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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.