Merry Christmas!

#018

The winning photograph for this week was taken by Cindy Tucker a few years ago. The creepiness of the dolls has always intrigued me. Here's what Cindy had to say,"I discovered this window display in a local bakery in Dresden, Germany while I was attending the 24-7 Prayer International Leaders Gathering. I was walking from the hostel to the building where we were meeting when I discovered this bakery with an odd collection of dolls displayed in their window.

Depsite the creepy dolls I did stop in and I must say I had one of the best creeps I have ever had."

Here's a link to Cindy's Flickr site: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ctatunderground

As for the entries..... I called a 3 way tie. I really liked all of the entries for different reasons. I enjoyed Linda's because of the child like qualities that were entangled in the main character. Mary's was sentimental and sweet. And I appreciated Jerry's not only because it was written wonderfully, but because it tied in with the Juicer for this week. It made homage to the young lady whose life was cut much too short during her church's Christmas production.

Not Laughing Now
By: Linda Gail A.

My husband made fun of my dolls when we got married. David and Rebecca were my kids. I refused to give them up just because I was now a married woman. When I started dressing them and putting them in his bakery window, I finally earned his approval. Customers stopped by each day to see what new thing they were doing. Business boomed. And I was no longer laughed at when I bought the dolls new clothes. My husband even wrote it into the bakery’s budget.

In Honor of a Life Snuffed Out Too Young
By: Jerry H.

Fred missed his daughter. Keri had been taken from them in a terrible accident, too young, doing what she loved best, sharing her faith. Fred felt as if parts of him had been wrenched out like the plumber jerked the jammed junk out of his café’s grease trap.

Fred had placed two dolls in the shop window. They sadden him because their cheeks reminded him of the way that Keri’s face lit up when she shared about the kids she taught. Keri loved those dolls, saving fifty soup labels to win them. They couldn’t take her place, but they could still bring smiles to children, just like Keri did.


A gift of love
By: Mary F.

“Teddy, My Grandpa made those dolls,” she said, stopping in front of the little shop.
“Mama, they have blue eyes and brown hair just like yours. Can we take them home?”
“No,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I owned this bakery once. Business was slow and I told Grandpa.”
“Santa can fix that. Just wait until Christmas.” he laughed. “Early Christmas morning, he walked with me to the shop and the sun rose on this display – his handiwork.”
“People stopped to look then came in to eat. A man offered to buy the business, dolls included. I sold it.” Then the tears flowed. “I sold my birthright.”

Juicer

As some of you may or may not have heard, there was a tradgey last evening at Crossroads Church in Oakley, OH. During the opening night performance of the church's Christmas Production, a cast member fell somewhere between 20-30 ft after a malfunction with her harness, and consinquintely passed away this morning.

Obviously, this brings a very deep saddness to all who have heard the news and honestly, it's hard for me to grasp or understand. It's gut-wrentching.

I know normally we here at 110words send out funny or amusing photos and the stories are pretty light. But I just wanted to remind everybody that when words are hard to find verbally, sometimes the best therapy is writing about them. I know we give out tips and all, but journaling is so healthy and I believe it not only allows you the chance to express your feelings, but you can also improve your writing skills while doing it.

I've included a link to one of the local newstations stories on the incident. http://www.wlwt.com/news/18304564/detail.html

PLEASE continue to pray for the young ladies family and friends, as well as the church and all who were in attendance last evening.

#017

Jerry Hartman has this week's winning photo. Just like his previous photo, Jerry took this in Russia. Here's what Jerry had to say about his winning photo and where you can find more his snapshots. "This picture is exactly what it looks like, Russian Orthodox priest blessing a car. This is outside of The Orthodox Cathedral in Almaty, of which I have pictures of there also. I have finally connected the links which can be found at daytimedreamsarebest.blogspot.com, this links to my flickr and picasa accounts"

Just like last week, LOTS of great entries. I picked Ken G. as the weekly winner. While everyone's entries were great, I picked Ken's because it was the most unique and honestly, kinda random. The whole thing made me laugh out loud.


The Wager
By: Ken G.

Mark Lutz groaned. Of course, the mistake he made was in betting Joe Boyd in the first place. He thought it was a safe bet that Dave would never walk on stage during Turkeyfest in that costume without saying a word. He didn’t see the long con. They had played him perfectly. Now he was stuck in this itchy bishop costume blessing used cars all week, because they had agreed that the loser would have to do the first new outreach suggestion they pulled out of the comment box in the atrium. Mark summoned his best Father Guido accent and went back to work.


Consequences
By: TresK

Brock paced nervously. His tunic scratched in the San Diego heat. This was supposed to be a simple mission; zap back two centuries, grab the girl, then home.

But nothing had been simple since Jardin went rogue.

“How much longer till it runs?” Brock’s voice was tight.

Craft remained calm. He was always calm. “Not long. I found the specs” he said, matter-of-factly.

Good, now to get her into the car. “It’s time to travel, M’Lady”.

She smiled at his pun, but her voice a mix of guilt and hope. “Will he be there?” she asked.

There was no answer he could give, so Brock just opened the car door.


Templar Lexus
By Deb Freitag

Andriatte felt relief wash over her. The sun was already high but she was finally on her way to shop for something fabulous to wear to her nephew’s wedding in Lake Como.

“Are you almost finished?” she piped up impatiently as the priest flung incense into the engine of her faltering Lexus. She didn’t want to get rid of it yet, even though it left her hanging on her last trip to Milan. Instead, she e-mailed BlessMePadre.com for some divine assurance.

An hour into the trip, she smelled sickeningly sweet smoke. She lifted the hood and shouted, “Madre mia,” as she pried the singed Holy Flinging Brush from the manifold.


By the Book
By: Mary F.

“Brother Paul, is this car a care”

“Yes your Excellency, it is the only new car I ever owned and it has been a continual problem.”

“Let us bring this to the Lord,” the Bishop responded.

“Lord, I remind You of your Words in Philippians 4:6 when You said

‘Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.’

My brother and I come with humble and thankful hearts for the privilege of bringing this request to You. We ask for a complete resolution.”

“Check your lemon laws, boys”, said the lawyer in the red shoes and black jacket.


"Ashes"
By: Tim Parsley

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t thrown out last year’s branches!” Father James was mumbling a stream of complaints as he flipped through the owner’s manual.

Derek’s red-robed shoulders slumped in defeat. So far, his internship wasn’t going very well. No one told him that you burned last year’s Palm Sunday branches for this year’s ashes.

Desperate to cover their bases, they had been scouring the neighborhood looking for fallen palm branches. Equipped with a Bic lighter and a plastic container to gather the ashes, they still had two hours until the Ash Wednesday services began. Plenty of time.

That’s when the car began to sputter…



Unction of the Sick
By: Randy H.

"…from ashes to ashes and dust to dust", pronounced Father Fredrick solemnly. "This concludes the ceremony of last rites."

As Father Fredrick closed the book, the guilt swelled within. When parishioner Christopher asked for counsel about his dilapidated car Fredrick did not foresee this misunderstanding. Father Fredrick had advised against repairs due to the condition and the expense relative to its years of service. Strangely depressed and mournful, Christopher requested the unction of the sick sacrament. Caught off guard and painfully empathetic, Father Fredrick agreed. Leaving the priesthood was something not dared considered, until that day.

Prank
By Linda Gail A.

It was an innocent coincidence that the car broke down in front of the Cardinal’s residence. My brother decided that it would be fun to pull a fast one on the Cardinal. He quickly rigged up a speaker that would pick up his cell phone. Then he moved around the corner and “the car” started confessing its sins. In no time at all, a crowd gathered and the Cardinal’s attention was gotten. Before long, the car was getting absolution. Then my brother had to go and give his own confession.

#016

110's own Jerry Hartman took this photo. I thought it was absolutely perfect for this blog. It's unique, different, creative. Here's what Jerry had to say about this snapshot.

"...this was a piece of playground equipment in the playground at Children’s Home # 1 in Almaty Kazakhstan where we met our daughter Anastasia. The mountains in the background are translated as The Old Man. If you follow them on a map they become the Himalayas."

Kudos, Jerry! And remember, if you'd like to see your photo featured on this blog, send me your best pic to the110wordsflickrexperiment@yahoo.com and you may see yourself featured on here!

