Writing Prompts #16–More Deadly Sins

So we continued on with our Seven Deadly Sins theme tonight–two weeks ago we touched on Lust, this week we branched out a bit and did Gluttony, Anger, Envy, and a bit more Lust (everyone’s favorite deadly sin apparently.  Our moderator picked up a book from the library called Seven Deadly Sins by Dan Boone (heh Daniel Boone), which touched on a lot of the religious aspects of the sins, though his comments on some of the sins appeared to cross over to other sins more than the one that he was focusing on.  We also returned to a favorite restaurant, which fortunately this time was *not* as busy as it was the last time.

Prompt #1–Gluttony
How would Ronald MacDonald use gluttony to take over the world?

High on a hill, hidden in the HOLLYWOOD sign, Ronald MacDonald sat behind a giant computer screen, fingers steepled and red, fuzzy eyebrows furled.  His red curls stood out around his head in their normal halo, backlit by the machines that lined the wall behind his chair.
Next to him sat a purple mountain, with tiny arms and a jolly smile.  Looking in Grimace’s eyes, though, you could see an evil gleam that belied the innocence of his smile.
“I think if we up the animal fat content of our “peanut oil” and tell our fryers to add just a smidge more of our special “iodized” salt, we’ll be back on track,” Ronald said, reaching out a gloved hand to turn a dial then push a glowing purple button.  The computer screen in front of them lit up as rows of green numbers scrolled through.  Ronald and Grimace sat silently until the computer beeped and flashed a big read date.
“Perfect,” Ronald purred.  He indicated that Grimace should leave, and just as the purple blob reached the door, he said, “and send in the Hamburgler, please.”
The door hissed open, then clicked shut with a beep as the Hamburgler slunk in, eyes glowing with fear under the brim of his black hat.  “You wanted to see me, sir?” he said, voice quivering.
“Ah, yes, ‘Burgler,” Ronald said, turning his chair around.  “I’ve heard what you’ve been doing lately.  I heard that…you have been speaking to the First Lady, #1 enemy of our Grand Design, on the sly.  I…just can’t have one of my…”trusted” employees, one of my…original gang…betraying me like that.  It sets a…bad example for the rest of us.”
Hamburgler’s knees began to tremble, and Ronald flipped open the arm of his chair, exposing a button labeled “100% animal fat fryer”.  His gloved finger slowly descended and depressed the button.  The floor beneath the Hamburgler separated, dropping the startled villan into a bubbling vat of oil.  Ronald smiled as the Hamburgler bobbed and tumbled in the hot oil.  “I think I just came up with our latest menu item,” he said, mostly to himself, “Deep fried…hamburgers.”

Prompt #2–Anger
Why would a postal worker revisit the scene of his/her firing

“They’re going to pay,” I thought angrily, mashing the sleeve of my uniform in my fists.  I had to go in today to pick up my final paycheck and retunr my hideous uniform–I had to admit, I was not going to miss wearing those polyester shorts in summer.
I sat in my car, the engine running, as I contemplated my options–go in, calmly, take my check and go was the obvious answer, but I was too angry for that.  I tossed around driving my car through those doors that never latched properly, letting the cold air in all winter long.  I thought about dousing my uniforms in gasoline and lighting them on fire on top of the dreaded customs forms, but I was worried about the polyester going up to fast and lighting me on fire.  I was angry, not suicidal.  Finally, I settled on stealing my son’s squirt gun and filling it with red food coloring and spoiled milk.  That would send a statement they wouldn’t soon forget, I figured.
I arrived at my old branch and patted my coat pocket reassuringly.  “Soon, baby,” I whispered to it and immediately felt silly.
My boss was waiting for me in the lobby, which was crowded during the lunch rush.  I pulled my squirt gun out and aimed it at her chest.  “Take THAT!” I yelled, pulling the trigger, sending out a stream of smelly liquid.
I realized, however, that bringing even a toy gun into a post office was actually a bad idea as an off duty police officer pulled out his personal weapon and placed three shots into my chest.  “Shit,” I thought as I fell,” maybe I should have just driven my car into the lobby instead…”

Prompt #3–Envy
Vilify Cinderella/vindicate the envious step sisters

Everyone thinks that since Cinderella nabbed the prince that she’s the nice one, the misunderstood and mistreated one.  Boy, are they wrong!  I know for a fact that my mother treated her just as well as my sister and me.  We had no idea that when Mother sent her on errands into the village that she was dressing in our kitchenmaid’s dirty laundry and letting everyone believe that we badly mistreated her.
If anything, Cinderella (and she came up with that name herself–it’s actually Abigail Ellen) was a BULLY!  She stole my necklaces and the trimmings off Anastasia’s dress.  Then she staged the whole trashing of the dress ging, which got Anna and I in so much trouble we almost got grounded from the ball.  Mother made ME give Cinderella MY dress and I had to go in one of mother’s old hand-me-down dresses instead.
Of course that manipulative little brat bagged the Prince–she’d had years of practice on me and Anna to mold her craft.  I just hope that the prince figures out her true personality before they wed.  Otherwise he’s going to be in for one miserable life!

Prompt #4–Lust
Give the book (Seven Deadly Sins) author a sexual experience

“We should study for the deadly sins test together, Dan,” the pretty coed said.  her sweater yams bounced enticingly as she spoke, but Dan tried to ignore them.  He wouldn’t remain a lifelong virgin if he started to objectify women.
“Okay, in the library at noon tomorrow?” Dan said, keeping his eyes towards Heaven.  The coed nodded and swayed off, cats fighting underneath her miniskirt.
Dan figured that the library was safe, and that the busiest time would mean they wouldn’t be left alone.  He arrived early and set up, spreading out books and the pages of his dissertation, Seven Deadly Sins, out around him.
Sara, the coed, bounced over, her generous cantaloupes swaying from side to side.  Dan slid a book over his lap, hiding the erection he wasn’t quick enough to suppress.  Sara smiled and sat down next to him, making Dan shift uncomfortably.  She laid a hand on his forearm and Dan cringed as he felt a warm, sticky flood fill his tighty-whities.

