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August 12, 2005
Volume 5, Issue 12
One word. It doesn't have to be about the word, per se. Just use the word somewhere in your story:
lips
Laurence - Greasing the windmills of your mind with the blood of the guilty
Hans hated tulips. He had a special pair of tulip-stomping boots he wore when he went on his tulip-stomping walks.
"Why do you do this?" said his neighbors. "Tulips are beautiful."
"Tulips are Satan's handiwork," growled Hans, stomping.
Hans' neighbors replanted the tulips.
And Hans kept stomping them.
The neighbors were worried for Hans, so they asked the mayor to pay Hans a visit.
They argued, Hans stomped the mayor (with his mayor-stomping boots), and the neighbors began to worry for themselves.
That night, an angry mob killed Hans.
I bet you can guess what flowers were at the funeral.
Ted: Les on Les
Today, the Queen City stretched wide its welcoming arms to the Ohio Hog Farmer's Association on the occasion of their annual Pork Festival. This reporter has learned from a reliable source close to the hog persons that yours truly, Les Nessman, has been named featured speaker at tonight's Swine Soiree and dinner dance. Congratulations, Les.
Michele: I Kissed a Man in Reno Just So I Could Die
In what used to be Reno, she met Connor. He had asserted himself as an aggressive leader of bands of thugs; people destined to be rulers of this new, bleak, post-war land.
He was ugly and mean, but he had the spark, the signs of color and life that she had spent seven months walking across an ashen, washed out wasteland to find.
She knew that Connor, brutal and emotionless, would likely kill her when they were done. It’s what she hoped for. She just wanted the taste of passion, life and the living on her lips one last time.
Andy: The Lusciously Naughty Lips of Les Nessman
OK, I can't even really write about that.
Instead I'll direct you here for your oogy, icky lip fix.
Shudder.