As for the featured writing entry this week.... The winner is... Tim Parsley. Tim's new to 110words, but I was blown away with his story. It had all of the right elements... A good storyline, emotion, descriptive words. You knew the who, what, where and why. All of the key elements that we discuss on this blog. Great job, Tim!

"Rocket"
By: Tim P.

Pulling the last drag, she pushes out the smoke sideways through pursed lips as her eyes narrow at the red rocket still standing in her back yard. Propped casually in an old lawn chair, a crossed leg bounces repeatedly from under her lime green bathrobe. A thinning house slipper dangles from her foot.

When he built the rocket the boys were still small. Six and four? Five and three? Hard to remember. Been so long. Boys are both driving now.

Clearing her throat, she stands up, walks inside the house. Pulls the patio door closed. Through the glass, eyes the rocket.

Four years since he left. That, she remembers.

Gimme some more...

Star Launcher
By: Randy H.

Grandpa Les worked 40 years at the pipeline company. He got a gold watch and a handshake for his time. I remember when he brought home an old metal pipe and some sheet metal. He spent a whole Saturday pounding and welding. He built the "Star Launcher" for my sister and me to play on. We had so much fun pretending we were space pirates blasting off deep into the galaxy. That is until Uncle Bobby got caught with his girlfriend late one night having his own space odyssey. We'd never seen Grandpa so mad. We starting calling it "The Love Shuttle" and never played on it again.

The Dollhouse Astronaut
By: Ken G.

Floyd was taking a break from his "Honey-Do" list. Agnes had been riding him all week to finish the dollhouse in the backyard. He flipped on the television as he finished his PBJ looking for the game when he landed on TBS and saw Billy Bob Thorton. . .

"Mr. Farmer, how do we know you aren't constructing a WMD?"

"Sir, if I was building a weapon of mass destruction, you wouldn't be able to find it."

Floyd tossed the PBJ and went immediately into the backyard on a mission. "Forget the dollhouse," he muttered to himself, "I'm going to turn that swing set into a WMD!"

The Interstellar Federation vs. Probate Affair
By: Jerry H.

Nigel looked at the rusting playground rocket in his parent’s back yard. Recollections of his dad welding the sheet metal, Nigel helping, wearing loose fitting goggles, and the ornamental flowers incident filled him like a toothache.

The yellow flowers were his Mom’s demand, “I will not have NCC-666/USSWIDOWMAKER” displayed in my yard.

Now his dad was 12 years gone, and his mom was having her aged hippie face painted by a stranger so that friends would glance down at her and say “She looks good”.

He wished that he could fit into that rocket and warp away from tomorrow’s visitation and tears turned the flowers into sunspots.

Toasting the Old Man
By: Tres K

Dad died yesterday. He’d been working on it since… well, a couple of years anyway. Sarah made it back last Tuesday and for once Dave didn’t leave town, so we were all together. Not quite like “old times” but I guess it’s as close as we’ll get.

The house is too full now. Too many people, too much noise; too full of the old man even. So I’m out back, looking at my childhood. Sarah brings me a cold one and we talk about the time he built that old rocket. “So my boys can follow Neil Armstrong” he said. Then Sarah went and painted flowers on it. Priceless.

Title: Hansel Goes Metal: A Tale of the Nouveaux Witche
By: Deb Freitag

Witch! He screamed as he ran out the broken doorway of the old woman’s tiny home.

Ever since the 90s when the Berlin Wall was moved into her backyard, the tourists had gentrified the Black Forest. Now Hilde’s lifestyle was being challenged daily.

Stray children were harder to come by. And when they came, they took the candy off her house -- as if they owned it. One little wretch stole her door and used it as a snowboard to get away.

And now the thinning ozone grounded her flying broom due to a fiery reentry. So Hilde got herself a new ride. It pays to have a backup plan.

Juicer

So technically it's Friday. And I'm just now sending out the Thursday Juicer. Oops.

Instead of showing you something that you probably already know, I wanted to share an opportunity for you to view some great writing in action.

110's very own Brad Wise has written and directed a fantastic mash-up of stage and film, called the {re}gifter. It's this year's Christmas production at the Vineyard Community Church in Springdale, OH. I would encourgage everyone to come out and see some very talented writing come to life. Tix are free, but you need to reserve them soon.

Check out this link for more info and a few teasers.

http://www.regiftershow.com/about.php

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

#015

What could possibly be better than Jesus popping out of an egg?

Linda A. created the highlighted entry of the week. It took me by surprise and made me laugh out loud. I can appreciate the element of surprise in a good story.

Mirage
By: Linda Gail A.

Its 108 degrees; the towel draped over my head to keep the sun off drips with my own sweat. The Gobi desert sucks every drop of moisture from me, and my mind begins to wander. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast with jelly, large frothy glasses of milk…. Food images keep appearing in my mind’s eye. It’s almost like I can touch them. An egg emerges. It cracks itself and Jesus stands inside. Oh God, is this a sign? Am I going to die? I drop to my knees to repent, only to hear evil laughter telling me it’s too late. I know better. “Jesus, save me.”

Gimme some more...

Think Again
By: Mary F.

“Watson, look at this picture.”

“Yes, sir.”

"What do you see?”

“I see an egg shell with am image of the risen Christ painted inside the shell.”

“And what do you think the shell housed, Watson?”

“I presume it was a baby chicken, Sir.”

“More accurately, it was a living embryo that developed into a baby chicken prior to hatching.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you agree that he painting on the egg seems to imply that Christ went through the same process during the resurrection?”

“I suppose, sir.”

“Is this analogy true?”

“I would say not, sir”.

“Why not, Watson?

“Christ, sir, was dead and the chicken was not.”

Pop Goes the Savior
By: Jerry H.

Ahhhck ! Pastor Tony surprised shriek sounded like a little girls and that brought more laughter from the staff gathered for the Tuesday morning meeting than the broken egg shells that lay scattered, like his dignity, on the table before him.

This years Easter secrete message from Pastor Paul filled Tony’s heart with tears of joy and sadness. The paper Jesus held a sign saying Lefty, Tony’s first convert 20 years ago. The Lord had called Lefty home. Tony missed Lefty, his dumb jokes, his encouragement. Lefty’s voice whispered to him through the little Jesus, Thank You Tony, you did good.

Safe Route
By: Randy H.

Chris: Hey dude, what's up?

Jay: I just emailed my entry for that short fiction experiment. Man it sucks.

Chris: Didn't put enough petals and romance and crap like that in it?

Jay: Shut up! Dudes write too. Ever heard of Stephen King?

Chris: Okay, so why does your entry suck?

Jay: The photo is a picture of Jesus hatching from an egg. The obvious direction is a piece about Jesus resurrecting. Obvious is boring.

Chris: Who reads this stuff anyway?

Jay: I wanted to go rogue but these entries get posted on a blog. I'm afraid I'd offend someone.

Chris: So you did the resurrection thing.

Jay: Yep.

Preacher's Kid
By: Tres K.

Hearing the screen door, Brad exhaled slowly; this wasn’t going to go easy.
“Son, I heard from Mrs. Wilkes today…”
“My sculpture?” Josh filled in.
“She… well, you’ve made it hard on me.”
The boy and the man fell into a quiet they knew too well. These changes had brought new roads to travel, but also new silences where none were wanted. Finally, in a rush, Josh spilled weeks of frustration.
“It’s not wrong, Dad. Everything, every piece, has a verse.” Josh’s eyes challenged his father to disagree. “She just doesn’t want to see.” Josh dropped his eyes and walked softly from the kitchen.
“The old biddy” Brad hissed softly.

Juicer

This is great stuff for the folks who have a hankering for writing for television or radio. Good writing comes in different forms.

# 014

Sweet nothings, it's been 14 weeks already! Where has the time gone?

I just finished reading each of your stories and I was amazed at how each of you has blossomed over a few short weeks.

Deb F. is our highlighted entry this week. Deb's clever colaberation of embracing normal people and "stars" is classic. And her end made me laugh out loud. She did something that we talked about in a Thursday Juicer not that long ago - taking a normal situation and heightening it to where unsual characters or situations can be explored.

Title: Pimpin’ Da Sidewalk
By: Deb F.

Gerard Steele Channel 9: So...ladies, how and why did this become your Sunday morning ritual?”

Danise: It started about two years ago when we saw Hugh Jackman run by in leopard tights and a gold shirt.

