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. “Remove your dry snout from my wet loins, Sir Butterface,” exclaimed the boisterous brute known as Michael Fists to his trusty Llama companion. The herculean punching hero was vacationing in Muddy Hallows and clearly drunk on Coconut Rum. “I’ll never find a busty woman with your anchovy breath seeped deeply in my [...]
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 “Yu Clev R. Duck ” Enjoy. Yu Clev R. Duck is here with a fist full of sushi and a pantload of soup. I live in the woodshed behind Jerry Johnson’s dolphin farm and I’m writing to you today about my experience with the electric blanket. Growing up in a kiddie pool filled with goldfish [...]
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. Harry Jomba loved his juices. Cranberry, Boisenberry and Banana – being his favorites. One night, while he blended a mysterious new concoction of fruits – the lights went out in his Parisian Castle. “Who’s there?” questioned Harry. When he failed to receive an answer to his call in the dark, he [...]
The Garbage Man Ext. Morning – Suburban Dead End Street. Black and White World. Trashcan located on the curb. Perspective of its handle looking down the street. A figure steps in from behind the can and grabs its handle, which breaks off in his hand, and trash spills onto the road. He tosses the broken handle into the garbage, as it is now trash. As he’s bent over, cleaning up garbage he discovers an old wedding ring amongst the trash. [...]
If the world is my oyster – I must be allergic to shellfish. I’m either the loneliest rich guy in the world or the richest lonely guy in the world. My servants often ask me to smile but staying awake is exhausting enough, Jeeves. Sure, I’ve led a privileged life – my father was a great mother and my mother was a great brother. When they passed away in that horrible yachting accident, I was left with the family fortune [...]
*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! Enjoy* It was a combination of cheese whiz and wasabi powder that killed the cook. There’s no telling what type of horrors ensued. Broken windows, missing teeth, widowed orphan babies. One thing is for sure – there will never be another hitter like Smokin’ Joe Mcgillicuty. Smokin’ Joe loved meat and sex but not necessarily [...]
“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. “One…uh…no, two rice crispy things please,” I said on the brink of [...]
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. The Lapper looks like an axe murderer; long, shaggy hair like Eddie Vedder after two sets at Lollapoolooza, gruff beard and a t-shirt three sizes too big. No belt. This causes problems because The Lapper’s favorite activity is mindlessly walking up and down Hawthorne Blvd. I [...]
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