The weekend’s Trifecta Writing Challenge is a real bear and I gotta say I got pretty Jack-rabbitted up about it!
This weekend we want you to write a 33-word response using the name of an animal as a verb.
“Mr. Weasel is certainly aptly named,” remarked Mrs. Whistle to Mr. Whistle when Mr. Weasel weaseled Mr. Whistle out of a pretty piece of whittling and went away whistling Pop Goes the Weasel.
Hello Dear Readers, I thought it might be fun to take a look at some of the strange headlines gleaned from the website: unexplained mysteries.com.
A man was hospitalized with stomach pains and was found to have had a 9-inch fork lodged inside him for a decade.
It seems the man had accidentally swallowed the fork ten years earlier but was apparently told by somebody (a somebody who was no doubt drunker than he was) that it would pass naturally from his system.
“I can’t believe it,” he is quoted as saying “I have never had any problems with my stomach except once a couple of years ago.”
Judging from this statement it is safe to assume that not only is this man a clumsy eater, but he is also completely incapable of putting two and two together.
A construction worker was working on a building in Brazil when a six-foot metal bar fell from five stories above piercing his hard hat and his skull and protruded out between his eyes. He remained conscious in the ambulance on his way to the hospital where doctors were able to successfully remove it.
The man was very fortunate that there was nobody around to tell him it would pass naturally from his system.
Archeologists believe famed explorer Marco Polo may have never actually traveled to China at all, and think that it is more likely that Venetian merchant adventurer picked up second-hand stories about China and Japan which he included in his book, “A Description of the World”.
Archeologists have yet to make a formal announcement that children everywhere can stop playing Marco Polo in the swimming pool now and, in fact, should have never been playing it in the first place. We can only hope that announcement will be coming soon. Very very soon.
A newly translated tablet from ancient Mesopotamia has provided a unique look at early humor.
Archeologists stress that while the jokes in the tablet make no sense to us today, they were highly amusing at the time. Archeologists do not go on to say how in the world they would know something like this.
One joke not purported to be in the tablet is as follows:
Why did the chicken cross the Appian Way?
So he could stop Roman around.
Ok, it’s not funny now, but archeologists are absolutely certain that 2500 years ago, it would have killed!
Until next time . . . I love you
Hello Dear Readers! This week’s Trifect Writing Challenge was to write a story between 33 and 333 words using the third definition of heart: 3: personality, disposition <a cold heart>
Gunther Randleroot couldn’t believe his eyes as green tears started pouring out of them. Of course, they were green tears of joy because Gunther never cried tears of sorrow. Gunther was a Martian and nobody liked seeing a Martian cry especially not his girlfriend, Hazel.
Gunther poured the formula that he had finally perfected after seven years of hard work into the beaker like he was pouring out his heart.
When he looked out the window, he was surprised that everything still went on as usual. He watched as a herd of sporks sauntered lazily about leaving behind a trail of feathers like they always did.
Stupid creatures, Gunther thought. Didn’t they realize that Gunther Randleroot was now the most powerful being in the universe?
All Gunther had to do was nudge the beaker to the floor, and the impact would release enough energy to destroy absolutely everything! Gunther took a moment to revel in his new-found power — even though he was much, much too cowardly to ever actually use it!
“Whatcha doin’ Gunthy?” Gunther’s girlfriend, Hazel asked. Gunther jumped! He had forgotten to lock the door again. Sporkfeathers! He didn’t want Hazel to know what he was up to.
“Nothing Hazel dear . . . nothing at all!”
“Ah you can tell me Gunthy! You know you can tell me anything!” Hazel batted several coquettish eyes at Gunther, and he immediately spilled the beans.
Not the formula in the beaker beans, but the can of Martian beans he was getting ready to eat.
Hazel ran to clean them up but slipped (Hazel was all antennas) and sent the beaker crashing to the floor.
Gunther screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” He closed his eyes and waited for the worst! But then . . . nothing happened. Gunther looked around. There was Hazel straightening her antenna and through the window he could still see the sporks!
Gunther Randleroot couldn’t believe his eyes as green tears started pouring out of them for the second time that day.
Hello everybody and welcome! Today we are celebrating a very special blogger’s birthday! Can you guess who that blogger is?
“Hmm . . . in the blogosphere you say? Can you give us a hint?”
“Ok, she’s cracked but not broken, and she has been known to run with scissors . . . naked”
Hmm. . . running with scissors . . . naked you say?
“Oooooooo! I like her already!”
“Yeah she’s edgy and she’s cool!”
“Speaking of edgy . . stop trying to edge me off the stool!”