Sharon: I’ll never forget that day.

Danise: Da very nex’ Sunday we see Betty White – no kiddin’ – get a cab and she was lookin’ rough.

Sharon: We figure Saturday night is party time for the stars and we can catch ‘em on the mornin’ after! So now we host a gossip blog: at blogspot/pimpindasidewalk

Danise: …And we’re a hit at coffee hour after Sunday evenin’ service at St. Paul’s.

Sharon: We pray for them.

Gimme some more...

Improvisational Improv
By: TresK

Reporter: “So...ladies, how and why did this become your Sunday morning ritual?”

Arlene: “It started when her dad began dating my mom”

Kathy: “…quite the neighborhood shocker”

Reporter: “How old were you?”

Kathy and Arlene (together): “Just kids” “Thirty-two”

Reporter looks perplexed

Arlene: “I was 32, honey, she was 12”

Kathy: “We came outside to give them some privacy”

Reporter: “Are they still together?”

Kathy: “Who?”

Arlene: “It didn’t last – my mom went back to her circus job.”

Reporter (hearing approaching sirens): “Let’s wrap this!”

(Film crew leaves)

Kathy: “Think he bought it?”

Arlene: “Hook, line and sinker, child. You did fine.”

Kathy (giggling): “I’m going to like living here.”


Seeding a Neighborhood
By: Mary F.

“So...ladies, how and why did this become your Sunday morning ritual?”

“It was when our old neighbor was killed,” Corrie said.

“Right over there – Sunday morning on her way to Mass.”, Sugar added.

“They mugged her, left her to die,” Corrie added. “If anybody saw it, they didn’t help.”

“Now we keep watch and we get to know people,” Sugar said.

“Do you make a difference?” the reporter asked.

“Yeah, kids talk to us.” Corrie said.

“And the old guys, too,” Sugar said. “Not to mention old gals.”

“People are lonely – need somebody to listen. Now, this is our neighborhood. And there are people out on the street who care.”


Untitled
By: Stephen T.

Reporter: “So...ladies, how and why did this become your Sunday morning ritual?”

“In fact, it was a year ago at Halloween,” Trixie began as she pulled her robe down to cover more of her legs. “You see, the court house here is the dividin’ line between the west side and the east side.”

“And we was determined to not give into fear of kids from the west and east intermingling.” Wanda chimed in. “We’ez determined to break that dividin’ line through candy.”

“So,” Trixie continued, “Here we sat that Sunday, giving our candy to both sides. People heard what we was doin’ and the rest is history.”

“Next question.”


Widows
By: Randy H.


"So ladies, how and why did this become your Sunday morning ritual?" the reporter asks.

"We sit out here just prayin'. How long as it been now?", Josephine asks.

Geri glances at her friend, "Since we met back in 1967. I remember the day Josephine knocked on my door. I learned my husband had been killed in the war and of course, I was devastated."

Josephine continues, "I could hear Geri across the hall cryin' every evenin'. To hear her carry on; I remembered my husband's passing."

"She's a God send!," Geri interjects. "So we spend every Sunday morning out here praying for the widows. That's what we can do."


Wise Woman?
By Linda Gail A.

“So…. Ladies, how and why did this become your Sunday Morning ritual?” Channel 24 reporter Rob Evanston asks.

“Well, Miss Paula here is the wisest woman in the neighborhood, and I’m just trying to glean a little knowledge from her,” Kitty admits.

“Do Garfield slipper help with the learning?” Rob asks with a smile.

“It never hurts to be comfortable while you learn,” Kitty replies sagely.

“And the pumpkin?”

"Ambiance.”

Paula notices the news reporter. “Oh Kitty, who did you kill this week?”

Kitty smiles at the now nervous reporter. “She’s senile you know; absolutely batty.”

“But you said….”

Two bullets stop further questions.


Leatherheads
By Ken G.

“So. . . ladies, how and why did this become your Sunday morning ritual?”

“Well, Mr. Manning—“

“Please, call me Peyton.”

“Well, Peyton, we have been Colts fans for years; actually since before that horrible little man sneaked off with our team, moving them from Baltimore to Indianapolis. . .”

“. . .we don’t hold that against you, young man it was before your time,” Dorthea interjected.

“Well, thank you, mam.”

“Dorthea.”

“Thank you, Miss Dorthea.”

“Why aren’t you the southern gentleman?”

“Indeed,” Gladys added.

“So why do you ladies tailgate, in front of your brownstone here in Baltimore every Sunday morning? It is a bit peculiar, don’t you think? This isn’t even a parking lot and the Raven’s stadium is at least. . .”

“Young man, you are a gifted quarterback, but apparently you don’t understand a thing about FOOTBALL!”

Juicer

Everyone needs to be reminded of the Who, What, Where, When and Why of Storytelling. And this guy has a cool accent. Dig It.

#013

Mary F. was the higlighted entry this week. I absolutely loved the romantic aire she created with her story. We don't get that a whole lot on this particular blog, but she expanded her horizans with this. Fantastic job, Mary!

Little Star-Hoppers, Let Us Love
By: Mary F.

Little star-hoppers, not long ago, the heavenly wanderer’s came to the beach by Dolphin cove. Their ships were gigantic bubbles rimmed with fire – a holy fire, some said. Perhaps it was so because the heavenly wanderer’s were gentle and kind beings who brought gifts of healing and hope. People, sick and well, young and old, came to see them and most were healed. But some, the Villi, came to kill. Their hearts were angry and fearful and they blew up the billowing ships and poisoned the heavenly beings.
Little star-hoppers, these heavenly wanderer’s do not come anymore but we who have received love must give love to all we meet.

Gimme some more...

Burning Man
By: TresK

Like fingers, Like me,
flames tickle the sky
claiming release
but tethered to this world instead.

Drowning in gravity,
yet yearning to fly like Daedalus and Icarus
(sinners with waxed wings),
we fight back until all air is gone
grasping at our next victims,
gasping for breath.

Mirror broken,
I don’t recognize the cunning worker who built this labyrinth.
I blame instead
the trinity of heat and fuel and air; the fire,
wanting only freedom.

Now too busy goading the blinded, raging minotaur,
I miss that other trinity
who would set me free.
“Submit,” I say, but refuse to do;
too clever by half.

False Idol
By: Linda Gail A.

I walked over two miles before I finally came across it. The string came untied during the annual experimental kite flying contest, and the wind carried it quite some time before it finally landed. The scene in front of me was hysterical. Folks were saying it came from nowhere and it must be a sign from the gods. I bit back a laugh and tried to listen encouragingly as this lunatic woman raved on and on about how God was trying to get our attention and we need to take notice. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was just my kite.

Mr. Jonathan Ballsy
By: Russ B.

Mr. Jonathan Ballsy loved the sun.
He loved everything about it. it’s warmth, it’s color, especially the burning UV rays. He loved the sun so much, he even tried make himself look like the sun.

"Oh, I wish I could get this right. I look more like Albert Einstein on a bad hair day."

“But,What shall I do today?”

“These insects, with their wheeled contraptions... they crowd my sand, and absorb my sun's rays. Oh, if I could only make myself as hot as the sun, I could burn them all.
And then maybe I could eat them!”

“No... that would be too cool, and most un sun like.”

Untitled
By: Ken G.

Clyde had scavenged tinted goggles and leotards before the dust storm swept through the Burning Man Festival. At least his eyes and legs were protected—his skin felt like old varnish. He was on his way over to barter for a jacket when he saw the sound stage of the Sand Disco Puppets get crushed by a flame-tipped, plastic menace. Only the gas-powered generator was untouched in its wake. He didn’t bother to dodge his grizzly fate, but grinned as he realized he was at least wearing clean underwear. His mother would be happy, but she would probably always wonder about his lime green leotards and purple tutu.

Juicer

The Office does a fantastic job each week of taking a normal scenario and adding a healthy dose of ridiculous to it. A story is always better if your character is "normal" but in an absurd situation or you play out how your charcter(s) is absurd but the situation is normal. I learned this in improv class. I'm not that smart to think of it myself. Thanks, Joe Boyd.

#012

Randy H's entry was selected for week number 12. Even though I'm sick of the election already, Randy's entry still made me laugh out loud. He did a great job of using current news but in a way that's still clever and unique. Check it out.

Dirty Politics
By: Randy H.

