Welcome Dear Readers to Friday Fictioneers located at the corner of Fiction Street and Ears Avenue.
Friday Fictioneers is a 100-word story writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at Addicted to Purple where challengers write a 100-word story about the picture that Rochelle posts every Wednesday.
And this week’s story prompt picture is: buddy-uddy-uddy-uddy (← drum roll)
Viola!
Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields
I’d rather be Parallel Universing
Anna! Look! We’re in the Parallel Universe!
It’s almost exactly like our universe, Bob. Our names are even the same!
Ugh! Anna, the ocean’s saltwater! Don’t cry Anna. It’s not that bad.
I miss our Lime Jello ocean.
At least they have the same statue! Doesn’t that make you feel better?
No.
Why?
She’s not holding a stick of Arid Extra Dry deodorant like ours is.
Oh Anna, cheer up! Look! Some of the words on the plaque are the same as ours!
Which ones?
. . . your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free . . .
Welcome Dear Readers to the very first edition of What Were We Thinking Eighties. Let’s start with some 1984 crocheting booklets that I was lucky enough to score at the thrift shop yesterday! YES! (Okay, nobody else wanted them, but still!)
Let’s Look Inside Annie’s Pattern Club Newsletter!
Isn’t it inexplicably wonderful?
Annie’s Pattern Club was (or possibly still is) a newsletter where mega-talented crocheters crocheted something original and then sent the pattern to Annie, and she would publish the cream-of-the-crop designs her newsletter.
And as you will see, never have so many people come up with so many crocheted solutions for so many things that were never a problem in the first place. Let’s look at a few, shall we?
Crocheted Football Mitts
“Gosh! I don’t understand it. Billy went to play football with the guys and he didn’t take his Crocheted Football Mitts I made him.” “Well that’s weird, maybe he didn’t want the rest of the players to feel bad because they don’t have a pair of Crocheted Football Mitts.” “You know you’re probably right. I’ll get busy and crochet some mitts for the whole team!”
Church Puppet
Need: Attention Getting Device to Keep Children Focused on Bible Stories. Crocheted Solution: A church puppet, not to be confused the a church pulpit. (Although, a dust cozy for a church pulpit probably would have made it into Annie’s Newsletter too.) But what better way for little children to learn about the bible than through the crocheted lips of this memorable, but-not-in-a-good-way church puppet. Oh sure it might give the little tikes nightmares, but they’ll certainly never forget the experience (no matter how hard they try).
Lil Guy Tie
“Oh no Helen! I can’t find little Billy’s tie anywhere, and we’re going to be late for the formal occasion for which toddler formal attire is required. What ever shall I do?” “Don’t worry, Madge! While you were blabbing on and on just now, I knitted Little Billy a tie, a pair of football mitts and a church puppet.” “Oh Helen I’m blown away! Maybe you could crochet me something to wear to a formal occasion while you’re at it.”
What to wear to a formal occasion in the 80’s
“Here’s some formal attire I knitted for you while you were blowing your nose, Madge. I think it’s perfect for any formal gathering don’t you?” “DO I! I’ll be the talk of the town wearing this outfit, Helen. Thank you!” “You are so welcome, Midge!” “Uh my name’s Madge.” “Yeah whatever. And remember, I’m only loaning you my hat!”
And there you have it Dear Readers, this blogs very first installment of What Were We Thinking Eighties.
Welcome Dear Readers! Well it’s Wednesday again. Unless I somehow went into a parallel universe just as I was making my bed this morning. In which case, I’d like to give a shout out to the “you” in the parallel universe and wish “you” a lovely HorsD’oeuvresday.
But whatever universe you’re in, it’s still time for Friday Fictioneers — which means it’s time to write a 100-word story about the picture below — furnished by our lovely Friday Fictioneer hostess Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at her blog, Addicted to Purple.
Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
One Day Down at the Cannery
The day Irene got a microscope was the day Irene began to loath large and began, instead, to fall hopelessly in love with little.
Nothing escaped Irene’s microscope slide –wood shavings (she loved to whittle), vitamins (she was fit as a fiddle) and even Jello (she was hooked on its wiggle).
Irene often pretended her Cheerios were donuts, and that she was eating them with The Incredible Shrinking Man.
Then one day down at her job at the cannery, she saw him! Mr. Jolligreen Gyant! And just like that, Irene began to loath little and began, instead, to fall hopelessly in love with large.
Welcome Dear Readers! Well it’s Labor Day here in the United States of America! Which means a lot of people get the day off. Nobody knows why and nobody cares why.
