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This is where I take to rambling.
101-Word Stupor — The Eskimo Under My Bed
Keywords: Clarinet, Wrestling, Eskimo There’s an Eskimo under my bed. No, don’t peek; he hates that. Every night I put on my jammies then lull him to sleep with my clarinet (“Ode to Joy” — he loves that one). Mommy thinks I’m practicing for music class. Sometimes I hear him sobbing; he misses the taste of baby seal. Well, I’ve never seen one at school or on my paper route, and my encyclopedia says they’re slippery. The idea of wrestling one? Gross. Yesterday I fed him tuna and said it was baby seal. But he knew the difference. I mean, come on, he’s an Eskimo. Preview for tomorrow: Counterfeit, Frog, Dirigible The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read moreRomance? Yeah, it has that, too! Sort of…
I guest-blogged at Lyrical Press today. Please come by and have a...
read more101-Word Stupor — Salt Lick
Keywords: Bagel, Optometrist, District Life sucks. One minute you’re fleeing the Hand of God, the next you’re a pillar of salt. I’d turned to check out the fun bags on Lot’s wife, caught a glimpse of the city and Bam! Salt. Now the wind blows through the woman’s salted face; It takes her nose and eyes until her head looks like a bagel. I think they were siblings, but I don’t judge. I’m from Sodom after all; middle-class district. Optometrist, married to three goats, a horse named Wilma, a de-toothed camel and— Uh-oh. Stay away from me Wilma. Stop licking your lips. Crap. Life sucks. Keyword Preview for Tomorrow: Clarinet, Wrestling, Eskimo The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — “A Good Human Spoiled”
Keywords: Marmalade, Potent, Hypnotic No, I’m not spoiling her. It’s called love. It’s not like your kid is any… Okay, yes, my pooky gets frisky with her pet humans. She named the first one Marmalade. Fitting since it went splat underneath my shoe. The second one lasted longer (thank goodness, considering what they cost), then it fell into some potent corn liquor, buoyed about in a hypnotic stupor, and pop! its bladder burst. I made pooky clean up the— Oh, piss off! She told me about your little monster… biting the heads off her humans; making them have sex with each other. That’s just sick. Keyword Preview for Tomorrow: Bagel, Optometrist, District The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — The Tell-Tale Toe Tag
Keywords: Fungus, Pencil, Brazilian “Uh, no I wasn’t.” “Yes, you were. It’s pretty obvious.” “They were brought in like that.” “With their sheets off? And why just the pretty ones? Why not Mrs. Pencil in the Eye, Miss Botched Autopsy, or Miss Dragged from the Lake fungus thighs?” “Here, check out this toe tag.” “On Miss Brazilian bikini wax?” “Yeah. It says ‘Please take my sheet off.'” “That’s written in black ink.” “Uh-huh.” “It’s fresh black ink.” “So?” “You have black ink on your hand.” “Your point?” “And you’re not wearing pants.” “I’m…um…I’m Union.” “Oh. Union?” “Yep. Union.” “So how are the dues?” “Can’t complain.” Keyword preview for tomorrow: Marmalade, Potent, Hypnotic The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — Guaranteeing my Palatial Estate in Hell With Just 101 Words
Keywords: Bologna, Crater, Abstain God munches a bologna sandwich. That’s all she packed him. It’s the sixth day and he’s tired. Creativity hangover. Every crater filled, ready for populating. Time to make Man. This time will be different. He won’t interfere. He’ll abstain. And he’ll make them all the same color: Green. He once saw this Star Trek that—Naw. He’s got a “thing” for Asians. And his son is black. Fine. But how to keep them from fighting? Compromise. Give them all the same genitalia. Give them springy vertebrae so their mouths can reach their own—”God!” his wife calls, “Get your ass home.” Preview for tomorrow: Fungus, Pencil, Brazilian The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — On the Barbie
Keywords: Ink, Hamburger, Koala The koalas know the Outback; they know to stay away. Chester sniffs and raises one paw, halting his army. They see the koala’s face: hamburger. Bulbs blink in the alley and showcase the others. Tommy vomits; Chester slaps him. One of the bodies coughs and spasms, its blood puddling like ink from a toppled blotter. Still alive… Chester doesn’t think; he runs. “Where’s Joey?” he asks. “Where’s my boy?” Two pulpy eyes drift toward the alley door. Time to show these bastards that koalas aren’t just cute, cuddly and good for beer sales. Time to koala-up, and kick some Aussie ass. Preview for tomorrow (and feel free to suggest your own): Bologna, Crater, Abstain The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — The Rat
Keywords: Umbrella, Inebriated, Carousel It hides beneath the carousel, beneath the motorized whir of circular steeds. Its beady eyes blink into the rain beyond. Thunder rumbles; the children scatter. It sticks out its head and sniffs the electric twilight, whiskers dancing. Then it emerges, skitters past a fallen umbrella, through the moonlit fairgrounds, and into a downed garbage can. Soon it’s inebriated from the stale beer left sitting in discarded carnival cups. A predatory rumble fills its chest. The world fades and it regrets every loss: its wife, its home, its job, its children. A rat crawls over its blank face and finishes the beer. Preview for tomorrow: Ink, Hamburger, Koala The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — Splenda in the Glass
Keywords: Gobble, Milk, September It’s a cold September morning, and the barista fills your personalized Lady Gaga mug with coffee. I hate you. Oh, yeah, hi. Smile and nod. No. Not the daily ritual… Don’t cozy up to the condiment station like a goddamned chemist. Just pour the milk and—Stop shaking the Splenda packet! You’ve loosened the granules enough. Rip the packet open and—Stop it! Why do you keep doing that? No, don’t gobble up your scone now. Jesus. Chew once in a—Stop it! I notice a guy staring at me, typing on his laptop. Hey! Is he blogging about—Stop it! Keyword preview for tomorrow: umbrella, inebriated, carousel The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — Bending Metal
Shh. Be very quiet. My job is to kill talking rabbits. Hey, there’s a big one! A biped, even. I give chase until it dives into a hole. I want to yell, but my speech impediment, you see… It’s embarrassing. I thrust my double-barreled shotgun into the rabbit’s home. As I do, something emerges from the hole behind me. Even with my doctorate in physics, I don’t make the connection. “Got you now!” I fire the gun. Buckshot sprays from both barrels, dislodging half my skull. My prey chomps a carrot, smiles and asks me what’s up. Ooh, I hate rabbits. Keywords: buckshot, biped, skull Have at it! The 101-Word Daily Stupor FAQ Preview for tomorrow: gobble, milk,...
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