"Geez Joe! Say it ain't so", Sarah shouts.

"Now that I'm VP I don't have all that much to do," Joe responds. "So I thought I would convert this restroom to accommodate both sexes like the North Koreans have done in public places. I am the foreign policy expert you know."

"This is the U.S. Capitol building, NOT North Korea." Condescendingly Sarah jabs, "Haven't you ever heard of freedom?"

"That's unfair," Joe says.

"Is it?" Sarah replies, "You're peering over my restroom stall. Unless you're here to diffuse a nuclear bomb I don't need you in every aspect of my life."

Joe concludes, "You haven't seen the half of it."

Gimme some more...

WC Research
By: Russ B.

Lou was born after the 2012 allergen-mutation plague, and knew nothing of living outside the dome. He was head designer of the now popular, “Go As You Go” subway-skyway public convenience device.

It wasn't until WC Research perfected the “stand as you go” design, that the dome cities size specifications were met. The number one design challenge had been meeting all female user requirements. After early catastrophic results using nano-bots, all tests had to be closely monitored.

WC had been #2 in the industry, but after Lou’s design breakthrough, WC became the american standard.

The signs (used on the early, technician observed prototypes) have become quite collectible.

Preg Bladder
By: Mary F.

“Kathy, hurry. We have to catch the train.”

“I have to go to the bathroom now”.

“You just went.”

“It’s twins, for crying out loud. What do you expect? Please, Jake, run up to that stairwell and see if there is a restroom there.”

“Yep, there’s one here,” he yelled, hoping she wouldn’t notice the sign.

“Don’t let anyone get ahead of me,” she said and waddled more rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Sir. But this bathroom is occupied.” He said as a man approached.

“Let me by, or I’m calling the police.”

“No.” Kathy pleaded. “It’s preg bladder and I have to pee.”

“Of course, Madam.”, the red faced gentleman responded.

Confusion
By Linda Gail A.

We disembarked the plane in Korea, and my little girl started doing the, “I need to go to the potty” dance. I quickly handed my husband our carry-on’s and grabbed Emma’s hand. Surely a bathroom was nearby. But when I saw the sign that said toilet, the image didn’t make any sense to me. There was clearly the international symbol for a woman, but then there was the international symbol of a man watching her go! Emma tugged at my arm, and we went ahead anyway. When you’re two you just don’t care. Any potty will do.

Wu and Mia
By: Jenny S.

Wu had lusted over Mia for 8 months. She was breathtaking in her bold, red attire.

They both worked in the mailroom - it paid very little, but was a breath of fresh air to both Wu and Mia. Each had lost their hands and feet in tragic accidents and it was the only place they could find work. No one was quite sure how they sorted mail with only stumps…

One week when money was low, Wu’s peers bet him $50 to sneak in the girl’s restroom and catch a peak at Mia. Stuffing the cash in his pocket, Wu set off towards the powder room for a gaze.

So Sweet
By: TresK

Gao drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, reflecting on his latest sign. He did not smile or feel any joy in his creation. There would be no honor, no joy, in this job. Ever. His brother would see to that. Gao had the art but Jing was the smart one, the gifted one, the one with the Midas touch – that’s what they all said. But Gao knew different. Jing was the sly one, the user, the pervert. Perhaps, if this sign made it to the overseas buyer, Jing’s true nature would be exposed. Jing would make Gao pay, dearly, but that was ok, he’d lived with worse.

Juicer: Spider (short film)

Be advised. This is intense. I chose it because it's a story that sucks you in and leaves you a little breathless and does so with very little dialog.

#011

Markey Mark is our highlighted entry this week. I totally dug his descriptions of the cigarettes and how white his knuckles were, among other things. Mark painted a fascinating scene by simply using descriptive words. Great job, Mark.


The Captain
By Mark H.

Darryl jammed the stick into drive, smashed the accelerator to the floor, his thick fingers turning white as he gripped the searing hot steering wheel. Cold ashes fell from the open ash tray. Jagged tears in the weathered vinyl seats gnawed at his legs as he fought to control the fish-tailing car.

Darryl had just jumped to warp speed as he reluctantly left the last session of the 42nd annual Star Trek Convention. For a brief few minutes longer, he was not Darryl, he was Captain James Kirk, brilliant commander, supremely confident, the ultimate player.

Soon, only Darryl would arrive at his empty one bedroom apartment, alone once more.

Gimme some more...

Memories
By Linda Gail A.

“Hold it right there.”

A light flashes and I hear the camera click.

“Perfect! You can come out now.”

I duck out from behind the cardboard cutout that resembled my first car to watch as my photo is downloaded into a computer and then emerges slowly from a digital printer. I pay the outrageous fee and take my now cardboard framed photo. I glance at it and happy memories surge back.

“Man, back then I was going somewhere,” I think.

I sadly shake my head and shuffle away to climb into the bus to take me to the nursing facility I now call home.

The Practical Joke
By: TresK

His tires spinning gravel, Jocko wished he’d spent the money on those Goodyear retreads. The Chrysler 380 short block had enough power to get him out of here, if he could only get some traction. Finally hitting the tarmac, Jocko smiled; he’d be almost to Galveston when the barn blew.

It had been a while since Jocko’d done any demolition work, but it all came back; the smell of the powder, the cool touch of the blasting caps, the curious combination of calm and butterflies as he wired the final connection. Jocko started humming, imagining Brian’s face when he found his barn spread over half of Brazoria County.

You Get Your One Chance and You Better Not Blow It
By: Jerry H.

The blonde had left him. Stupid old biddy anyway, paying him to cruise the Sunset Strip each evening. Fourty six years is a long time to drive the same stretch of avenue looking for testosterone infected young men, Oh God night after night why?

He came to California to be a movie star, now the only part available, a corpse on CSI Vegas. They were paying drivers in Bagdad ungodly amounts of money; a little adventure and then retirement. He was leaving this life behind, the memories and dreams of that American Graffiti weekend were just nightmares now.

Pig Squealer
By: Jenny S.

Thoughts raced thru Bobby Joe’s head as he pressed harder on the gas pedal.

“Six months of my life I gave up for this stupid pig squealing contest. I dropped everything that was important to me – my mistress, my job…”

Truth be told, Bobby Joe didn’t really have all that much going for him beforehand. His ‘mistress’ was his favorite dancer at Boobs, Boobs, Boobs and by ‘job’, Bobby meant whatever he hadn’t gotten bored with yet.

The first person to have a pig come up and hump their leg won Pig Squealing contest and $500. Bobby Joe just ended up with stained jeans and his photo in the newspaper.

Car Ride Home
By: Randy H.

Larry's car hummed a deep growl as it idled in front of room 12A. He waits for her. This is not the first time; in fact, they had grown accustomed to these secret encounters. Larry flicks the gray head off his cigarette and draws in another dose. As the nicotine mixes with the idle fumes, his mind suddenly begins to race. The muscles in his gut tighten and guilt overwhelms. Larry curses himself wondering why he cannot control his urges. Frustrated, he turns up the radio trying to kill the conviction and fear. Still waiting for her, the conviction and fear win out. Larry revs the engine and drives home.

Juicer: Mind Bender

#010

Apparently our amazingly awesome photo intimdated a few folks. Not as many entries as I was hoping for.

By the way, is that not totally a young John Tesh in the photo?

Isaac S. wrote the highlighted entry for this week. I could appreciate his story because his "awesome story" had a bit of uppercrust to it. It was a different spin than most of the other stories and I could appreciate that.

Awesomeness
By: Isaac S.

In an attempt to show his republican friends just how awesome diversity can be, Brad organized the first ever “international and minority students against big government” picnic.
“Sure you can lure in those types by offering something for free,” scoffed Brad’s frat brother Graham, “but try asking them to a potluck event and see who shows.”
Brad didn’t listen to Graham’s cynicism. He knew on campus there had to be more people than just his clique who wanted economic deregulation, low taxes, and babies to live. He wanted to help maintain individual freedom, he didn’t care who brought the drinks and desserts. And besides, the Asian chick is hot.

Gimme some more...