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Published in: on March 4, 2013 at 10:30 am  Leave a Comment  
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Writing Prompt #15–Seven Deadly Sins

It looks like my writing group is going to be doing a series of prompts based on the Seven Deadly Sins (Wrath, Greed, Envy, Lust, Pride, Gluttony, Sloth).  We’ll be doing one or two a meeting, though Lust may get two meetings.  This week’s meeting was *huge* and in a place that likes to close early if there aren’t many customers, so we kind of felt chased out and ended our meeting after only two prompts.  A normal meeting has around 4-5 people at it, this week’s had 8!  Granted one of them was a friend of mine in town from Philly who was just there to hang out, but still, we haven’t had that many people since we were at Panera almost a year ago.521298_4168130721039_799782757_n

That’s Korku, Apostle of Gluttony (or was it Greed?)  A few years ago, I used to belong to a My Little Pony RPG that was based off of the Seven Deadly Sins, and that’s my boy, there.  He’s half pony, half dragon, (but insists his great gramma was a snake!), and eats *everything* in sight.  Riding him is Bramble, Apostle of Sloth, I think.
And yes, I really *am* that good of an artist.

This week we only managed two prompts, so that’s why Lust may get two weeks instead of one, because everyone said “Are we starting with Lust?  Can we start with Lust?”  Popular subject, sex.

Prompt #1
If there was no lust, what job would people who have jobs centered around it have?

“What are we doing with these mice again?” Masters asked, holding a wiggly white mouse in his hand, staring at it intently.
“Measuring his sexual stimulation to certain smells,” is what Johnson would have answered if the Russians hadn’t released their anti-sex neutron bomb during World War II.  But, they had, and as a result, there was no need to study sexual behavior.  Instead, they were studying the effects of certain genetically modified foods.  “Feed him specimen 32-DD, and hope he doesn’t die,” Johnson answered dully.
Masters dropped the mouse back into his aquarium and threw up his hands in disgust.  “I’m tired of watching mice die,” he exclaimed .  “Don’t you feel that we had something better to do?”
Johnson looked up, her face thoughtful.  After a moment, though, her expression settled back into its normal bored expression.  “No, it’s always been my dream to kill mice…”

Prompt #2
Non-sexual lust

Horses–any kind.  Ponies, unicorns, mini-horses, I don’t care.  Of course, you could take that love into another area of lust, but I think that’s illegal in the United States.
My best friend in elementary school was my best friend because, in kindergarten, my mom told me “Go talk to Gail, she has horses!”  So, I did.
I read all the books I could get my hands on–another friend and I used to argue who got the new horse book from the bookmobile until the lady got smart and started to double up on horse books.
Calendars, figurines, books, pictures, posters, I had them all.  My 8th grade latchhook project?  A horse head in profile.  I was obsessed.
I still am, I just control it better.  Though my first question to my husband after I found out he grew up on a farm was “do you have horses?”  Maybe it’s not as under control as I thought.

Short prompts this week–who do YOU think would have a different job, or not even exist if there was no lust in the world?

Published in: on February 18, 2013 at 11:49 am  Leave a Comment  
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Writing Prompts #14: Valentine’s Day Edition

This was from the meeting almost two weeks ago, but I figured since the theme was “Anti-Valentine’s Day”, I’d save it until today.  I’ve never really been a huge fan of the day, honestly.  It was fun in high school due to our National Honor Society carnation sale, which thankfully had a friend option, so my friends and I would have fun writing each other silly notes and sending yellow carnations to each other.  Then, Junior and Senior year, I got to help out with the sale, which made it more fun.  Getting out of first period to deliver flower?   Yes please!

Prompt #1
The day of the groundhog on Groundhog’s Day (okay, not a V-day themed prompt, but still fun)

“It’s the best gig,” Phil said, looking around at his support group–Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, the Sandman, and Elvis.  They met once a month to discuss their issues.  People not believing in them, or that they were too real, in the case of Elvis.  “one day, for five minutes, tops, and then the rest of the year, I’m pampered and fed and no one expects a damn thing out of me.”
“My job only takes one day a year, too,” pointed out the Easter Bunny.  This meeting he had come tie-dyed in pinks, purples, and blues, with a floppy pastel green bow between his fluffy ears.
“Yeah, Flopsy, but my day requires ZERO prep time.  Hell, if I’m cold when I come out, I just go straight back to bed, and the fools think they have six more weeks of winter!  Jokes on them, I just partied too much the night before with on of my groundhog groupies.  One too many shots of Jager will do that.”
“Children worship me,” Santa pointed out.  Phil scoffed.
“Children.  I have children and adults all gathered around outside my burrow.  I have a FESTIVAL, for crying out loud!”

Prompt #2
A friend has set you up with “the perfect guy for you”.  Only, he’s not.

I like tall, think, brown-haired guys with glasses.  My friends all know this–they’ve watched me date guys that fit my type to a T for years now.  So when Gail said she had the perfect guy for me, I figured he’d be tall, thin, with brown hair and glasses.  I scoured the coffee-house where we’d agreed to meet, looking for a guy that fit that description.
The shop was busy, and everywhere I looked there was a thin guy–over by the cash register, contemplating lattes, seated by the window with an iPad, loughing at a table people watching why sipping on a miniscule espresso.
I paused in the doorway, at a loss for what guy to approach–Gail had only told me his name and that he’d be perfect for me.  I had to admit I was more than surprised when the only guy in the shop built like a California surfer approached me, hand out and a smile on his tanned face.
“Shelley?” He said and took my hand, leading me to the shop’s only booth.  He asked what I wanted, and I sat, a bit stunned, as he walked away.  “Well, at least he has a cute butt,” I told myself.  I studied him as he ordered my drink:  blond hair cut almost military short, blue eyes, and about double the musculature I was used to.  Not to mention that he barely topped my own height.  In fact, this guy was more GAIL’S type than mine!
He came back to the table, still smiling, which put me off even more–my tall brown-haired boys tended to the broody end of the scale.

