake someones hand, some “Mr. Doctor Sir General King and wife.” I’d shake their hand revealing my hairy arm covered in tattoos. Because my tailor kept prancing about clapping her hands and shouting “fabulous” I ended up in a paint job of a suit.
3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320words/phrase provided by @studiolovecraft The sky is a rust red.…
The truth is I have no idea if these idioms even translate, in Spanish or English. (Yo invento cada cosa…)
“Laundry $5.00 plus a pair of socks, never the same pair, two socks, each from a different pair. Thank you, we appreciate your patronage.”
Have I shown you my bunny rabbit? He’s cute and fluffy and smells so good. Want to pet him?
Oh the smell? That’s just Bugs, except he doesn’t like carrots. Actually he doesn’t keep much down anymore, not since I went on vacation.
It was sticky, bruv! I couldn’t believe it! But the crazy thing, the crazy thing bruv were the bees. The bees were buzzing around, slowly through not fast like I usually seen them. They seemed zoned out, almost high but let me back up to the fat lady with the long dress, she opened up the tent flap to an exhibit that I would have normally passed up.
The gist of this post: Thoughts on my writing process after reading 20 pages of FP’s work A brief introduction…
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the–good lord another fucking goose feather stuck to my cheek!”
He turned toward me, pulling the quill out of the skin of his temple. Though the feather was out, he kept bitching.
I just finished watching the movie, American Animals. The movie is about a robbery of some rare books in a special…