Step Off
By: Brad Wise

So I said, "Bro, no way." And he was all, "I'm serious, man. Step off." So I stepped off. For like two seconds cuz his girlfriend was all, "Yeaaaaaaaaaah, step off." And you guys know me. I take karate. Two belts away from black belt. Depending on this Saturday’s meet. So obviously I'm all about respect and that kind of stuff. But you have to give me respect in order to get it. Right? So I said, “Listen, you better…” and just when I was about to roundhouse her boyfriend, Mr. Lemmerman came up and cooled things down. Lucky for them. My roundhouse is wicked lately.

Me, Myself & I
By: Randy H.

As my body lay motionless in the hot desert, dying of dehydration; my only thought was of my mother. I knew I wouldn't allow a crashed plane and a hundred miles of burning sand to be the final adventure in her son's life. So I assembled every ounce of strength my bleeding, naked body could muster and crawled three days and two nights from the edge of utter death to a port where I found refuge. I wasn't one of the lucky ones. I survived because my wits are keen and my body extraordinarily conditioned. Humbly speaking, I'm just a man. I'm a survivor!

Secret Weapon
By: Linda Gail A.

It sounds like I’m bragging, but the truth is I have a secret to my success as an awesome guy. It’s my secret weapon; my hair. You see, a properly coiffed do is the essential ingredient to being cool and thus being awesome. You start with clean hair, and then apply some mouse before pulling out the straightening iron. That should be enough to hold everything in place, but I find that a mega-hold hairspray finishes the job. Perfect hair is all the attraction that ladies need, if you know what I mean. Suddenly, you are one awesome dude. Trust me, it’s the hair!

Psycho Babble
By Mark H.

Hey, Tommy… HEY! Look at me while I’m talking. Last night at the game, I was throwing the football 100 yards just warming up. Dude, my arm’s a howitzer. Julie, I see your eyes. Why are you looking at Jermaine? You should have seen me calling the plays. Coach trusts me to call the plays. The team loves my plays. Shelley, why are you laughing? Coach lets me run the ball too. My legs are friggin’ rockets, man. Nobody can touch me when I run the ball. Are you listening?? Coach says he’s never seen anything like me. Who won? Oh, we lost. The team sucks.

Words To Live By
By: Jenny S.

The words flowed like honey from John Tesh’s mouth. Stories of beating seemingly impossible odds of chunky glasses, badly gelled hair and braces.

“You know, one day in 7th grade it occurred to me. Anybody can be cool, but it takes practice to be awesome.”

The mouths of all who had gathered dropped at the sound of this epiphany.
“You start calling people by nicknames. It makes the public feel special. I started calling myself ‘The Teshter’. Talk with your hands. It gives the appearance of paying attention. Always sound confident, but not cocky. Oh, and I started bleaching my hair. I’m practically a Ken Doll now.”

Juicer: The Princess Bride

I have no idea how I ended up here, choosing a Princess Bride clip. It has nothing really to do with writing short short fiction. But it's bloody brilliant dialog. So....enjoy.

#009

Thanks to everyone who submitted. This past week's writing "rule" was the two men in the photo could not be related by blood and had to have a connection OTHER THAN boxing. I like the spin Russ took. Good stuff. Enjoy.


Hans & Jerrold
by Russ B.

Hans's attractive legs brought him more work, but Jerrold believed his hands were better than anyone's. ...and took great pains to protect them.
"Hans can only dream of skilled hands... if Hans can dream", thought Jerrold.
Hans was a pretty boy, airhead type. Jerrold had to keep reminding him that boxing was only PR, and to stop hitting him in the face.
It was no longer fun rooming together.

Hans dreamed only of lunch. “Mmm...beer and bratwurst” (which would eventually become his downfall).

Jerrold knew “Hands may be great, but if face looks like cauliflower, you lose job!.” The super model game in Prague was cut-throat.


Gimme some more...

Lone Photo
by Linda Gail A.

Sven joined our family at age 29. He never bonded with anyone at the orphanage, and his counselors thought it best he start over and relearn connection. Only, Sven has an issue with touching people. So we went sent him out to buy gloves for all of us. But I guess we didn’t explain very well. We ended up with boxing gloves. Mother and Father made us pose for a picture. Our arms touched, Sven hyperventilated and we had to send him back to his institution. But I’ll always have the photo of us to remember him by.



Rematch
by TresK

It’ll be a cake-walk, Jocko said. We’ll go a few rounds, make some cash money; a C-note each, maybe better. He forgets we haven’t sparred since that rigged fight in Nevada. Even more, he forgets what he took that night. He’s good at forgetting. Not me, not after he left Reno with Belinda. Sure, Jocko’s played it cool, cucumber cool, but I’ll get mine. Once that flash goes off, he’ll start prancing for the press and wham… flat on his mug. The reporters will all laugh and he’ll wail “Who tied my shoes?” like some wheezy old broad. Serve him right, after Reno.



No Hesitation
by Mark H.

The photo sits on my dresser, alongside pictures of my wife and kids and grandkids. Mutt and Jeff, they called us. We terrorized the girls in 1st grade together and graduated from high school together, class of ‘41. After Pearl Harbor we joined up together.

Every soldier did time in the ring, but Lenny never was any good at it. He really didn’t want to hurt anyone. Always wore that goofy grin and curly mop of hair. No scholar, either, but his heart of gold tipped the scales. Three weeks after we shipped out, Lenny died from enemy bullets carrying me to safety. That was just the way he was.


Memoir of a Hero
by Randy H.

We were in the best shape of our lives back then. Dick and I thought we knew it all; ready to conquer anything or anybody in our way. We were stationed together when the war broke. The war – it made us feel weak and alone. All we had was a shared responsibility to serve our country and the companionship of one another. Dick was my best friend. I razzed him because he was a slow, bowlegged son of a German immigrant. If I wasn't so much like my father, Dick would have known how much I loved him. Maybe things would have been different between us.

Not By Blood
By: Mary F.

The nursing home called. He died peacefully. “Cremate him and send the ashes.” I said.
There are personal items. “Give them away”.
They sent the picture anyway. The one he always carried with him. “My boy and I,” he would tell his patients, new and old.
I loved that summer we boxed together at Randall’s gym. I loved the hikes we took, the evenings he taught me pool and poker.
“There is something you should know”, Mother said after his stroke. “He’s not your father. One of us was infertile.”
I traced my fingers over the image of his big ears, dark kinky curls, the dear face of my father.

The Juicy Juicer

This may be a bit of a stretch, but work with me here.

An old lady, her daughter and grandchild go outside for some fresh air. That's the basic premise. However, watch the video and see how the story creator wove a plain basic idea into something unexpected.

Never forget the element of surprise.

And if you're really an overachiever, check out this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70NxlgjFIVU

008

This picture is a personal favorite of mine. He just makes me uncomfortable. Creepy.

* By the way, for anyone who is just checking our site, we've begun to add little prompts in each week as well as sticking with the 110 words or less, due by Monday at 11am deal. For example, this past week each story had to have a conflict dealing with fish somehow. Coolness, I know. *

Brad W. is our highlighted story of the week. His conflict was subtle, but it reminded me a lot of how a man's mind functions. I may be sexist here, but I thought he hit the nail on the head. In his entry, you understood where he was at, why the character was there and what he was doing.
When you describe the whole picture, your readers can grasp on and enjoy the journey with you.

Camouflaged Apology
by Brad W.

Derrick sits in his brother's room digesting two quarter-pounder meals and 13 cigarettes. He wants to watch television. He wants Randy to come home and find the remote so he can watch television. He considers regurgitating the McBeef and hiding it in the hamper. He stares at his crotch and wonders if that’d make him bulimic. Stupid Randy and his faggy feelings. He probably hid the remote on purpose. Derrick scans the room for a pen. The desire to write an apology battles the desire to sleep. “Randy, sorry for not taking you fishing yesterday. My bad. Next time, ok?” He decides not to yell at him for the remote.

Little Bud By: Mary F.

“This can be an amicable divorce. Our firm can handle everything” her lawyer said.
“Ok by me, I replied. She can have the house, my 401K, and the cars. All I want is Little Bud.”
I knew she never liked Little Bud, my gorgeous Copperbanded butterflyfish. Maybe she was jealous. I could sit for hours watching him diving between the rocks in the aquarium.
Finally the day arrived for me to pick him up.
“He’s had an accident,” she said when she came to the door.
Then I saw her cat puking up gold and bronze flaked vomit. I know it wasn’t an accident.He’s gone forever. I’m so sad.

Birthday Surprise
By Mark H.