Prompt #3
Sexy Hub Cap Superbowl ad

Shot 1:  4 chrome hub caps on black velvet pillars spotlighted so they shine
CUT TO BLACK
Shot 2:  Hot, tanned, long curly haired woman dressed in hot pants and a cropped top advertising Harlan’s Hubcap Emporium.  She’s sitting, arms back, knees bent, head tossed back, wind blowing her hair back.  Her bright red, shiny lips are slightly parted, and her eyes are closed.  She’s wearing hub cap earrings, necklace, and ring.
CUT TO BLACK
Shot 3:  Blazing hot day, the same girl, same outfit, is outside, bent over, changing old grimy hub caps on a 2013 Porsche to the caps from the first shot.  She looks over her shoulder and winks at the camera.
CUT TO BLACK
Shot 4:  A still of the model lounging on the hood of the Porsche, licking one of the hub caps, with Harlan’s Hubcap Emporium superimposed over the grill of the car.
Voiceover:  Harlan’s Hubcaps, the sexiest hub caps in town!”

Prompt #4
The least sexy setting

Close up, it looked like a romantic spot for a picnic:  verdant grass, blue sky, a large oak tree spreading leafy branches to provide just enough shade from teh sunny day.
Zoom out x10
The patch of grass is directly next to a large asphalt parking lot full of dented, rusted cars.  Some of the cars are sporting racist bumper stickers and more than one car has a “window” made of plastic sheeting and duct tape.
Zoom out x100
The parking lot is attached to a seedy strip club called “Bottoms Up”, and several of the girls are outside puffing on cigarettes.  The other side of the patch of grass borders a ramshackle three-story apartment building that has several blowsy women leaning off a balcony, shouting obscenities at the strippers.
Zoom out x1000
The blue sky turns out to be the side of an enormous superstore known for paying women less than men and running local businesses out of business with unfair competition.  Off to the side is a dumpster overflowing with trash, and a homeless man fights over a loaf of moldy bread with a mangy three-legged dog.  The dog’s growling almost drowns out the women shouting at the strippers.
Zoom out x10000
Grey smog covers the city, obscuring the picnic spot from view.

Writing Prompts #13

Wow, it looks like it’s been quite a while since I’ve posted one of these–I didn’t post the ones from the first meeting in November, as they all ended up being part of the NaNo project, and then I missed 2 meetings in a row (though the first one in December didn’t involve writing anyway.  I think our moderator gave everyone a break from writing and they played a board game instead.  I had dinner made FOR me that night, and I didn’t want to discourage my husband from cooking, so…).

But!  I’m back, with some great stuff, I think.  We did an “end of the world” theme with the prompts, and it was so much fun.  The moderator also let us run with no time limit on each prompt, which led me to be very…very…wordy.  The 2nd prompt ran over 3 handwritten pages.  We also were at one of my favorite spots in the area, Wally Waffle.  I hadn’t been in quite a while, since college, I think, but it was just as yummy as I remembered.  I had a pecan belgian waffle with honey butter while others had an Elvis waffle (waffle with bacon and peanut butter chips baked in and topped with bananas and whipped cream), chicken and waffles, and the BIGGEST PANCAKES I’ve seen outside that episode of Man Vs Food.  ENORMOUS.

Prompt #1–you are a cult leader trying to lure people in with the End of the World, what would you say?

Repent your sins, the end of the world is near!  We will all meet our maker in a fiery ball of death in one week!  Aliens will come–I can hear them through my electric toothbrush in the mornings and evenings, and they are very angry at us, the human race.  They’re upset with the mess we’ve made of our environment, how we desecrate animals for our own entertainment and nutrition!  They hate how we fight and pollute the oceans with the packaging from our material wants.  But most of all, they are angry with our pollution of the air in space with our obsessions with Snooki and the Situation, and all things involving rigged, ear-splitting singing competitions.  They’ve heard us from millions of miles away and will be here in one week–two at the most–and they will vaporize us!  They have the technology to dig to the core of our planet in the blink of an eye, where they will use the heat and pressure against us, and the planet will explode,  leaving only small chunks to mark our once green planet.
Repent, my brothers and sisters, repent!  The end is nigh, and only I hold the key to your salvation!

Prompt #2–it’s the end of the world and the only two people left alive are you…and Richard Simmons

I could hear annoying 80s pop music blaring through my closed and bolted bedroom door.  I groggily opened my eyes, trying to figure out why I was hearing music–my apartment had been deadly silent the night when I’d gone to sleep the night before.  There had been no garbage trucks, honking of angry taxi drivers, or even the arguments of the transvestite prostitutes that worked the corner below my window.  Usually I fell asleep to Destiny hollering at Cherry Pie to give her back her best Dolly wig, or Starlight crying to anyone who would listen about her no good, cheating boyfriend. I thought that last part to be ironic, considering Starlight’s chosen profession.
The music continued to pulse, and I gripped the baseball bat I’d salvaged from my neighbor’s apartment and slept with last night, my arms curled up around it like a lover.  I looked out the window, and saw the same abandoned street I’d seen the day before.  The battery had apparently finally run down on the car that sat haphazardly in the intersection, right blinker on.  I’d found no sign of anyone yesterday, so who was in my living room this morning, playing that annoyingly cheerful music?
I unlocked the padlock I’d stolen from the hardware store down the street (just because I couldn’t find anyone didn’t mean I was alone, so one can’t be too careful) and slowly opened the door.  I crept down the short hallway and peered around the corner.
Standing in my living room, dressed in a spangly pink tank top and matching way-too-short exercise shorts, danced Richard Simmons.  He had found the copy of “80s Blast Off!” I’d inherited from my grandmother and I’d sworn I’d given away.  The bat clattered from my fingers in shock.  Just my luck, the world ended and the only other person on the planet was Richard Simmons.

Prompt #3–Mayan Zombie Apocalypse.  Where is the toxin and how is it released?

