#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.