I’M creepy?! That pretentious little brat said I’M creepy! I spend an hour getting made up so I can entertain him and his little gang of cretins down at the Golden Arches, and he says I’m creepy. So anyway after he tells me this, somethin’ just snaps, and I grab the first Happy Meal I see – it’s a fish sandwich, heavy on the tartar sauce, lucky for me. So I mash it the little bugger’s face, wash his hair in the sauce.

Well, it did look kind of good, so I get one to go, with fries. Ahh, nothin’ like a good meal after a hard day’s work.

Argument
By: Linda Gail A.

“Are you eating again?”
“What’s it to you?” Bubba replies as he wraps his mouth around another McDonald’s Quarter Pounder, in no mood to be nagged.
“Your shorts don’t fit you anymore,” Bubba’s wife replies.
“They’re fine.”
Bubba’s wife enters the room. “Your fish is hanging out,” she points. “Your shorts are too small.”
Bubba shrugs. “I said they’re fine.”“When you have a child pull the flower in your pocket and your drawstring pants fall as planned don’t call me from jail because your fish was hanging out.” She turns to walk from the room, but adds one last sage comment. “Buy bigger shorts.”

How the World Was Saved Through Pollution By: Jerry H.

BozotheEvil exhausted, superpower drained, fell into a sluggard heap to the floor like a pile of discarded washrags. As each cigarette burned it’s last he exploded a balloon, the reverberation comforting him, reminders of the sound of his impacting energy rays.

“BozotheGood imagining he could ruin my plans and save those starving super intelligent orphans with Fillet O’Fishes. I showed him, I showed him good.”
BozotheEvil enjoyed every bite of his spoils, 513-1/2 fried fish sandwiches; satisfied he fell asleep snoring like an idling bulldozer. Quietly the big sleep came, mercury poisoning, BozotheEvil had finally done something right in his life.

Untitled By: Deb F.

“That is IT!” swore Reggie. “That’s the last gig where I open for the pony.”

“You should make ‘em pay for the shoes,” said Tony, “It’s not easy to get dem clown shoes clean, y’know.”

“Nobody wants to see the clown anymore. They weren’t even watching me make the balloon animals.”

“Yeah, but you should get you some o’ dose long thin balloons. These round ones aren’t dat exciting.”

“No man, I think I lost them with the fish. Swallowing the goldfish used to have them riveted. But kids are jaded.”

“Probably the hormones in the fast food, man.”

“Pass me the Coke I gotta wash down Goldie."

The Plight Of A Clown By: Randy H.

"That John Denver is full of sh**"

The comedic line rolls from the TV as it pacifies Ralph with a movie he's seen dozens of times. It reminds him of his initial encounter with the McDonald's people. During the interview it was explained to him rather convincingly that this job would be much better than the one he had at Macy's. With this position he wouldn't have to take silly photographs with squirmy and annoying kids who beg for toys they know their parents will buy them.

Ralph ruminates, "What's worse; working 20 hours a week or eating these cold, leftover fish sandwiches every night?"

The Third Party
By: Tres K

Bobby flopped to the floor. He was, as Grandpa Jack used to say, “Tugging on an empty line.” Around him earnest young men talked softly into their cell phones. Outside, the press circled like barracuda, sniffing for blood. His campaign manager would keep them at bay long enough for Bobby to enjoy his fish sandwich and fries. Bobby valued Leon for that, above all else. The press could throw around words like “dynasty” and “legacy” all they liked, but he had to live this circus. He should be used to it, but all he could think of was the peace and quiet waiting for him on November 5th.

Thursday Juicer: Bob Dotson on storytelling

Bob Dotson talks about the Hey, You, See, So components of storytelling.

#007

Wow, you all sure did turn out for #007. And sweet petunias, you kids used your imagation. It appears that the prompt of "I can't believe she didn't..." really helped get the juices flowing. So you'll probably see a bit more of that.

This week's highlight entry was from Jerry H. First, he had the catchiest title. And secondly, Jerry used fantastic detail. Specifically in regards to the eyes and make and model of the vehicle. Well, just read it, you'll see.


There's A Reason Studeabkers Are So Obosolete
By: Jerry H.

I can’t believe she didn’t open the clutch when she started the car. A 1955 atomic powered Studebaker XL47 isn’t like modern cars with voice activated engines and clean carbon monoxide power.
I told her, “Take the Ford”, but “No Daddy please the Stude is so cool. Coolness is a vital part of winning that scholarship to Harvard.” Well after battering her baby blues, a couple more oh daddies and pleases, I gave in. Then call came, midnight, Mill Valley Mall, car backfired, Daddy help. I don’t know who needs to have their butt kicked more, her or me.


Prank
By: Brad W.

"I can't believe she didn't think that was funny."
"Right?"
“Did she see you?”
“I don’t think so. I was driving pretty fast.”
“Could you see her face?”
“Yeah, bro. I watched her in the rear view. She was FREA...KING... OUT.”
“Oh, I know. She called me bawling.”
“What’d she say?”
“I could hardly understand her. It was nuts, man. She was…”
“Acting like she saw a ghost? Ha hahahahaha.”
“She peed herself.”
“What?!”
“Peed…..her pants.”
“Dude!”
“Yeah.”
“That’s awesome!”
“I don’t know, man. Peed-pants seems a little….”
“Uhhhh…awesome?”
“I don’t think so. I’m feeling a little guilty.”
“Whatever dude.”
“I’m kinda hungry.”
“Hop in.”
“Waffle House open?”
“Duh.”


“She’s Back”
By: Joe B.

“I can’t believe she didn’t call first.”
Tommy mumbled, staring down at his own vomit.
Gross.
And all over his leather Bostonians, too.
He planned on wearing sneakers, but forgot to pack them in the duffle bag.
The duffle bag. Crap. He left it back where she had energized.
“She shoulda called first,” he said aloud. He was sure he was done vomiting now. He wiped his mouth and inspected the splatter on his shoes.
He couldn’t look up. Not yet. He thought if he didn’t look at it, it would just go back to normal.
He hated her. This is what she does to him. And now she’s back.


Un-Happy Birthday To Me
By: Christopher D.

I can't believe she didn't get the red one. For months, maybe even years we have talked about this. We've looked at catalogs. We've visited every Light Up Car Show for hundreds of miles. Each and every time she asked, I told her I wanted one. Not only did I want one. I wanted a red one. Now here I am, on my birthday, in front of my friends and family, and I have to try and be excited about receiving the wrong lit car. I mean, the interior looks nice. It doesn't have many miles. But darn it, it's just not the red one!


The Bi-Monthly Pizza Party
By: Hannah K

I can’t believe she didn’t stay for this. I told her it was worth skipping her aunt’s party to see and it only happens every eight weeks. “Jimmy,” Augusta said. “No cars, not even cars that ‘glow in the dark’ are worth skipping Astella’s bi-monthly pizza party.”

That’s the third one this evening, driving out from behind the carwash as if they were born there.

“Excuse me sir!” the driver said.
“Yeah?”
“Could you direct me to the, um, ‘highway’?” I ambled over, “Where you headed, mister?”
“A coronation… I mean pizza party.”
“Pull out, turn left, and follow the signs.” I wish Augusta were here to see this.


When?
By: Tres K

I can’t believe she didn’t calibrate the stopping watch. She didn’t even check the time range. Now I’ve got some clean-shaven yokel starring in the side window. And she’s the one calling me careless? Untamed, maybe even undomesticated, but not careless. Drunk on my own cajones, she said. Right about that, I guess, but she’s never Zapped, never felt the tingle of a new When or the adrenaline high of the unknown. Shit… only 00:00:29 more till the skin cools. Then I’ll have to open that door and start dancing, start figuring out when I am. If I ever get back, I swear I’ll Zap that broad to 3018.


Ethel the Nutcase
By John A.

I can't believe she didn't know that filling the carburetor full of plutonium would have this effect. True that Ethel has a fixation on Back to the Future and its sequels, but did she really think she could time travel in our car ? That goofy wife of mine. Just how am I going to explain this to the police ? And where is Ethel right now ? Sleeping. And hoping that when her alarm clock rings, the time machine on the nonexistent flux capacitor will be ready to transport her to God knows where. Or when. I knew that sleeping on large curlers would someday cause her to go off the deep end.


Bye-Bye Dream
By: Mary F.