Well, Dear Readers, I for one, feel that Labor Day is getting the shaft, and that’s why I have taken the liberty of writing an educational story about Labor Day to create awareness for Labor Day appreciation.
Mummy, Tell Me Again About Labor Day
“Mummy tell me again about Labor Day,” little Tommy Sweatington begged his mother one fine Labor Day morn. For as you know mummy,” little Tommy continued,” ’tis my favorite American Federal holiday of all!
Mummy Sweatington looked upfrom her task of scrubbing the floors of City Hall with a toothbrush and replied, “Tommy! How many times have I told you never to come to City Hall wearing your pajamas!”
Mummy’s harsh words made Tommy’s heart sink and push down on his kidneys in such a way as to make the tears in Tommy’s eyes shoot out at odd trajectories. But then he remembered it was Labor Day, his favorite American Federal holiday and his heart floated back up to it’s proper position and his tears reversed their trajectory and went back into his eyes.
Once his vision cleared, Tommy noticed something very strange. His mother was working! Mummy was working on Labor Day!
“Mummy!” screamed Tommy, don’t you know that in 1882 Matthew MacGuire proposed Labor Day after witnessing a labor festival held in Toronto Canada which eventually led to the observance of my most beloved American Federal Holiday — Labor Day? Mummy, I implore you to tell me why you are working on Labor Day?”
At this, Tommy became agitatedand then Tommy became appalled and finally Tommy became apoplectic — which didn’t last very long — because right after that Tommy went back to being appalled and then merely agitated and by the time his mother looked up to answer his question, Tommy was pretty much back to normal.
“But Tommy Dear,” Mummy Sweatington replied, “I’m not working. Scrubbing the floors of the City Hall is my hobby, silly!”
“But Mummy!”Tommy protested. “Why would you want to have a hobby that requires you to scrub the floors of City Hall with your toothbrush?”
” Tommy darling, you don’t understand. I’m not using my toothbrush to scrub the floors of City Hall, I’m using your toothbrush!”
Welcome Dear Readers! Well it seems the time has finally come to talk about baby eating, a topic that some of you may find a tad offensive. However, for those of you brave enough to continue reading past this point → •, let’s dig in and talk about baby eating, shall we?
Cue the first slide:
NO! WAIT! Don’t eat my baby! At least let me run home and get the ketchup first!
Is it just me, or does this woman look like she’s not really trying very hard to save her baby? I mean, she could just reach over and pry the baby out of the lions mouth. Maybe she could even get the lion to open his mouth on his own with a few “here kitty kitty’s.” But no. Instead she looks like she’s about to say, “Wait here while I run home and get the rest of my children. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lambs tail and I’ll even bring the lamb for dessert.”
Cue the next slide:
Excuse me honey, sorry to bother you while you’re . . . uh . . . whatever-ing, but can I have some money? The traveling baby-spice salesman is here.
Okay, here’s a mother who will clearly never make mother of the year. She seems far more concerned with the fact that the window washer is squeegeeing the underside of her husband’s calf than with the fact that one of her babies is playing with a fire-breathing dragon while another one is being eaten whole by a farmer on his lunch break.
And don’t you get the feeling that the man at the gate just sold her a case of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt?
And the next slide please:
These aren’t really babies he’s eating, but in keeping with our baby-eating theme, let’s just pretend they are, shall we?
Okay, here’s a baby eater that can’t even keep up! He’s got babies coming out of his ears! Clearly this baby eater has it all, wings, a full head (and body) of hair and a bellybutton that looks like Mickey Mouse. And even though he’s feasting on a baby, he still has rather kind eyes, don’t you think?
In fact, I have a feeling he’d make a better mother than the other mothers pictured above. Maybe that why people babies are lining up to be eaten by him — probably figuring that since they’re going to be eaten anyway — they might as well be eaten by a kind sort of monster — at least one who has a belly button shaped like Mickey Mouse.
“Hey! Getting my leg bitten off isn’t even making me cry. Well that’s refreshingly unexpected!”
Whoa! Here’s a baby eater that can clearly pack it away (and probably never gain a pound!). He’s got no qualms about chowing down on a baby two-thirds his size. I just hope his eyes don’t prove to be bigger than his stomach and I just hope his stomach is able to handle an entire baby-leg in one bite.
Nobody would eat a baby like this today. The potential for choking is far to great! We can only assume that this man is competing in some sort of Medieval baby-eating contest for which the prize is an all you can eat baby buffet. Let’s just hope he’s got a big supply of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt on hand cause he’s gonna need it!
