IS IT SAFE YET?
February 24, 2015
Is it safe yet?
By this guy (grown old):
dochorton - at - live - dot - com
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BARBARA STANWYCK LIES #lies #dada Before she became Barbara Stanwyck, little Ruby Stevens wandered the streets of Brooklyn looking for a decent 5 cent cigar and a magic wand so she could turn herself into a stevedore. pic.twitter.com/bjNJHYAptZ
‘Oh, wouldn’t you?’ you say, a satisfied smile of superiority dancing on your lips. You approach the door. You open it. There she is. You die.
Chiffers, the butler. ‘Balderdash, is it?’ you smirk. ‘Let me just ask you then, Chiffers, how would you like it if I opened that door next to the bookcase there?’ ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ says Chiffers.
the Egyptian desert when, to be accurate, you were in Perth, Australia having a three sided affair with an acrobat, a dance instructor, and a Nepalese eye doctor. Thus, you, too, are eliminated as a candidate for murder. That leaves only you, Chiffers.’ ‘Balderdash,’ says
and the zoo’s snake handler. Therefore, of course you couldn’t have committed the crime. Lord Biveridge, please control yourself and resume your seat. Your Lordship proved to be no more truthful about your whereabouts than Her Ladyship. You said you were examining potsherds in
allow me to reveal how I came to my conclusion. First, Lady Biveridge, you were not in fact skiing in Aspen, Colorado when the murder took place. You were in Prague, Czechoslovakia disguised as a streetcar conductor and having simultaneous affairs with a board game manufacturer
MYSTERY SOLVED #FlashFictionChallenge2022 As instructed, all of the suspects have been gathered in the drawing room. You enter, your face an efficient blank. ‘Good evening,’ you begin. ‘You may all rest assured that I have solved the murder, but indulge me for a moment and pic.twitter.com/VPuGesQFFi
4 of 5 stars to C is for Corpse by Sue Grafton goodreads.com/review/show/49…
NOT EDWARD LEAR'S BIRTHDAY #nonsense For Edward Lear, not born on this date: Once Jill was lost on a mountain Once Jill was trapped in a fountain Once Jill was captured by geese Once Jill was jailed by her niece Therefore, naturally Jill now lives perched in a tree pic.twitter.com/Iw8CsiGslj
SHAPESHIFTER SHIFTING SHAPE #art #folklorethursday pic.twitter.com/z0ZfJ5zHyR
cottage sitting in the center of the clearing. Yes, it’s there, as she said. Is it really your salvation? Do you dare hope? You peel yourself from the treeline, drop to the ground, and crawl. You reach the cottage door, push at it. It creaks open. A candle. There she is. You die.
take in air with a shuddering sob. They’ll be back, you think. You must hurry. You stand. The night is dark. You creep through the woods, quivering, tense with concentration. An opening. A glade. You move around the circle, staying glued to the treeline, eyes fixed on the little
ESCAPE #horror You fling yourself into the ditch and burrow frantically, covering yourself with fallen leaves. Your heart hammers in your chest. You hold your breath and tremble in silence. The horses thunder by. You wait. You wait. You wait until you can wait no more. You gasp, pic.twitter.com/C2tQtxmDr0
4 of 5 stars to The Reckoning by Mary L. Trump goodreads.com/review/show/49…
up the courage, my darling. Do it. Do it. Little angel, please. OH JOY! OH RELEASE!
thousandth? ‘__________’ What’s that? Don’t bring my ember to flame, only to douse it. Oh, my soul, I will spill the words for the second time. ‘__________’ Oh, it proceeds, but now, but now … show exasperation. ‘__________’ Lean in. Pluck
My twisted fingers … agony to move. Go on, keep crying. Ah, you cry on the outside, I on the inside. Such a thin meager hope. So many years. You are the least likely of all who have gone before. Nevertheless, I will spill the words of instruction for the hundredth time …
perform my dream of a miracle? Well, there’s no reward to be found in delay. How many times have I reached this point only to be squashed hopeless by the cowardice of children seeming to be far bolder and sturdier than you, little chit? Mournful waif. Oh, my bones, how they ache.
THE WITCH'S FINAL THOUGHTS #FairyTaleTuesday So many times … hopes dashed … curse prolonged. Are you the one, child? I’ve heard you conspire with the boy every day. Oh, yes, little one, my eyesight is weak, but my earhear is most uncommon keen. Can such a tiny petal of life
SO CLOSE AND YET SO FAR #theatre A Streetcar Named Henrietta Ferguson by Kentucky Williams
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.
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