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.