“What do you mean, you’re taking up all the room!”
“Gosh, I wish I was edgy.”
“Who you? Forget about it!”
“Hey! Blogosphere People! Chill! I’ll give you another hint. Dog balls feel funny . . . “
“Dog balls you say?”
“Dog balls! Ha ha ha ha ha!”
“Oh! I know! I know!”
“Yes naked baby with your hand up!”
“Dog balls?”
“Hoo boy! I think I need a mental moment! Look I’m just going to tell you. Today is the birthday of a most beloved blogger AND cyberdaughter . . . . . . Lizzie 4/7
Ok, that’s your cue! You can let go of those balloons now!”
“Well, I just let go of something . . . but it wasn’t the balloons!”
“Oy!”
A while back, the Trifecta Writing Challenge was to write the beginning sentence to an imaginary novel:
So here’s the beginning sentence to my imaginary novel:
Used car salesman Spinkz Mccoy figured the key to his success was due to the fact that he was as honest as the day is long on the shortest day of the year.
And here’s this weekend’s challenge — writing the closing line:
“You could even change the name from Brooklyn to Betty Ann,” Spinkz Maccoy suggested as he pocketed $27,000 of Betty Ann Spindlemyer’s money while she gazed out the window at her new purchase.
Until next time . . . I love you
You had to take out a loan to pay your sunscreen bill.
You’ve had your sunglasses on so long your ears have grown over them.
You have pet names for all the solar flares.
No matter if you’re a mother or a father, you’re everybody’s mummy
You feel slightly cannibalistic when you order KFC extra crispy
Your vitamin D dip stick is well past the ridiculous line.
You’re smoldering . . . but not in a good way
You were disappointed to find out nobody makes cherry red makeup.
And the biggest sign that you’ve gotten too much sun this summer?
You’ve been delirious since the 4th of July
Until next time . . . I love you
<
Hello Dear Readers! Today, I thought it might be fun to talk about convicts I have known.
When I was 19, I was a waitress in the coffee shop of the Marcus Whitman Hotel in Walla Walla Washington. For those of you unfamiliar with Walla Walla — besides hearing it referred to as the town they liked so well they named it twice, Walla Walla is also home to the Washington State Penitentiary.
In the early seventies, somebody (probably one of the “Screws”) said, “I know! Let’s take hardened criminals who have made a few tiny mistakes in their lives like perhaps pillaging, raping and murdering and let them out everyday to go to work as cooks at the Marcus Whitman Hotel!”
And so that’s what they did and that’s how I got to know a few of our nations finest criminals.
George was a sweet little man, polite, personable and quiet. All the waitresses really liked George. One day somebody got up the nerve to ask George why he was in prison. Turns out retiring, polite, little George had murdered his wife with a butcher knife. But not to worry there were extenuating circumstances.
It seems George had been a cook in the army for 20 years where he had developed a horrendous drinking problem. One morning after a night of heavy drinking, he woke up to find he had stabbed his wife to death and he didn’t remember a thing. He said he had no idea why he did it — because he didn’t remember having any problem with his wife.
Unfortunately, George eventually discovered that the Marcus Whitman Hotel Bar was 20o feet away from the kitchen. One day George went into the bar and squirted the nozzle of whiskey directly into his mouth for a really, really long time. We didn’t see George anymore after that. On a bright side, he didn’t use any of the kitchen knives to stab anybody.
Pineapple was a big tall guy with a crazy look in his eye who could barely string two words together. I don’t know why they called him Pineapple. Maybe he was from Hawaii, or maybe it was because he had the IQ of a pineapple either way, one day he got a toothache while he was working in the kitchen, and so he decided the best course of action would be to extract his own tooth with a butcher knife. We never saw Pineapple again after that.
Billy was a smooth talker who got “sent up” for possession of pot or so he liked to tell everyone. And the pot wasn’t even his, he was just holding it for a friend. Billy was like the smart prison guy in movies who was the mastermind behind the scenes and who got the likes of Pineapple to implement his schemes.
One day Billy talked one of the waitresses, Robin, into driving him to the airport after his shift. The authorities were waiting for him when he got off the plane in the next town, and we never saw Billy again.
Robin said the authorities came to talk to her but she didn’t get in any trouble for helping Billy escape. Probably because they could see that in a game of Jeopardy between Pineapple and Robin, Pineapple’s IQ would have won hands down.
Then there was the guy who got drunk, put on a Cher wig and wandered around the coffee shop incoherently until the police finally came and took him away. Oh, but that wasn’t a convict, that was the hotel manager. (But that’s another story for another day.)