Found journal, dated December 25th 2012

I swear the zombie apocalypse wasn’t my fault.  I totally did not bring about the end of civilization as we know it.  And before you ask, I don’t know how I survived being infected–I’m sure there are others out there like me, I can’t be the only one!
I guess I should back up a bit–to 5 days ago.  My friends and I decided that we wanted to see the apocalypse up close, at a Mayan ruin.  We’d scrimped and saved, and someone decided it’d be awesome to road trip our way there.
It wasn’t awesome.  We constantly ran out of gas (Mexico, once you get off the highly tourist laden coasts, is not exactly swimming in gas stations), we got ripped off by the locals, and I don’t even want to talk about that flat tire, so don’t ask.
So, we finally got there after five days of brutal travel.  Samantha, my best friend and college roommate, and I brought along our dogs, and we figured they could use a little non-car time and set off.  I found a trail that led off the parking lot so we set off, the dogs happily sniffing all the new vegetation.
We were about half a mile from the car when both dogs just went…apeshit and pulled the leashes out of our hands and zoomed off of the path.  We chased after them, trying to shield our faces from low hanging branches while trying to keep on our feet in the thick undergrowth.
My dog growled, then barked sharply, Samantha’s dog answering with a high-pitched yelp.  We caught up with them in a small clearing.  Honestly, we should have known something was up–the flowers in the clearing were almost neon bright in color and the low hanging tree branches seemed to move independent of a breeze.
Teh two dog had found a strange oblong container and were snapping at each other over it.  I tugged it out of my dog’s jaws and examined it.  It was some sort of glossy wood, covered in strange symbols.  I shook it, but heard no sound from within it.  I examined both ends and found one end screwed off.  I popped the lid off and coughed as a strange dust burst out and covered my face.  “Ugh!” I exclaimed and sneezed violently all over Samantha, who had come over to investigate the odd container.
The next day, Sam got sick and within minutes, the entire group was ill.  I had to watch as they died, and then, to my horror, reanimated.  I took refuge in a tree as they tried to follow me, but their death deadened limbs and brains wouldn’t coordinate enough for them to follow.
So, you see, the apocalypse wasn’t my fault, it’s was my dog’s!

Prompt #4–Zombie sport (this is set in the same universe as above)

The great Zombie apocalypse of 2012 left the world bereft of a lot of things–people, food, electricity, and more.  Gradually, though, those humans who had somehow escaped the disease started banding together and making a dent in the ravening horde milling about trying to make a meal out of their brains.  Doctors thought it was from a gene mutation only found in about 1/10 of the population.
In 2213, most of the remaining zombies had been corralled and gathered into large holding pens.  Unsure of what to do with them and noticing a lack of organized sports that their ancestors had enjoyed, a group of enterprising people, descended from team owners and pro athletes (for some reason, athletes seemed to have a higher chance of having the gene mutation) got together and created zombie forms of the most popular sports.  Sports such as Zombie Football, Zombie Basketball, and Zombie Baseball were born.
The sports were similar to their original games.  Zombie football was played with one zombie as the ball.  However, instead of throwing the zombie–they were too unwieldly to throw very far–the opposing teams had to chase the zombie into their end zone, or keep the opposing team from doing so.  Extra points were awarded for punting the zombified head through the uprights.
Zombie baseball probably had the most changes.  The pitchers were given a zombie each, and they tried to keep the opposing team from hitting the zombie body parts being hurled at them.  If a part was hit, the pitching team had to chase it down and reunite it with its body before the batter rounded the bases.  Zombie baseball was infinitely more interesting than the original game, as each body part would run away from the people chasing it, leading to some hilarious play.
Zombie basketball didn’t make it very far off the ground–they discovered early on that zombie heads wouldn’t bounce no matter how hard you tried to dribble them–they would just splat on the court and leave smears of rotted brains on the glossy floorboards.
A favorite elementary school game, however, was Zombie Dodgeball–you never knew if that body part your classmate just hurled at you would try to eat your eyeballs out or not.  Good clean fun for the kids!

Story #3, I think, could be developed into a book, and story #4 was just way too much fun to write.  I wanted to add in a scene during the 2225 World Series and chasing a zombie hand around the stadium with hilarious results, but everyone else was done and waiting on me to finish.  It’s left over from NaNo, being way too wordy.

Published in: on December 17, 2012 at 12:22 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Writing Prompts #11

It’s been a while–my writing group took a “mini-hiatus” for a bit due to the moderator’s son’s birthday falling on the day we would have had our last meeting.  This week’s meeting was a lot of fun–we may have spent more time laughing than writing…

Prompt #1

We were shown an advertisement from the back of a magazine.  I could *not* for the life of me find it online to show you, so I had to badly depict it through Paintbrush–and yes, those are toilets.  It was a picture of a woman dressed in dark blues with a long flowy cape riding a sled through…either ice or the ocean (or both) being pulled by…TOILETS.  Our prompt was to try to tell the story of what was going on in that picture.

Audrina streaked across the ocean’s surface on her shark-drawn carriage.  She loved the feeling of the salty sea wind through her dark auburn locks.  The three sharks drawing her carriage dove and leapt, playing like the dolphins that drew her sister Aurana’s carriage.  She loved her fierce steeds, with their sleek grey skin and sharp teeth.

Suddenly, the carriage jerked to a stop.  Audrina shook her damp tresses back out of her face.  in front of her, balancing easily atop a stationary wave stood Ursula, the Sea Witch.  Her octopus legs moved restlessly through the foam of her wave.

Audrina shrank back slightly, remembering her sister Ariel’s encounter, then squared her shoulders.  “What do you want, witch?”

Ursula’s blood-red lips curled up slightly.  “I saw you drive that chariot of your through my undersea garden last night.  You need to pay for its destruction!”

Before Audrina could move, Ursula exhaled a fog onto Audrina and her sharks.  When the fog cleared, Ursula was gone, and Audrina’s beloved sharks had been turned into…toilets?

Prompt #2

This was actually a three-part prompt–we were given 3 selections from the Darwin Awards and were told to explain why or how exactly the situation ended up occurring.  I’ve linked to the page on the Darwin Awards so that you can read the story.

