May 18, 2005
Volume 1, Issue 6
Why is this person laying naked on the floor?
My kids have made up a dozen stories so far, so don't wuss out.
Laurence: The Art Of War
Joey laughed. "All I need is your Magritte pipe, and you're so toast!"
Mandy and Greg smiled. They didn't like war toys, so they figured that substituting the ships for works of art would help somehow.
Twenty years later, they were in the courtroom as their sons were convicted of trying to steal Michelangelo's David.
"I told you that the damn alarm was in B7!" growled Joey.
"I thought you said E4!" Bobby yelled back. "Asshole!"
They were sentenced to twenty years apiece
Bobby's in cell F7. Joey's in cell F8.
Michele: Worst. Breakup. Ever.
Every time Lizzie closed her eyes, the scene played out on the back of her eyelids like some cheap horror movie. The terrible cry of her own voice - “Nooooooooooooo!”- reverberated in her head in a long, slow drawl.
She had a burning hole inside her, something that felt like emptiness. Occasionally it would fill with vomit and she’d spill it onto the cold tile floor. Still she laid there, throat burning, hearing his angry threat echo in her head, “I’ll do it....”
Laughing maniacally, smiling, he ripped open the packaging of her original Kenner Han Solo figure.
The Eschatologist: Seasons
"Hedera? Wake up, woman!"
Curled in the fetal position on icy tile, she attempted to creep away from the voice, when a foot struck narcissus petals from her hand, and she flinched, weeping.
"Great Halja, the passage has stunned her." The wizened, owl-like figure smiled plaintively.
"Do you know how I had to move heaven and earth to get her here? Even as we speak, whole crops die and the sun turns her face away from us. Can you not hear her mother stomping above now? A bargain will have to be struck." Halja sighed.
"Gardener, fetch me a pomegranate."
My blood makes a whirring sound as it rushes past my eardrums. My skin feels like it's being winched tighter and tighter by tiny sadistic machinists.
Colors swirl around the colorless floor, leaving imprints on the interior of my eyelids when I blink, first one eye, then the other.
My body clenches into a fetal position, then relaxes a bit. My earrings begin singing to me in a high, Franki Valli-esque falsetto. 'Bi-iig girls, do-hon't cry-ay-ay-ay...'
The tile is ice cold where it touches my skin, and gradually the effects of the drug wear off.
Never drinking Darth Dew again.
Half the people who see me can't be sure whether or not I am a man or a woman. Hell, half the people I fuck aren't sure until the see my tiny little balls. Sometimes a woman gets pissed off because I am so small, but most of the guys just think "hell, she has tits and she gives good head." The dyke I picked up tonight was only the third time I got beat up though.
Maybe I should just roll over until the cold makes me numb and I'll just whack the damn thing off with a cleaver.
Andy: Les Nessman, Mea Culpa
Les Nessman liked to use tape as virtual walls around his desk.
I intended to write 100 words for today’s theme, but life has a habit of getting in the way. Not only did I spend all day in meetings, but the night before I managed to display an inability to navigate steps, missing one but not the pavement below.
So, my 100 words were to be about a weary traveler anticipating a shower, but as he spoke, you, being highly perceptive, would have realized it was not a shower at all, but a gas chamber.
Hey, that’s 100 words!
From the Comments - By Carthoris of Helium
"Look!" said Beldar, carefully moving the lower limbs of the mummy back and forth. "You can see they lie naturally up along the body."
"Huh. You don't think its posture is just a freak result of the final catastrophe?"
"Not at all. That fool Klemper got it backwards: they stood on the long tentacles and used the short ones to feed. All the museum's statues are upside down."
I thought about our most popular diorama, in which a mother creature puts food in the mouth of the young. "So you're saying the mouth is the opening at the other end?"