Every now and then, my friend GM, tells me to write a brief story based on something simple. This story was based upon the name “Bernard Chan and Queen Postman” Enjoy. Many years ago, in the land known as New France – there was a forbidden love nary a goat would speak of. For betwixt the thick mulberry bushes near Armpit Meadows, a pair of unlikely rabbits did snuggle. Bernard Chan, an incredibly overweight rabbit of nine years spent his [...]
Every now and then, my friend GM, tells me to write a brief story based on something simple. This story was based upon the name “Michael Fists.” Enjoy.
very now and then, my friend GM, tells me to write a brief story based on something simple. This story was based upon the name “Yu Clev R. Duck ” Enjoy.
Every now and then, my friend GM, tells me to write a brief story based on something simple. This story was based upon the name “Old Rumpsford.” Enjoy. Nary a stranger in Man Village would balk at the chance to speak of Old Rumpsford. The slyest fella to wear a newspaper hat since Really Old Farnsworth. And although some tales were tall and others even taller – one normal-sized tale remains of Old Rumpsford… The Tale of Greystone Nickle Penny. [...]
Every now and then, my friend GM, tells me to write a brief story based on something simple. This story was simply based upon the name “Harry Jomba.” Enjoy.
Here is the script for the short film I plan on shooting this summer. Feel free to leave comments, questions and impressions. Thanks.
If the world is my oyster – I must be allergic to shellfish. I just might be the loneliest rich guy in the world or the richest lonely guy in the world.
*This is a completely un-edited piece of stream of consciousness writing. It’s a writing exercise that took about five minutes. It is what it is!*
“You gave me strength. You held my hand.
You dried my womb. You gave me crabs.”
Those were the final prophetic words left by the one that got away. The one with glorious treats. The one named Marjorie Menopause.
We met at a church bake sale on the outskirts of Turdland. She was selling her famous rice crispy treats and I was just high enough to need one.
You have to name your hobos.
There are a handful of vagabonds in my neighborhood with characteristics so distinct; they’ve practically named themselves. My hobos are as follows: The Lapper, Eskimo Joe and Hookhand.
A short story about a man with a peculiar interest.
An original story about a young boy who became a man. And spaghetti.
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