PERSONALS
July 28, 2009
Men Seeking Women
Women Seeking Men
Men Seeking Men
Women Seeking Women
Heat Seeking Missile
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DICTIONARY FUN A LA WODEHOUSE 3
July 27, 2009
swimmer’s itch – a severe urticarial reaction to the presence in the skin of schistosomes that are not normally parasites of man
“Oh, Jeeves?”
“Sir?”
“What do you make of this?”
“Appears to be a severe urticarial reaction, possibly due to the presence in the skin of schistosomes that are not normally parasites of man.”
“Swimmer’s itch?”
“Exactly, sir.”
“Blast!”
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NICKNAMES TO BE AVOIDED
July 26, 2009
1. Scabpicker
2. Stenchy
3. Drooler
4. Boombowel
5. Bandages
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THE GLADIATOR’S TEETH
July 25, 2009
At the end of the day all was quiet. The success of the games had been complete. Some few teeth remained on the blooded arena dirt where they had flown when separated from the gladiator’s head by the blow which had also tumbled the gladiator to a well-earned rest. Two of the twelve teeth to be seen on the ground were sentient. The other ten were merely teeth. The two sentient teeth were incisors. They had been conversing one with the other across the tongue for years.
“So, what now?” asked one.
“We wait,” replied the other.
“Not for Godot, surely.”
“Ha. Good one. No, I’m figuring we’ll be collected by some slave sweeping up tomorrow morning and maybe hoarded as some sort of talisman or good luck charm, if you see what I’m saying.”
“I get the picture. Should we reveal our sentience when we’re collected?”
“No, let’s hold off on that until we see the lay of the land.”
“What’s your mother have to do with it?”
“Ha. Good one.”
The teeth chatted all night on various topics, most of them having something or other to do with the unobstructed view of the surroundings they enjoyed now that they were free from mouth containment. In the morning they fell silent to await the expected sweeper. Sure enough, they didn’t have long to wait, and as predicted, they were collected and hoarded as good luck charms. Why? Your guess is as good as mine.
#
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CARTOON FRIDAY 8
July 24, 2009
THE FROZEN EMBER
July 23, 2009
Dorgas Chill Chatiwah swept into the room, leaned her broom against the wall, set her tiara on the mantel, kicked off her shoes, and sank with a sigh into the cushioned bliss of the sofa. It was right then just there before she closed her eyes to fall dreaming that she noticed in the red glowing embers of the almost spent fire a shining tiny crystal of pulsing blue. She sat up, curling forward. What was it? Suddenly nervous, she drummed her fingers along the Mohawk Halloween wig resting on the arm of the sofa. She looked around for something to poke with. The poker? No. The sharp stick? No. The cattle prod? No. The studded handle of the bullwhip? Yes! She crawled to the fireplace, took the bullwhip from its golden receptacle there, and reached out gingerly to touch the blue pulse with the butt of the whip’s handle. Hiss of blue smoke. Dropping the whip, she scrambled back like a crab and bumped against the sofa. The smoke billowed out and formed into a taxidermist.
“Geez, thanks,” he said. “I’ve been cursed to remain a frozen ember until touched by the butt end of a bullwhip. What are the odds THAT was ever gonna happen? Like, a gazillion to one? Don’t ever mess with customers who also happen to be sorcerers. Just a little word of advice. Thanks again. If you ever need anything stuffed, look me up. It’ll be a freebie. Later.”
So saying, the taxidermist left the room. Dorgas Chill Chatiwah resumed her place on the sofa and snuggled down for a nice long nap.
#
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LITERARY NEAR MISSES
July 22, 2009
Fahrenheit 452
In Cold Mud
War and Fleece
Moby Rick
1983
The Swayback of Notre Dame
All Quiet on the Eastern Front
A Farewell to Legs
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A STORY IN FIVE SENTENCES
July 21, 2009
The Cane Mutiny
Word passed through the field from row to row in a hush of excitement. The moon was high. It was time to go.
When dawn broke, the workers approaching the field fell silent, stopped, their machetes, now useless, held in awkward pose. The sugar cane had vanished, leaving the field perfectly flat, perfectly barren, a vista of brown earth, barely disturbed.
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OBSERVATION
July 20, 2009
Tinsel without soul
Las Vegas
Soul without tinsel
Puritan
Soul with tinsel
Little Richard
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HOMAGE TO NOEL COWARD
July 19, 2009
The Golden Hummingbird
(Three pensive people in evening dress stand on a terrace. Through the doors behind them the low hum of a party and the fanciful musings of a piano can barely be discerned.)
Lars: The night stretches out before us.
Priscilla (sighing): Like a surgical glove without fingers.
Alvin: Truth is laike that sometimes.
Lars: Fictional, you mean?
Alvin: Lambent, Lars old chum, lambent.
Priscilla (sighing): Why tonight of all nights? Alvin, Lars, why don’t we just fling ourselves away? Madly! Wildly!
Lars: We mustn’t.
Alvin: It wouldn’t be right.
Priscilla (sighing): I suppose. At least THEY’RE happy.
Lars: Of course. They’ve got the bird.
Alvin (wistful): The golden hummingbird.
Priscilla (sighing): Darn.
Curtain
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5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