Darwin Award #1One Track Mind (Man is punted by a train trying to save his Porche SUV)

It had been a long, hard night of partying out at Oktoberfest, and Gerhard was still slightly–okay mostly–drunk the next morning.  His commute was made even worse by a traffic accident, which created a huge line up of cars as policemen directed traffic around the mangled wreck.

Late, drunk, and 3/4 asleep, Gerhard inched his Porche Cayenne onto the railroad tracks.  A felling in the back of his drink clouded mind told him it was a bad idea–what if a train came?  “It’s rush hour,” he told himself, “they wouldn’t schedule a train to come through now.”  He just barely finished his thought when the bright orange bars began to descend and the bells began to pound through his alcohol soaked brain…

Darwin Award #2Love Crushed Sex (Man is crushed to death under his own SUV by his wife)

“Honey, I really think you need to dig that hole a bit deeper…” Bryan said, eyeballing the shallow pit underneath the narrow 2×4.

“But then you won’t get the right sensation,” Stephanie answered, starting up Bryan’s SUV.

Brian experienced a pleasure so intense that he saw God…

Darwin Award #3Man Slices off Own Penis (man is found unconscious in his brother’s front yard penisless, blames a mystery woman, but eventually admits to doing it himself)

“Hey, guys!  Look at what I can do!”  /kerSCHWING

“Dude, that’s embarrassing…”

“It’s okay, I’ll just tell them your sister did it.”

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be over there, reading Darwin Awards…

Published in: on October 8, 2012 at 1:48 pm  Comments (2)  
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Writing Prompts #10

We worked on metaphors this week.  I’m terrible at metaphors.  Any time I write them they come off as stilted, or weird, or overwrought.  Or all three.  We also talked about pick up lines.  Yes, at my writing group we talked about pick up lines, then used them as a writing prompt.

(I also got to call Mr. Darcy and Heathcliff literary douchebags.  Who are your favorite jerks from fiction?)

Prompt #1–metaphors

We were given a sheet of the first half of a metaphor and then given time to fill them in.  It took me foreeeeeeever…my part of the metaphor is italicized.

Watching him trip over his shoe lace was like…watching a cow tip over.

Making love to him was like…watching a really bad movie.  Can’t wait for it to end so you can go do something fun.

Watching him walk away was like…a celebration in my pants!  No more alimony!

Seeing them together holding hands is like…having tiny girls play double dutch with my intestines.

Letting the monkeys loose on Dorothy was like…riding a rollercoaster.  Will they catch her?  Nooooooo (your voice has to trail off like you fell off a cliff…).

Eating Mom’s horrid mincemeat pie is like…going out and eating a handful of dirt out of the freshly mulched flowerbeds.

Watching that clown die a painful death was like…reliving my 8th birthday party.

Giving birth is like…a slasher film, except this time you hope no one dies?

Being bitten by a werewolf is like…having someone grind a million tiny shards of glass into your skin, then douse it in lemon juice.

Driving on Rt 8 during rush hour is like…running the spanking gauntlet on your birthday.  Someone’s going to smack you in the ass!

Eating a slice of Cheesecake Factory’s Dutch Apple Cheesecake is like…eating a slice of Costco cheesecake, except it costs you three times as much.

Prompt #2 Pick up Lines

The original prompt was to have a rock star use the cheesiest pick up line you could think of on you to try to pick you up…but I protested, as the rock star I had in my head…well, he *would* use cheesy pick up lines, so mine got changed to *I* have to use the pick up line on him…and then the rest of the group did it that way, as well.  

“Do it!” my best friend hissed at me.  “You said if you ever saw him out, you’d use that line on him!”

Mentally, I groaned.  Me and my big mouth–sometimes it felt like you could drive a freight train through it.  In my defense, though, how often do you think you’d see John Mayer out in a bar in Cuyahoga Falls, anyway?

I squared my shoulders and pushed my way through the crowd.  Somehow my friend and I were the only people who had spotted John cozied up to the end of the bar, moodily sucking down microbrews.

I slipped around behind him and gently tugged at the collar of his ironic grey t-shirt.  John started, nearly spilling his nearly  empty microbrew.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, turning around.  “What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” I said, my most innocent look on my face.  I nervously twisted a lock of my long hair and then forced myself to continue, rueing the day I’d opened my big mouth.  “I was just checking your tag to see if you were…Made in Heaven…”

John’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe someone was using that cheesiest of pick up lines on him.  Then his features softened, eyes going into that trademark sultry gaze.  “Why, yes I am.”

 

Published in: on September 10, 2012 at 12:17 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Writing Prompts #9

Hello Monday!  I’ve finally caught up with my writing prompts, so now I’ll be able to settle down into an every other week schedule (as my writing group only meets that often).  To fill in the gaps, if you missed Friday’s post, I’ll be doing a serial spoof entitled “Dawn”.

This week’s prompts were actually pretty neat–instead of the moderators coming up with prompts, this time they made the group members come up with them on the fly.  Mine is prompt #3, and while I had a hard time coming up with something to write about for #4, that was actually a fun prompt to do.  Haiku is my *favorite* poetic style.

Prompt #1

You only get to keep 10% of your body, what do you keep?

If I could only keep 10% of my body…that’s a hard choice to make.  I mean…the loss of my excretory system…yeah that’d be nice, and I’m sure if science has perfected the technology of replacing body parts, then they probably have some bitch’ VR, so I wouldn’t miss losing “down there”, either.

How much is 10% anyway?  Would it be an arm?  A leg and a foot?

I think I’d definitely have to keep my brain–it makes me who I am.  i won’t miss having a sense of smell…though that can probably be simulated.

Okay, I’ve saved my brain, I’m going to say that’s 5%…5% more to save!  I’d probably want to save a hand, to actually feel things, like silks, fleece, my dog’s fur. Unless she’s only got 10% left of her, too.

I guess I might also save a butt cheek, because, you know, spankings.