And that concludes today’s baby-eating themed post. And if you enjoyed it enough, perhaps there will be more Baby-Eating Themed posts in this blog’s future.
Hello Dear Readers! Happy Wednesday! The only day of the week that has a hump — giving the rest of the days of the week something to grip onto thus keeping them from flying off into space.
Here’s the prompt picture which will serve as this week’s inspiration for a 100-word story provided by Dawn M. Miller.
Copyright Dawn Miller
Benny Flump’s French
Mademoiselle Bouillabaisse-Bourgeois crossed the lobby of the Eiffel Tower, and all eyes drank of her beauty like they were drinking a tumbler of Chardonnay after eating a 16-inch baguette.
But no eyes drank more than Benny Flump’s. Benny’s eyes were bigger than his stomach when it came to beautiful French women. And Benny thought Mademoiselle Bouillabaisse-Bourgeois the most beautiful creature he had ever pronounced.
They would marry!
At the top of the Eiffel Tower she said “I do.” Benny replied “adieu” and then jumped.
Oh, Benny Flump’s French left a lot to be desired I should have probably said earlier.
Dear Readers Welcome! I am happy to report I actually made it home safely from my road trip on the freeways of this great state of California, the longest state in our great nation, mind you, — where I spent four wonderful days visiting my daughter Jackie, her husband, Tyler, and my new grandson, Henry.
Peanuts gets worried
Of course, driving there, Dear Readers, took a tad bit longer than it should have due to the fact that I had to go 45 minutes at 40 mph before I could get my nerve up to pass a semi that seemed to my brain, Peanuts, anyway that it was driving recklessly.
The Menace of Rest Stop Pigs
Of course, my brain, Peanuts, the crazy story maker upper, had the truck driver pegged as a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack who was texting his friend waiting at the rest stop up ahead to see if there were any Little Old Lady Granny-Types, such as myself, that he could murder and chop up into a million little pieces and feed to the pigs.
I know it’s a preposterous thought, Dear Readers, I have to laugh actually, because I’ve never seen any pigs at rest stops.
Rest Stop? Or Treasure Map to Murder?
Restrooms, Restrooms Everywhere and Not a One to Use
Still, I didn’t stop even though I needed to use the restroom. I decided, instead, to stop somewhere in King City which the sign said was only 27 miles away.
It was at that point I entered the Twilight zone where the forward motion of my car was just an illusion wherein an evil force was pulling the road underneath me like a treadmill and causing me to quit making any forward progress. Here’s what the road signs kept saying:
27 miles to King City
45 minutes later:
11 miles to king City
40 minutes later:
3 miles to King City
a half an hour later:
You just passed King City
Carl Jr. Saves Me From Kidnapping Gypsies
I’m happy to report, however, that I finally found an easy exit with a Carl Jr’s to stop at. I pulled in to park and just then a white van pulled up next to me, the doors flew open and lo and behold!
It was chalk-full of gypsies!
Peanuts assumed this because the women were wearing long black dresses with gold bric-a-brac sewn to them accessorized by lots of dangling gold jewelry.
And they were clearly speaking a language that sounded very much like not English!
My Last Meal Pro-active-ness
As I was walking into Carl Jr., the gypsy driving the van and his cohort got out and stood next to my car. I heard them chatting about something and even though I couldn’t understand what they were saying, Peanuts thought whatever it was had a definite “untoward” ring to it.
Where you goin’ Little Old Lady Granny-Type, such as yourself? . . .Thwannngggg . . .
My brain, Peanuts, started making up a story about how they were a roving band of gypsies, tramps and thieves — as the lyrics to the Cher’s song, Gypsies, Tramps and Thievess is the only thing Peanuts knows about gypsies.
World Renowned Gypsy Expert
Peanuts started thinking that maybe the Gypsies were in cahoots with the crack truck driver/serial killer, and that they were out looking for Little Old Lady Granny-Types , such as myself, and well . . . . well, never mind about the “well.”
The Final Gulp
So when I got into Carl Jr.s and looked back to see them still standing by my car — even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry — I went ahead and ordered the Orange Cream Hand-Scooped Milkshake because I thought it would be a fitting last meal.
If one were forced to eat one’s last meal at Carl Jr., that is.
Good, but not thatgood.
The One-Piece Arrival
Anyway, Dear Readers, you’ll be happy to know that in the end I made it home safely.