I can’t believe she lost the glowing pink Cadillac.
“For your 30th birthday,” I said. “I’ll give you a 1955 pink Cadillac and have it converted into a glower”.
She is a living breathing Elvis fan who dreamed of owning a 1955 pink Cadillac. Her apartment is covered with Elvis memorabilia: pink Cadillac cookie jar, Elvis pink Cadillac montage, Elvis pink Cadillac key chain and every Elvis pink Cadillac item that she can scrounge up on e-bay. But she let the salesman buy her a few drinks, talk her out of the Cadillac, and then charge her to juice up her Grandpa’s old car.
She traded away her dream.


Fresh Paint
By Mark H.

I can’t believe she didn’t put the car in park… but really I can. She’s my achingly beautiful, Einstein smart and often laughingly absentminded wife. She “parked” the car at Lake Luminescence near our home in northern Minnesota to go jogging on the trail around the lake, aptly named for the unique light-emitting algae that coat it during the summer. Unfortunately, the car slipped gurgling into the lake before she was even around the first bend. By the time I arrived, it had been towed out, glowing like a casualty of Three Mile Island , as the luminous microscopic organisms transformed our ride into a shimmering, lime-green spectacle of light.

In Denial
By Linda Gail A.

I can’t believe she didn’t join me for a night to remember. I don’t know what it was that turned her off. I have the absolute coolest tricked out car. I replaced the boring metal with a clear plastic and filled it with the same fluid that’s inside a glowing lava lamp. I mean, come on, what other guy has that? So clearly, it’s not my car. But that only leaves me. Yet that doesn’t compute either. I hold seven degrees from top online universities, and I have a pet llama. I am so totally a babe magnet. It’s clearly an issue with her.


Shot Thru the Heart and You're to Blame
By: Jenny S.

“I can’t believe she didn’t leave the keys!”
Carl stooped over to get a better look inside. Geraldo just sat in the drivers sear, numb.
Carl had a thing for shady women and pyramid schemes. This was an issue that had plagued him most of his adult life. And as embarrassing as it was, he always signed on for another product.
This time was no different. Carl of course, had already paid his fee to join upfront and had brought Geraldo as part of the recruiting process. But with no keys, getting his friend to buy into The Mean, Green, Radio-Active Machine would prove to be a bit more difficult.

Unexpected Breakdown

By: Randy H.

I can't believe she didn't work faster. The results are in and what we've found is quite remarkable. The dye we ran through your system revealed an obstruction; an unusual one. So you're going to feel some bloating and tightness for awhile until we can flush your abdominal cavity. I am writing two scrips that I want you to start today. The first is a liquid that will get rid of that sputtering sensation and re-energize you. The second is a capsule that will break down all the gunk and help your system operate efficiently. Remember, no greasy foods. I want to see you again in two weeks. Any questions Mr. Goodwrench?

Thursday Juicer: Michael vs. Toby

The Office comes back to us tonight. Hence this video choice. One of my favorite parts of the story line is the mystery behind why Michael hates Toby so much. Humorous conflict and mystery are the two things we could all maybe wrestle with as storytellers.

#006

Everyone seemed to take a different spin on the mud picture. That was refreshing! It you combine our stories together, you have one depressed, lonely Mudman with clear pores. Fantastic.

Linda's our feature story this week, if only because she can spell Chateu Le'boint. So.... French. Even though the main character in the picture was obviously a male, Linda added that interesting perspective that only a female can appreciate - getting rid of dry, itchy skin. This is my kind of man.

Sidenote: my husband actually took this photo on our vacation to the middle of nowhere. We can upon a fantastic little festival in Brementon, OH where they were enjoying many hours of mud volleyball......

Sunbaked
By Linda Gail A.

When I read the ad promising to cure dry flaky skin, I jumped at the chance to finally rid myself of living an itchy misery. I went to the spa at the Chateu Le’boint and ordered the revered mud treatment. I was surprised to find out the treatment takes 7 hours, but only on sunny days beginning at 10 a.m. The technician applies the mud and then you endlessly walk in the hot French sun. Finally they crack you; with the mud goes your flaky skin. Only no one mentioned that you might want to remain on the grounds. The looks from locals were priceless.

Reluctant Hero
By Mark H.

I am Mudman, defender of the weak. I could have been bitten by a radioactive spider, but noooo, I had to fall into a radioactive mudpit. Sure, I can vanquish a dozen bad guys with a torrent of mud from my fingertips. Gets in their eyes and up their noses. Really something to see. But you ever try to get a date when you look like this? I mean, where you gonna find a Mudwoman? And then at parties, they make me stay outside. And my boss complains that I smudge everything at work. And pigs chase me for the mud. And…well, it’s just a tough life for ol’ Mudman.

Out Of Touch

Randy H.

I've never really played football in a mud bowl before, at least not intentionally. That was a well deserved break from the research paper due tomorrow. I don't know what to write anyway. My brain is all locked up. Moore always assigns these ridiculous topics and wants citations. I didn't expect to see Janie out here. I wonder if she saw me? Good thing I added those ab sets last night. I hate doing abs but it was well worth it. It's a wonder Janie didn't tackle me herself. Girls like to play hard to get.Hey Ryan, can I hitch a ride?

Mud Slinging
By: Jenny S.

Tom’s therapist had told him he needed to find an extra-curricular activity. After he discovered his wife was playing her own version of Twister with their exterminator, Tom broke off relationships with everybody he knew, including his mind. He found solitude in torturing his ex’s favorite pillows – oversized, overpriced, crush velvet – and slinging mud at her in online chat rooms.
After all the pillows had been destroyed, Tom decided to heed his therapists advice. After aimlessly driving around, he saw his answer. As each mud filled balloon burst against his skin, the pain grew more and more intense. But Tom was grateful for a different reason to cry.

Thursday Juicer: Ira Glass

Here is Ira Glass of "This American Life" talking about the building blocks of a great story. I love this guy. Love his voice. Love how carefully he chooses his words on his radio show. Love the way they tell stories and how they take one theme and take a bunch of truly unique looks at said theme. Check out their podcast here. The two building blocks he discusses are Anecdote (sequence of events) and Moment of Reflection. Good stuff here, enjoy. Part two is good as well.

#005

So Hurricane Ike visited the Tri-State this weekend. According to Willie on 700WLW last night, so of you may not even have the electricity to read this entry until Saturday. Lucky, lucky you.

Mark's entry is our blog of the week. It's funny and very descriptive. It's not just a chair - it's an oversized chair. It's not just a mug - they're heavy and empty. No one wears ties. I can visualize what this office looks like, how the office staff is dressed. When you can almost include your audience in with the story, you've got a great story. You shouldn't just tell a story, you should involve the audience. They should never be confused on where the story is taking place or who the main characters are. Great job this week, Mark.

Worse Than Fees
By Mark H.

It was long after “banker’s hours” had ended for the day. The officers of First Boar Bank sat around the large mahogany table in President Ty Twaddy’s personal conference room. Suit jackets adorned the backs of the oversize chairs, ties were long ago discarded, heavy coffee mugs emptied as they stared at the photo of the unidentified man straining to take his cash from one of the bank’s ATMs. “But sir,” pleaded the vice-president again, “our customers are SUPPOSED to withdraw their money. They use it to, you know… buy things.”

“No! I won’t have it!” Twaddy railed over and over. “This meeting is finished! Raise the ATMs another foot!”




Magic Potion
Mary F.

Some predicament, trying to manage when you’re 3 feet tall. It’s all your fault, Bertie – you and your old buddy, Dr Fink.
“Honey,” you said, “we’re having a little clinical trial. Dr. Fink has developed a new drug that could help you lose your little tummy.”
“You mean my big belly. What did this discovery do for the other people who tried it?”
“It’s new, Sweetie. We need to try it on humans – but it’s safe.”
Ha, safe. They should use it to cure overcrowding in prisons since it shrinks people to half their size. Hope I can deposit this before someone sees me.


Bad Day
Randy H.

After explaining to the executive editor that he had been writing such anonymous columns for two years, Tom still didn't understand why as an AP writer his name wasn't published, identifying his authorship.

Feeling slighted and misunderstood, Tom thanked his boss for listening and exited. Tom stepped outside, looked at his watch, and with the rest of his day open decided to self soothe with a bite to eat. First he needed cash. Seeing an ATM, Tom angrily wondered how a machine he couldn't even reach could be credited to "Jeanie" while his writing read around the world would remain with no name. Tom's appetitequickly vanished.