Three of us saved our butts, though each of us for different reasons.  One was worried science wouldn’t be able to craft a butt to her liking, and the other one said his butt was perfectly honed due to his years of sitting.

Prompt #2

Make up your own comic book character

Magnet man.  He doesn’t actually have any super powers, he wasn’t bitten by a radioactive bug or part of a nuclear accident.  Instead, he wears a suit covered in super strong, super sensitive magnets that he can use to manipulate the metals that are present in area.  Years of practice have led him to perfect his suit and his control.  When he sees a guy running away after mugging a sweet little old lady, he can take the stop sign and twist it securely around the would-be thief’s legs, tripping him.

Magnet Man’s arch nemesis is Plastiman, who is covered from head to toe in slick flexible plastic, thwarting Magnet Man’s ability to use the metal in clothing against his foes.  Plastiman runs amok, robbing banks and ice cream parlors while Magnet Man tries in vain to use his magnets and control of metal to capture the slippery plasti-villan.

Magnet Man is in the market for a side kick, and is accepting any and all applications at metalmaniac@gmail.com.  A costume is a requirement.

Prompt #3

Put an OC (original character) or a favorite character into an uncharacteristic scene.  I chose Ansley, of course.

“What am I doing here?” I thought to myself.  i tugged self-consciously on the zipper of my light pink fleece hoodie.  Around me, dogs barked crazily, bouncing off the bars of their cages.

I’m not sure why I thought volunteering at the local shelter had been a good idea.  Lacey’s vet, Dr. Chaubert, had called late last night, needing just one more person to help out.  I’d declined earlier in the week when I’d taken Lacey, my rescue malamute, in for her annual check-up.

“Ansley, you love animals,” her vet said last night, her voice pleading.  Caught off guard and half asleep, I’d agreed and immediately fell back asleep.  I woke up in the morning, convinced that the phone call was just a dream, until Dr. Chaubert showed up on my doorstep with mochas from the Sunflower Spot.  I’d tried ot back out, but Dr. Chaubert wasn’t taking any excuses–she needed me and I was going to go.

I could hear the frenzied barking start as soon as I stepped out of Dr. Chaubert’s jeep.  “That’s odd,” the vet remarked, then shoved my reluctant form through the door.

“Maybe I should help with the cats,” I suggested.  “The dogs seem to not…like me.”

“Nonsense,” said Dr. Chaubert.  “They’re just excited to see a new face.”  The cage nearest to her contained a snarling toy poodle.  He did not look to excited that I’d invaded his territory.  I brushed my thick black hair back off of my face and took a subtle step away from the raving beast.

“No, really,” I said carefully.  “I’d really rather work with the cats.  Or maybe the small animals if they have any…” my voice trailed off as Mr. Poodle threw himself at the cage bars, his beady eyes fixed on me.

I didn’t blame Dr. Chaubert–she had no clue of my secret life…not too many people did.  She had no idea that she’d just brought a werewolf into the Rawlings Area Animal Shelter.

I have to admit, I was a little disappointed that everyone in my writing group missed my not-t0-subtle Party of Five reference…I couldn’t remember Lacey’s vet’s actual name…and all I could think about was Lacey Chaubert…

Prompt #4

Write a haiku about a 70s/80s cop show

“In the Heat of the Night”

Archie Bunker, cop
The tall guy solves them all, hooray!
The south is safe again

“Dukes of Hazard”

Rosco P. Coltrain
His dog Flash riding shotgun
Duke boys outsmart them!

The second haiku was a collaboration between me and another group member.  I love haikus.

I’d love to see YOUR haiku about a 70s/80s cop show!!!  Post them in the comments!

Published in: on August 6, 2012 at 1:48 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Writing Prompts #8

I’m getting close to catching up with my writing prompts.  Once I do, I’ll be posting the prompts every other Monday (the day after my writing group meets), and then will fill in the other Mondays with a little project I just planned out.  It’ll be a spoof of a popular book, written serial style, one chapter every other week.  I just finished reading A Long, Fatal Love Chase by Lousia May Alcott, which was originally written as a serial for a magazine, but was deemed to be too scandalous for the times.  Now, of course, it’s considered tame, but it’s still a great read.  Once finished reading it, I got the notion to try my own hand at a serial.

I went to an estate sale today, probably the first one I’ve ever been to.  For a glorified garage sale, the prices they had on most stuff was…crazy.  $150 for an old refrigerator, $100 for a 15-year-old washing machine (when for not much more you can get a brand new one…), and loads of knick knacks and whatsits that were priced at $10-65.  I picked up a copy of Rhett Butler’s People by Donald McCaig, which I didn’t even know existed!  It’s too bad I’m not even half way through with my shelf of 10, because I’m *itching* to dive into that book.  It covers Rhett’s life from when he was a little boy until…well, I’m not sure, but I’m assuming til near his death.  McCaig has cast Belle Watling (I’m sure you remember Rhett’s “friend” and prostitute from the dance hall) as the plantation’s overseer’s daughter.  Should be interesting!

Prompt #1

Cow Tipping

“Moo,” I hear coming out of my radio as I drive to work on a 90 degree day with the windows down.  “Moo!” I hear again over the rushing wind, and my hand reaches out to change the dial.  An announcer breaks in and tells me not to worry, it’s just some local car dealer talking to his neighbors.  They’re apparently cows.  “Moo!  Moo!” the radio says again, and I wonder if it’s possible to go out and cow-tip that guy instead of his neighbors.  Then maybe I won’t have to listen to his ridiculous commercial ever again.  Because, you know, humans totally can’t stand back up if you pretend they’re cows when you shove them down.

It’s true, a car dealership in Wadsworth, about 10 years ago, ran this exact commercial.  And yes, it was exactly as dumb as it sounds here.

Hmm, I appear to be out of prompts…I didn’t expect that.  So, instead of 2 more prompts, you get something special…a little taste of fanfic.  Judging by the notebook it’s in, I wrote this while bored in an anatomy and physiology class.