And I must say! I’ve got a new lease on life! After all, it’s not everyday, one is spared from death by not being kidnapped by Gypsies and cut up into a million little pieces by a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack and fed to rest stop pigs!
Proving once again, Dear Readers, that it truly is the little things that make life worth living.
If you are traveling in state of California on freeway 101 today, anywhere between San Francisco and Los Angeles going north or south, east or west BEWARE!
Traffic may be unusually slow, possibly backed up for hours due to a Little Old Lady Granny Driver operating under the often misguided direction of her brain, Peanuts, who is going on a road trip to visit her daughter, Jackie’s family and her new grandson, Henry!
Jackie and Henry
Be on the look out for and steer clear of the following:
1)
Any woman who looks old enough to receive AARP and pre-paid cremation opportunities in her junk mail — and who is traveling south (God willing, but possibly north if her brain, Peanuts, freaks and takes the wrong exit) in a little blue car with a bumper sticker that says: What Happens at Grandmas, Stays at Grandmas.
2)
Should you be unlucky enough to come up behind Granny, tailgate at your own risk — as she will turn on her windshield cleaner spray (she’s not as nice as she looks) and pretend for all the world like she is simply getting the bugs off her windshield, but in reality is passively aggressively getting your windshield wet on purpose in an attempt to punish you for not driving as safely as she thinks you should.
3)
Should she suddenly slam on her brakes in the middle of the freeway, do not be alarmed, there is nothing wrong with granny’s car, it will simply mean she was listening to a CD of Herb Albert and the Tijuana brass and her brain, Peanuts, mistook one of trumpet solos for the horn of an alarmed motorist.
4)
Granny will no doubt be traveling in the slow lane, wedged between two trucks — either because she is too afraid to change lanes or because she is pretending she is in a convoy again. Probably both.
5)
If you should see this woman driving around the mean streets of some drug n’ thug neighborhood in any town between San Francisco and Los Angeles, it will not mean that Granny is trying to “score” some illegal substances. It will simply mean that, once again, her brain, Peanuts, picked the worst possible exit to try to find a restroom.
6)
Four or five hours into the trip you may see granny pulled over to the side of the road being issued a speeding ticket. This will mean her brain, Peanuts, finally became so desensitized and bored with driving on the freeway that her brain, Peanuts, only noticed the number 88 on her speedometer when she saw the flashing red light tailgating her.
7)
Let’s just hope and pray her brain, Peanuts, had enough sense not to turn on the windshield cleaner spray!
Welcome Dear Readers! This weekend’s 33-word Trifecta Writing Challenge is as follows: Give us a thirty-three word piece that has a color in it. Use the color to describe anything you like, or use anything you like to describe your color, but keep it creative and keep it short.
I chose this colorful picture of my grandson, Clayton, to write about today.
Hello Dear Readers and welcome! Before we go kicking and screaming (in a good way) into the weekend, I thought it would be fun to share with you some random things that crossed the path of my brain, Peanuts.
You want me to throw what in where?
Someone stuck a sign on the trash can outside my grocery store directing passersby to only throw “trash” into it.
Apparently so many people have been throwing stuff in there that’s not trash, the grocery store employees were unable to get any work done so they had to make a sign for the trash can that says “Trash.”
Well who can blame them? They are probably sick and tired of people throwing away bag after bag of perfectly good cash or bag after bag of perfectly good puppies or bag after bag of perfectly good babies.
These people have work to do people!
And their job descriptions do not include fishing large amounts of cash and/or puppies or the occasional baby out of the trash all the live-long day! Do you mind?
Now that’s the attitood I like to sea!
Here’s a nice little sign I saw while waiting in line at Fresh Choice. As you can see, they offer salads to go Mon – Fry only. You’ll also notice they are offering their customers a special as well, but they are being kind of crabby about it. The sign tells us it’s $4.99 Salad Bar Only but it sort of feels like what they really wanted to say was $4.99 Salad Bar Only You Stupid Idiot.
Here’s bit of wonderful news from junk mail:
Now that’s a handy piece of news from the National Association for Continence! I am totally amazed that two out of three people with bladder control symptoms (and what symptoms are those? . . . well, we can guess can’t we?) don’t do ANYTHING about it — which means . . . well, let’s not think about.
I am more amazed, however, that there is actually someone walking around right this very minute with a business card that reads:
National Association for Continence, Managing Director
Which proves, once again, Dear Readers, that it’s the little things that make life worth living! Have a wonderful weekend!
