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Doc's Lunacy
IN A NUTSHELL #quotes These people have made many rules that the rich may break but the poor may not. - Sitting Bull 1877
THE PHYSICIST OF OZ #oz #physics As Dorothy walked on the yellow brick road in search of the physicist of Oz, she murmured, "Muons and gluons and quarks, oh my."
4 of 5 stars to Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Tra... by Hunter S. Thompson goodreads.com/review/show/49…
‘Oh, Mr. Claus, of course I’ll marry you,’ replied the maiden, pledging herself to a never ending but usually delightful existence at the North Pole on a distant planet.
of the stable and the insane monkey turning flips up and down the alley. The slim young man wearing boots with turnover tops looked at the maiden and presented her with a question mark fashioned from a bedspring painted white and sprinkled with red and green glitter.
MARRIAGE PROPOSAL #fantasy On cue, the streetlamps exploded, and the tiny reindeer emerged from the fake buffalo and fanned out to take their positions. The slim young man wearing boots with turnover tops nodded, and the secondary display unfurled, bats chittering down the wall
Would Wanda get true value for her many stone hen sculptures? Pembrook lusted to know the answers to these and other questions. How many hats would the Donaldson twins wear? What was the importance of Hermione’s vat filled with beads? Pembrook huddled high in the tree.
survival depended on his remaining perfectly silent. So naturally his throat tickled and his nose itched. He focused with savage agony his entire being on suppressing a sneezing cough fighting to explode from his rancid imperfect body. But what of Maurice and the dancing mice?
PEMBROOK #nonsense #whimsy Pembrook huddled high in the tree. Sweat trickled down his spine, beaded on his forehead. Yes, his forehead was beneath his spine. Was he safe from his pursuer? Time would tell. Or would it? Time couldn’t be trusted, Pembrook thought bitterly. His
Cornflake. ‘No more 1950?’ The professor nodded. Cornflake sat on the chair, and --- smiled in the mirror at his handlebar mustache and derby hat. Down the stairs he went and out into the Market Street hurly-burly. The accursed cereal wouldn’t be invented for years.
‘Yeah, boss. Here, boss. It’s ready, boss,’ said Blinky, opening the door and bowing away. Cornflake strode into the building. A single chair sat in the middle of an otherwise vast emptiness. The professor, smiling, stood next to the chair. ‘1874, San Francisco, right?’ said
opposing extremities of his mouth. He stuffed the note in his hatband, hurried through the revolving doors and onto the street. He dove for a cab and snarled the address. ‘And make it snappy!’ he added. The cab shot off and in minutes skidded to a stop in front of a warehouse.
he snatched the piece of paper from the silver dish offered by the bellhop. In the face of Cornflake’s burning scowl, the bellhop melted away in lieu of waiting for a tip. Cornflake perused the note. ‘It’s ready’ was all it said. The barest hint of a smile quivered at the
smirk. Nobody smirked. Instead, all busied themselves with newspapers, hat adjustment, wallet or purse inspection, whittling, any activity allowing them to avert their gazes from Mr. Bradley Cornflake, a known killer and terrible bad man. ‘Anything funny?’ roared Cornflake, and
THE ESCAPE OF BRADLEY CORNFLAKE #flashfiction ‘Cornflake! Bradley Cornflake! Message for Bradley Cornflake!’ ‘Here, boy!’ shouted Bradley Cornflake in as gruff a manner as his vocal apparatus allowed, all the while glaring around the hotel lobby in defiance, daring anyone to
A JAMES JOYCE BLESSING #jamesjoyce #wordmusic May your heaventree of stars be hung with night blue fruit.
LITERARY NEAR MISSES #Literature A Tree Grows in Brookline A Farewell to Legs Great Expectorations Huckleberry Finnegan’s Wake
out of the boat smoothly with purpose. You give the prow a mighty shove and watch the simple vessel’s serene withdrawal. You are out of the bushes and hurrying to the stand of trees, your destination. Oh, hope. Oh, reward. You grin and throw your arms wide. There she is! You die.
trickles down your spine. Pull, pull, you crash the shoreline bushes. You lean forward, gasping, at rest, rowing no more. The gun. You remember the gun. You grab it, fling it far. Splash. You lift the oars from the oarlocks and place them one next to the other in repose. You are
REWARD #fairytaletuesday Pull back, push down, you row. Glints spatter in the moonlight as the blades of your oars attack the water. The abandoned pier, a black finger, recedes in the distance. You turn your head. The island waits. Sweat drips from the end of your nose. Sweat pic.twitter.com/THqAvj8N3f
screaming hysterically, fled the room. On the street outside, with trembling hand, she drew a line through the item at the top of her list and read the second item. She nodded. She had plenty of time to get a bite to eat before the next job interview.
READINESS? What does that even mean? IDIOT!, Belle failed to hear the next question and began rapidly blinking her left eye only. The silence was sinister. Belle, nearly fainting, decided it must be broken somehow. So she threw her magic charm into the interviewer’s face and,
to death than a welcome. ‘Belle Sklath, is it?’ uttered the interviewer. ‘That’s right, …’ Belle began before freezing, utterly unable to decide between ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am’ for a crucial moment before dribbling, ‘Your Readiness.’ Inwardly cursing herself, Your Readiness? YOUR
JOB INTERVIEW #flashfiction Clutching the magic charm so tightly that it drew blood, Belle Sklath seated herself lightly, ready to flee. The interviewer across raised its head and barely glanced at Belle. The smile on the its lips was more an accusation of murder and a sentence
again to seek the eyes of doom. Unfortunately for him, the eyes of doom sought him and found him within a week.
thorn bush. Violent winds caused it to stab successfully at his flesh. Three days passed before the volunteers found him. He muttered and sang and snatched at his beard while they carried him back to the village. Once safely home, Betemus Quop vowed never
His rasping gasps took turns with rib crunching thumps as he caromed from tree to tree down the slope to the roaring river. He leaped into the freezing churn without entertaining even the most fleeting of thoughts. Swept to a sandbar, Betemus rolled in misery to huddle beneath a
BETEMUS QUOP #flashfiction Betemus Quop gazed into the eyes of doom and took one involuntary step backward and one voluntary step backward. Then both of his legs volunteered to flee with haste. He sped in frenzy to the mouth of the cave and shot out into the welcoming snow storm.
3 of 5 stars to Burnt Shadows by Kamila Shamsie goodreads.com/review/show/48…
climbed the hill. What did he see when he got to the top? He saw an exact reverse image of his town below. He stood face to face with himself.
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