CSI:  Miami, fanfic style

She hated blind dates.  And her blind date was late, which made the situation even worse.  Flicking back her shoulder length brown hair, Marzipan fiddled with the stem of her martini glass and glanced around the bar.  It felt like she had memorized every face in the bar while she waited.

There was the couple in the corner by the dart board.  Barley touching, the man and woman still exuded a barely contained sexual aura.  The woman touched the man’s arm and he tightened, then relaxed.  Marzipan skimmed past them quickly, trying to forget how long it had been since she’d felt that way.

Then she saw the sad-looking man opposite her at the bar, tearing the corners of his napkin to shreds.  He stared at his drink, but the ice cubes melted as the drink sat untouched.

Finally, there was a group of five people she figured were coworkers, due to the disparity in both ages and looks.  The gorgeous black woman laughed and then leaned in to whisper something in the ear of the pretty blonde woman.  The dark man sitting next to the blonde glared at the two women, and then stood up.  “I’m going to get a pool table.  H, you up for a game?”  the older redhead shook his head, then sipped on his beer.

“Take Speed, he’s looking anxious,” the man said.  Speed joined the swarthy man at the pool table and helped rack up the balls.

“Hey, Calliegh, Alex, you wanna play partners?” he asked, twirling a pool cue between his fingers.  Both women declined the offer of a game.

“Another drink, Alex?” the blonde offered, heading up to the bar, leaving the redhead by himself.  He and Marzipan locked eyes briefly, but she quickly dropped her eyes down to her drink, embarrassed that she’d been caught staring.

Distracted by the group, Marzipan failed to notice that a light-haired man had settled down to her right.  he looked her up and down, and leaned in slightly “Buy you a drink, pretty lady?” he said, slurring his words slightly.  Marzipan glanced at him and then back to her drink.

“No thanks,” she said.

“Awww, c’mon baby!” he said, leaning in closer.  “It’s just one drink!”  Marzipan stood up and moved down a stool, eager to put some distance between herself and the booze soaked idiot invading her space.  The drunk grabbed onto her wrist and attempted to pull her back, causing Marzipan to spill her drink all over the bar.  He latched on tightly, refusing to let go when Marzipan asked him to.  The alcohol gave him strength, and she was unable to wrench her arm away from him.

“Let me go!” she demanded again as he jerked on her arm drawing her closer to him.  suddenly, the man was face down on the bar with the hand he had been grabbing Marzipan with slammed forcefully onto the bar.

“I believe the lady asked you to let her go,” said the redhead from the corner.  Marzipan rubbed her wrist gently, watching the drunken man struggle to get loose.

“I just wanted to buy her a drink,” blubbered the man.  “What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong is you put your hands on the lady.  Now, apologize and leave, or I’ll be escorting you out in handcuffs,” the man demanded, levering him to his feet.  Shamefacedly, the drunk muttered an apology and shot daggers of hate at the redhead as he stumbled towards the door of the bar.  The bartender, who had the earpiece of the phone halfway to her ear, ready to call 911, cradled the phone and thanked the man.

“I’m Horatio Caine,” said the redhead, extending his hand.  Marzipan shook it and introduced herself.

Ahhh, CSI:  Miami fanfiction.  I had a totally irrational crush on Horatio Caine, and a more rational one on Tim Speedle.  Unfortunately, in this one, Horatio came to the rescue, not Speedle.  

Published in: on August 3, 2012 at 4:50 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Writing Prompts #7

I think I’ll spare you guys my fairly bad Weiss Kruez fanfic that I found in my writing notebook…the dangers of using an old notebook, I guess.  Perhaps I’ll have a bad fanfic post, as another notebook I use has a fantastically bad CSI: Miami fanfic in the back of it.  I think I just figured out what I’m posting on Friday!

Prompt #1

Plan your own funeral

Picture it:  mounds of flowers; slow, sad music.  A plush casket up front where the body is laid out reverently, perfectly dressed, makeup almost lifelike.  Mourners gather around the casket, tears in their eyes as they tell stories about the deceased’s good deeds, generous heart, and loving nature.

Now.

Scratch that.

Instead, you’re outside somewhere pretty, maybe next to a stream.  There’s no casket, no pedestal, no blown up pictures.  Just someone holding a small, understated urn and a small group of mourners.  They’re still telling stories, but there are no tears–just howls of laughter.  “Remember te time she–” someone will begin, and someone else will jump in with a story.  Eventually, there will be a moment of natural silence, and the person holding the urn will say a few words, then sprinkle some (not all) of the ashes into and near the stream, and the group will drift off.  The urn will be relegated to some relative’s bookshelf, where it will creep out the younger generations for a long time.

Prompt #2

Unicorns.  I love unicorns.  There are others in my writing group, however, who do not like unicorns unless they’re fileted and served up on a hot stone.

“But Twilight Sparkle!” whined Rarity.  Twilight Sparkle sighed and turned away from her book on Unicorn History.

“What, Rarity?” she asked, annoyed at her childhood friend.  She had a huge test tomorrow in Unicorn Physiology and a paper on the impact of unicorns on Equestria’s history due the day after.  She hadn’t even started the paper yet.  Spike had thrown a party the previous night, inviting all his dragon buddies over for a hellacious kegger.

“You promised!” Rarity said, crossing her hooves.

“I know, I know,” Twilight Sparkle replied, sighing heavily.  “It’s just that–”

Rarity cut her off.  “No excuses Twilight!” she said angrily.  “You’ve blown me off three times already!”

Ahhh, the unicorns of My Little Pony:  Friendship is Magic.  Applejack is my favorite, but she’s not a unicorn so she doesn’t appear in this truncated vignette.

Prompt #3

You’re dead, then what?

Unfortunately for the police officer that found me, I’d been dead for almost a week.  It wasn’t pleasant–I’d contracted the virus that had killed and reanimated me like some sort of sick meat puppet–thousands before me.  I was slowly rotting in my studio apartment, afraid to leave.  I’d watched the news–anyone who’d been infected had been re-killed horribly.  All I’ll let you know is it involves disarticulation and dismemberment.  I really think you don’t want to know any more.