Dear Readers! Good News! I am overwhelmed to announce that one brave blogger has stepped up to this blog’s story-writing challenge by using not just one . . . not just two . . . but ALL TEN WRITING PROMPTS! which were presented here yesterday.
Who is this Death-Defying Wordsmith? This Participle-Dangling Daredevil? This Purger of Profundity? (Okay I’ll stop now.)
The Adventures of El Guapo and His Side-kick, Abraham Lincoln
1) Abraham Lincoln was using his axe to prune the Rhododendron. He was doing this because he was grumpy that when he was done he would need to transplant an organ at the church. Then he was grumpy for the sake of being grumpy for the number 2 (2) and no reason besides that.
While it was odd that Abe Lincoln was out doing this kind of work (especially in the 21st century, it really was his own fault. (3) He had shot the gardener, Fats, (Fats had a green thumb.) (Literally, as he was an alien.), in the Skinny part of his throat after Fats told him he could no longer wear the Hideous stove-pipe hat.
He also shot him because Fats had a Tragically awful habit of capitalizing adjectives. It was later that afternoon that Abe realized Fats may have been so skinny due to genetics, or possibly because of a tragic accident. (That was after he saw a (4) steamroller flatten a poor woman from something resembling a Sputnik to something the thickness of a harpsichord.) (The sight almost ruined his lunch. “Oy Vey” he lamented into his tibbs and pickles sandwich at his favorite sandwich shop, They Call Me Mr Tibbs.) (But his appetite came back since he was so tired. Organ transplanting really”takes it out of you”) Editor’s note: Author has been slapped for that awful joke above.
After lunch, Abe went to see his friend (5) Hum Cwart, who he always called Kumquat. Even though Hum wasn’t green or an alien. It’s a sad fact that Hum couldn’t see Abe, or even see that Abe was mispronouncing the name. But that’s another story. The fifth, I believe. Now for those who don’t know, Abe was a statesman, known best for his dealings with the Chinese. Or at least General Tso, and his delightful companions known as (6)Wang-Lang and Lang-Wang.
He never knew their last names because they never used them. Now, as it happens, since they gave up smoking, the Ang-Angs (as Abe called them) became dress makers. They made dresses because they could test them by dancing in them to work off all the nervous energy from not smoking. They made a dress for their dear client (7) Lucy.
As a surprise, her husband Ricky picked it up, and the Ang-Angs told him that even though it was expensive, it was their best dunce dress. Ricky was so angry, and dragged Lucy into the store yelling at her for buying a stupid dress. Realizing the misunderstanding, the Ang-Angs donned the dress (together, for they were very thin), and demonstrated it was a “dance” dress, being careful this time to enunciate. Ricky was so ashamed, but Lucy said the studio audience loved it and off they went. As the Ang-Angs were reminiscing,
Abe interrupted, saying “Something smells rotten in Denmark”. Most people would say that was a euphemism, but Abe was well known for his scenting ability and the prowess of his schnoz. In fact, he had famously versed (8) “The nose knows the woes of those what owes the toes”, which was accepted as very profound by those who had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
What Abe, in fact, would have loved to be talking about was (9) women behind women behind woman, all oiled up. But Abe was shy and didn’t think that kind of talk was appropriate in mixed company, shaken or stirred. So with nothing left to do, (10) Abe mounted his trusty horse, Glue, and headed back to the 1850s to invent the stapler.
For their efforts, I am officially awarding El Guapo and his sidekick, Abraham Lincoln, this hastily made much coveted trophy:
I think you’ll agree that nobody deserves this trophy more than El Guapo — with the possible exception of Abraham Lincoln.
Welcome Dear Readers! Well today the Trifecta Writing Challenge is to describe our writing process in three words as did one of our Trifecta Editor’s most favorite writers, Neil Gaiman. One of the questions asked of him was, “Can you tell us your writing process in three words?” He replied, “Glare. Drink tea.” –
At first, I wanted to say “I got nothing” but I thought, that’s not really a process, so, instead, I decided to go with:
Welcome Dear Readers! The 33-Word Trifecta writing Challenge for this weekend is to write your own spin on the following quote:
Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind. –Henry James –
Here’s my take:
↓
Keep scrolling . . . .
↓
And scrolling . . . .
↓
Isn’t this fun? . . .
↓
Just a little bit farther . . . .
↓
Ah here we are! . . .
There are three ways to look at any situation. There’s the first way if you know what I mean. There’s the second way if youknow what I mean, and there’s the third way if you know what I mean.
Gratuitous Trifecta Challenge Picture
Until next time . . . I love you (If you know what I mean)