The Dowry
Tres K.

Jack was getting desperate. This should have been easy; plant the seeds, climb the stalk – just like his family had done for generations. But things, apparently, had changed. He located the giant easily enough, living off Vine Street. There wasn’t any goose but Jack did find an ATM card in the big guy’s wallet. In spite of the changes, giants hadn’t gotten any smarter; his PIN was on a Post-it note stuck to the back of the card. Now all Jack had to do was reach the machine, punch the buttons and withdraw the gold. Yeah, right… Still, Mr. Peep had promised his daughter’s hand, if he made it back.

Thursday Juicer: PostSecret

PostSecret is an amazing experiment in storytelling. People share their secrets via postcards. Amazing how much is communicated in so few words using a tiny 4x6 canvas. Some of these are very painful to read- just so you're aware. But they're inspiring on so many different levels.

#004

There's been some very interesting stories coming in about the Dracula Cha-Cha. Some seem to have nothing to do with good 'ol Dracula. Soooo, that's different... But I really liked how Randy took something ordinary and created it into something fantastic. Everyday characters, but he twisted it into a news story with phenomenial results. Excellent job, Randy!!!

Fiasco
By: Randy H.


LIVERPOOL-- Today marks the anniversary of the debut of a musical phenomenon that never materialized. It was at Stanley Field 35 years ago that Bob McFadden and his Transylvania Polka staged an event that was utter failure. Bob McFadden himself became a laughingstock among musicians and entertainers worldwide. This concert was a marketing disaster as the event was dubbed the new rage in youthful entertainment. The album titled Dracula Cha-Cha had become trendy in the US as teens filled dance halls dressed in Halloween costumes. Looking to capitalize globally, marketing executives looked to England. Less than 100 spectators attended this concert and McFadden went on to produce children's music.

Try out these other tasty treats...

Blonde Bride
By: Mary F.

Look at me, a real doll. Gorgeous curls, golden hair, and skin like ivory. Perfect is the word to describe me. No wonder the Count wanted me for his date. Who wouldn’t? Lucky dog, I say.
I feel creepy. It’s only the first dance, my absolute favorite, the Transylvania polka. He’s dead white and talk about cold – corpses are warmer than him. Those are fangs, not teeth. I heard he was weird.
Maybe I should leave soon, really soon. It’s so dark – who blew out the candles? Where did everybody go? Does he really have 3 brides? What was that again, the blonde is number 4. NOooooo.

Our Song
By: Linda Gail A.

I hadn’t seen the old vinyl in years when my grandson pulled it out of a dusty pile.

“Grandma, what’s this?” he asked holding it up.

Memories surged back. I’d bought it the night after the Ghoul’s Ball at Sharonville High; the night I met Wolfgang. He was dressed as Dracula and when he whispered that he wanted to suck my blood, I knew he was special. The song playing became our song. 62 years later, 59 of those as man and wife, the memories are just as fresh as that night.

“It’s just a record dear,” I share keeping my memories to myself.


The Maple Street Shindig
By: Melissa F.

It was time once again for the “Annual McFadden Halloween Extravaganza”, so named by the host. Obligingly, the whole neighborhood would attend. Over the summer Bob had learned Photoshop so he decided to take the party to a new level: a souvenir photo based on costumes. Louise and the girls were reluctant guinea pigs.
They thought last year’s “extravaganza” had gone as low as it could: “dress as a farm animal” where everyone had to finish every sentence with the sound their animal made. Since there wasn’t much talking or mingling, they had hopes this year’s event would be cancelled. No such luck for the McFadden clan…or the neighbors.


Veiled Perdition
J. Arns

Little did Melanie know that she was invited to the castle for more than a festive ball; and this would be her last. Ironic that she enjoyed the polka in the arms of her seemingly magical and alluring partner. Her naivety, surpassed only by her beauty, drew her into the lurid underworld of forbidden passions. She arrived in the small burg an innocent tourist, unaware of the macabre events which forever marred many a damsel before her. Poor Melanie. Never would she leave the epitome of hell into which she was thrust to return to the safe and loving arms of her fiancé. She would instead remain a prisoner of the castle - forever.


The Dance
By Mark H.

Count Dracula loved to cha-cha. It helped him forget about the world out there that condemned him for the occasional little bite on the neck. But he was not nearly as confident as everyone assumed he was. In fact, he was quite shy, but he had to keep up appearances. All he wanted to do was ask that beautiful creature to dance. “Does she even know I exist?” he thought. His heart pounding, a bead of perspiration on his forehead, he spread his cape, bared his sharp canine teeth, and nervously blurted, “Hi, I’m Drac, would you please dance with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she whispered. “Let’s cha-cha.”


Trading Jam
By: Shay

Montreal in the fall nipped at Genevieve's face. Life bustled at the farmer's market where she was stationed, selling her family's famous jams and jellies. She moved her hands in her pockets. She saw familiar faces.Bob was not familiar. Sure, Hollywood used Canada for its backdrops. But normally, its stars didn't stray off the set for preserves.He saw her.His swagger. His persuasion. His charisma. His new star -- Genevieve -- was hooked.She played his role.Montreal in the fall nipped again. The poster that hung on her bedroom wall showcased a moment in time when she traded jam for a life that never gelled.


Back At Home
by Brad W.

Rod walks into the kitchen and gives his wife an exhausted, obligatory kiss on the cheek. He tosses the newly pressed LP on the table. It clinks against the saltshaker. His wife stops peeling her newly picked carrots and looks toward the noise infraction.

“Rod! You’re new album! I didn’t know it was finished!” She says, excited and hurt at the same time.

“It’s not. The pizzicato is still all wrong. It reeks of Stravinsky. It’s trite, unoriginal garbage.” Rod opens the fridge and waits for his wife to affirm him.

“Stravinsky would never think of doing Transylvania polka.” She wrongly encourages.
“Exactly.” Defeated, he grabs the milk. “Nobody would."


This Moment
By: Jenny S.

Dracula nervously whisked away the beads of sweat that had begun to form on his pale forehead. His clammy hands shook as he ensured his perfectly gelled hair was still in place.
"You can do it. You can do it, brother", Dracula muttered to himself as he swung open the gymnasium doors and stepped onto the freshly waxed wood floor. The smell of sweaty teenagers hung densely in the air.
Ever afternoon he had holed himself up in his room practicing for this hour. Sure, there had been "The Monster Mash" and "Werewolf in London", but no one had ever seen or heard something as daring as "The Dracula Cha-Cha".


Polka Nights
By:Tres K

Vlad looked at the old polka album fondly. Those certainly were halcyon days, he thought ? Friday nights at the Moose lodge, Saturdays with the Elk?s. And the women? their long hair barely hinting at beautiful necks beneath. He?d done a lot of dancing over the years; formal colonial balls, jitterbugging at the sock hop, on the Ballroom floor in a tux. Now it was Salsa. He liked the beat and the ponytails certainly gave a nice view, but nothing was hidden; the nakedness left no mystery, no hint at things to come.Maybe it was the hair, maybe it was the beer? he still longed for those Polka nights.


Cha-Cha-Ching!
By: Christopher D

The class sat anxiously in their seats awaiting the announcement. Life was about to change for one of these ghouls. Miss Fortune walked through the classroom door, and peered out over the students. Frank was nervously tightening his bolts. She could see Marcus Mummy had already sweat through his dressings. She made them wait long enough. It was time."The winner of this year's 'Name The School Pageant After A Student' musical is...the Count!"Dracula jumped to his feet and let out a yelp. He knew he was suddenly $500 richer and now had to meet with the local composer, Bob McFadden and put the finishing touches on the Cha-Cha.

Thursday Juicer: Readin' is good

My apologies on the latency of this Thursday's tidbit of inspiration. I am on vacation. I sat out on a lake reading Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union. If you've yet to read anything by the Pulitzer Prize winning, Mr. Chabon I highly suggest you pick up The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. It's a dazzler. Anyways, all that reading is maybe what reminded to find this little commercial and share it with you. It's pretty cute. Can I call it cute? Perhaps it's been awhile since you've spent a few hours in a good book. Perhaps this weekend could be a good time to get back on that wagon. It's either that or "pre-season" college football.