Until next time . . . I love you
This weekend the Trifecta Writing Challenge involves Three Uses of the Knife by David Mamet as saying:
You take a knife, you use it to cut the bread, so you’ll have strength to work; you use it to shave, so you’ll look nice for your lover; on discovering her with another, you use it to cut out her lying heart.
He uses one object, a knife, to flesh out a character and to tell a story in a basic three-part dramatic structure. We want the same from you. Give us 33 words (exactly) that tell us three different uses for one object
See Spot run
Run run run
See the mailman
Mailman mailman mailman
See Spot bite
Bite bite bite
See the cop
Cop cop cop
See Spot run
Run run run
See the mailman . . .
Until next time . . . I love you
Hello Dear Readers and welcome to Fish it From the Archives Friday, where we tie a rope around our waists and lower ourselves into a big vat of old posts, fish one out and post it here! (We also like referring to ourselves in the third person, plural when we do this because sometimes Fridays makes us more weird than we already are.)
Kid:
“I want a new skateboard!”
Parent:
“Bingo!”
Kid:
“So can I have $80?”
Parent:
“Bingo!”
Kid:
“Do you want me to clean my room first or something?”
Parent:
“Bingo!”
Kid:
“OK, I cleaned my room. Can I have the money now?”
Parent:
“Bingo!”
Kid:
“OK,you want me to get your purse?”
Parent:
“Bingo!”
Kid:
“So where’s the money? Don’t you have $80?”
Parent:
“Bingo!”
Kid:
“Well, you should have said so in the first place because I wouldn’t have cleaned my room if I would have known you didn’t have any money.”
Parent:
“Bingo!”
Until next time . . . I love you
Flipping though the pages of the TV Guide yesterday brought back a lot of memories. Here are some things I haven’t thought about in years:
When I was a little girl growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, my grandfather smoked Chesterfields and my mother smoked Salems and my dad smoked Camels. Of course, everybody smoked everywhere. In the house, in the car, before, during and after meals, in movie theaters, airplanes, buses and department stores and probably even at death-bed vigils.
Men used to hold cigarettes on the side of their mouths and smoke them hands free while they mowed the lawn or pumped gas. (It was the 50’s version of multi-tasking.) If there wasn’t an ashtray people would just drop their cigarettes on the ground and step on them.
When I was a kid I thought nothing of it when my dad would drive around with a can of beer between his legs. He drank Olympia beer. I remember once when I was really little going for a drive with my dad in the country. He was driving with a can of beer between his legs, and his shotgun right beside him at the ready. (I was also in the front seat.) Every once in a while my dad would slow way down, reach over, grab his shotgun and then shoot at a pheasant from the car window. This was a perfectly normal and natural part of everyday life. (He always missed by the way!)
When I was growing up, the only people who wore helmets were human cannon balls. They were the only people to wear capes too now that I think about it.
And seat belts? Forget about it! When they started making cars with seat belts everyone totally ignored them or tucked them into the seat so they wouldn’t be in the way. I don’t even think the astronauts wore seat belts. (Probably because it would have restricted their cigarette smoking.)
When I was a kid the term fast food meant somebody dropped a watermelon down a hill and it was rolling too fast to catch it. Of course, I lived in a small town of a thousand people and there certainly weren’t any fast food places in that town.
My mother cooked every meal everyday and on Sunday afternoon, she would fix a big Sunday dinner. Of course, all the stores were closed on Sundays, so if she forgot to buy an ingredient, she would have to borrow it from the neighbors or make do without.
My mother kept a coffee can of bacon grease to cook with in the cupboard above the stove. I distinctly remember this because one time when she reached to get it down, she spilled it all over herself and the stove. Boy was she mad . . . I think it might have put out her cigarette!
Until next time Dear Readers . . . I love you
Drop what you’re doing, Dear Readers, and come and look at what I found! A TV Guide from 1967! Let’s turn the pages quickly before it turns to dust!
The Front Cover
Who’s this maniacally happy man? No it isn’t Crazy Uncle Wally on a bender. It’s Crazy Uncle Lawrence Welk on a bender! And just who is Lawrence Welk? Well maybe this will answer your question, Dear Readers:
OK, maybe not. Suffice it to say Lawrence Welk was an orchestra leader who had his own show back in the 60’s and 70’s who played a mean accordion and who was the apple of every eighty-year-old eye in America. His show was sponsored by Geritol, an old-age elixir that kept his audience regular as well as alive week after week.