I guess I can’t blame the uninfected–most of us that caught TFC-103 and re-animated were violent–angry at their lives being cut short and taking it out on the still living, I guess.  Anyone who was attacked by a TFC-103 victim would end up loosing any body part that came in contact.  There weren’t many survivors.

I’m not sure who sent the police officer–I’d had the presence of what was left of my mind to call in sick to work, and most of my family was long gone.  Maybe it was one of my neighbors–I guess a week old reanimated corpse doesn’t smell so good.  I wouldn’t know, I’d lost my sense of smell when I’d died.

I don’t know what possessed me to answer the knock at the door–it’d taken quite an effort to unstick my gloppy buttocks from my pleather couch.  I know, pleather…but it was free.

The officer’s first instinct was to draw his service weapon, but I was pretty speedy for a dead chick.

That story was a fun one to write.  I may end up adding onto it and developing it into something more.  I’m sure you’re interested in finding out what happens to our luckless police officer.  

If you haven’t done so yet, don’t forget to check out and enter to win the books from my last post!

Writing Prompts #6

It rained today!  Yay!  I saw on a news program last night that the Mississippi River is 17.5 FEET below the normal river level.  Wow, that’s a lot of missing water!  Understandable, though, considering how little rain we’ve seen.  It’s supposed to rain again tonight, as well.  Bring it on, Mother Nature, we can take all that you have to give!  Just leave the crazy fast winds at home this time, okay?

Prompt #1

Write/rewrite the final scene to a story or a novel.  I chose to rewrite the ending of a story that I wrote for my Creative Writing Class.

“…Mother!” Sabrina whispers, tucking her black curls behind her ears.  Her voice trembles with uncertainty, her eyes searching the face of the woman standing just yards from her on the beach.

They don’t look much alike–Sabrina’s dark curls are being tossed around by the salty sea air, her skin a ruddy brown from years spent in and around the sea.  The other woman has golden hair gone stiff and silver; her troubled eyes are a faded sky blue.  Sabrina’s own eyes are a striking green, but they are ringed by the same blue she sees in her mother’s eyes.

“Mother,” she says, louder this time, and the woman crumbles to the cold, wet sand, tears streaming down her worn, wrinkled cheeks.

“Sabrina?” the woman asks, hardly daring to breathe.

“Is that my name?” Sabrina asks.

“Sabrina!” Miranda lurches to her feet and the two women hurl themselves forward, crushing each other, Miranda’s arms have grown weak over the years, but she somehow finds a strength that echos her daughter’s.  They both tremble, and then finally break away.

The cold, windy day is forgotten, and they sit on Miranda’s cloak, talking.

“My name is Sabrina?”

“I named you for my mother,” Miranda swipes a finger under each eye, dashing away the tears that have gathered.

Sabrina hesitates, wanting to ask about her father and how she ended up abandoned as an infant, but the words won’t come.

“Where…” Miranda begins, but then she chokes up, unable to finish her sentence.

“Where have I been?” Sabrina finishes for her.  Miranda nods, looking almost afraid to hear the answer.

Sabrina thinks for a moment–does she let her mother in on the secret of her upbringing, or does she lie?  While overwhelmingly amazed that she has found her mother, she still harbors the resentment that she was still lost for 18 years.  Did her mother even bother to look for her?  She ponders this for a moment, then looks one last time at Miranda.  Miranda looks sad and alone, and Sabrina makes up her mind:  she will tell her mother the truth.

“I was raised by mermaids,” Sabrina tells her.  Miranda chokes back a laugh, to her mermaids are a myth, a children’s story, a fairy tale.  “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.  They told me that the queen, Astrid, found me floating alone and howling, tossed about by waves.  At first, they didn’t think I would live.  When they found me, I was almost as grey as the water they found me in.”

“Mermaids?  Are you telling me a tale to make me feel even worse?” Miranda asks angrily.

“No, I’m telling you the truth!” Sabrina exclaims, hurt coloring her voice.

“Maybe you aren’t my daughter after all,” Miranda says coldly, “but just some hallucination brought on by the cold.”  Miranda stands up and jerks her cloak up off the damp sand and wraps it tightly around her gaunt body.

Miranda turns away and walks slowly to the trees, leaving Sabrina alone on the windswept  beach wondering what had just happened.  Had she really found her mother only to lose her again?

In the original story, I didn’t actually get to touch on the mermaid aspect, as the assignment was supposed to be 5-7 pages long, and I ended up at 11.5.  The plot is fairly standard–it’s set in Viking times, and the king’s niece (after her parents and older brother die when a village they were at flooded and she is sent to be his ward) gets into trouble with a fosteringling and is sent away after having a baby.  The crew, unhappy that a woman and baby are on board, blame her for the unfortunate accidents that happen in the crossing and throw her and the baby overboard.  Miranda washes up on a distant shore, and grows old searching the beach for her long-lost daughter.  Sabrina appears one day, and they reunite.  

As that prompt was longer than expected, I think I’ll just do one more (short!) prompt.

Prompt #2

Fish

Fish heads, fish heads, roly poly fish heads, fish heads, fish heads, eat them up yum!

My brother and I used to love to listen to Dr. Demento’s radio program–it was, being an AM station, hit or miss as to whether or not it would come in that night.  My brother loved Weird Al , and it was, honestly, about the only time you could actually hear Weird Al on the radio.

Of course, now that song is not a Weird Al song, but that’s where my brain went when I mentioned Dr. Demento.  Weird Al is the only artist I could tell you with certainty that Dr. Demento played–the rest of the songs, while funny, just weren’t Weird Al, so they don’t stick out in my mind other than a catchy phrase like fish heads, fish heads, roly poly fish heads, fish heads, fish heads, eat them up, YUM!

Information about Dr. Demento can be found at his website.  You can listen to the Fish Heads song by Barnes and Barnes at Youtube.  Just be glad I didn’t embed the song into this post.

Published in: on July 20, 2012 at 1:00 pm  Leave a Comment  
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