The 1967 TV Guide’s Back Cover
This 1967 ad tells us there are smokers and then there are SMOKERS! Smokers who don’t bother with smoking ordinary length cigarettes because it’s so inefficient! Why smoke two short, stubby, ugly, unsophisticated cigarettes when you can get the all the carcinogens you need in one long, elegant cigarette thus indicating to the whole world that you are rich, baby, RICH! Why be caught dead smoking anything else?
Now let’s take a look inside our TV Guide
Here’s an ad featuring somebody you don’t want to mess with:
World famous hairdresser, John Garrison says: “Use any ordinary shampoo on hair color? Not in my salon!”
OK . . .shh . . . John . . . calm down. We are just going to back out the door very quietly with our hands up . . . no need to get excited. . . no harm done . . .
Let’s end on a happier note shall we? Let’s check out this 1967 cheerful teen who has found a great way to earn 4 cents an hour!
Well, Dear Reader, that’s all we have time for today because it looks like our 1967 TV has turned to dust! Oh well, I needed to vacuum anyway!
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers! You’ll have to excuse the way I look (if you could see me). I’ve been cleaning out the blog. Vacuuming up all the blogwebs and sorting through my old posts.
Anyway here’s a little murder story that fell out. It’s not funny, but I kind of like it anyway.
I awoke last night with memories of Cottonwood dampening my pillow. And though I lay there awake, I refused to go further down those corridors of thought — one room leading to another and another. The past is best left unruffled by middle night winds of regret and sorrow.
I looked over at Miles who lay peacefully next to me sleeping his untroubled sleep. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I thought I might like to take his pillow, hold it over his face and suffocate him –so he could always stay just as he was forever and ever.
But what was I thinking! Killing Miles? And like that? I almost laughed out loud! I would never kill Miles like that. Never! That would be much too good for him.
I allowed my mind to drift to the cottage in Cottonwood; just the cottage. The weeping willow in the front yard, the line of pink roses along the split-rail fence and the sound footsteps made on the crooked path of pebbles that led to the front door. But then, Victoria started to creep into my mind and I pushed her out and slammed the door.
After that, I allowed myself to imagine the lake at Cottonwood, as I remembered it best, shining in the morning sunlight. How it looked before I knew about Victoria. But I wouldn’t let my mind wander down the path to the water’s edge. I only stayed to look at it from the safety at the top of the crest.
I fell asleep after that and when I awoke, Miles was gone. I knew where. Victoria’s flight was coming in early, and then they were leaving for Cottonwood. Miles didn’t know I knew. He thinks he got the best of me but he hasn’t. He doesn’t know yet about all the money I took and he doesn’t know about the gun I bought. And I love to imagine the look on his face when he sees it.
Until next time . . . I love you
Hello Dear Reader and welcome to today’s post where we will be taking a look at 8″ people I admire. Let’s start with:
Little Johnny Carver is only 8″ high, but did that stop him from becoming one of the most outstanding country artists of his time? With hits like Your Lily White Hands, New Lips and Don’t Monkey with Another Monkey’s Monkey under his tiny little belt, Itty-bitty Johnny Carver is taking all the right teeny-weeny steps to musical stardom! Proving that no matter how small you start out, it is possible to become a huge success (figuratively speaking, of course!) And so Johnny Carver, I drink a toast to you!
The courageous life of 8″ high pizza delivery boy, Spoinky McSpecks is a tale of determination and bravery the likes of which has yet to be equaled in the pizza delivery world. Risking his life up to 20 times a day, delivering pizzas and getting lousy tips (even though they are practically as big as he is), Spoinky remains steadfast to his mission while facing terrible dangers like getting tangled up in duct tape and other life threatening situations that is annoying to you and I — but is potentially fatal to 8″ people! And so I say: Spoinky McSpecks I salute you!
8″ virtuoso KhanIhazmy Chekplez has never let his small stature deter him from his dream of playing the lilting strains of the Extra-large Slavic Ukelele. Oh sure, it’s a strain for him alright, both physically, mentally, and emotionally, but you’d never know it by the look on his face! My hat’s off to you KhanIhazmy Chekplez!
Even though these four people, when laid end-to-end, wouldn’t even reach the of a yardstick, that hasn’t dampened their enthusiasm one bit! Here they are, merrily going about their bookkeeping duties using the same size pencils we normal sized people use without a care in the world even though the toll on their backs has to be tremendous! And that is why I have to say to this fun loving group of 8 Inchers: I applaud your ‘smarvelousness!
And there you have it, Dear Reader! The courageous lives of some very special 8″ people I admire!
Until next time . . . I love you
