Saturday, May 21, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Let Me Try for "Funny" or at Least "Eww Gross"
Today's words are: relevancy, surfeit, and dolorous.
The relevancy of long pig came into focus on the afternoon when the last can of dog food turned out to be rancid. Mike knew not what caused the dog food to contaminate so utterly but it really didn't matter. He wanted to live, not yack his sweet meats out and die in a pool of himself. Nay, today he would find a way to carry on. He would triumph in the face of adversity because he had nothing else to do.
He'd have to Go Out and Look for Food.
A breeze, of a temperature akin to warm, blew across his bare skin, upon which a rash grew. The wind did not make it feel better nor did the sun. He shot one of them in the head as he came into the center of town. He would have sworn the dolorous face eased a little with a smile as it died. It had a rather nice leather belt around its waist and he tore it loose and hitched it around himself. If he couldn't surfeit himself with proper food, he might have to boil that belt and pretend. He wondered what boiled zombie brains would taste like, toeing a piece of skull as he pondered. He'd seen survivalists suck marrow out of bones back in the Age of Television but he didn't think there was enough left in a zombie to bother putting his lips together.
But then he found something that could entice him to do oh so much more. He found a real life woman. And from the look of her, she'd had plenty to eat. She saw him and walked in the other direction, letting him follow. The waggle of her walk reminded him of pork chops and bacon. He wanted to dip strips of her thighs in barbecue sauce and broil them on an open flame. He could have bit into the flesh of her upper arm while his fingers tore off her ears and stuffed them in his pockets for later.
Then she turned on him. And she shot him dead. From the shadow of an alley came a group of other plump humans. Together they hauled Mike away and made plans for a mighty good time.
The relevancy of long pig came into focus on the afternoon when the last can of dog food turned out to be rancid. Mike knew not what caused the dog food to contaminate so utterly but it really didn't matter. He wanted to live, not yack his sweet meats out and die in a pool of himself. Nay, today he would find a way to carry on. He would triumph in the face of adversity because he had nothing else to do.
He'd have to Go Out and Look for Food.
A breeze, of a temperature akin to warm, blew across his bare skin, upon which a rash grew. The wind did not make it feel better nor did the sun. He shot one of them in the head as he came into the center of town. He would have sworn the dolorous face eased a little with a smile as it died. It had a rather nice leather belt around its waist and he tore it loose and hitched it around himself. If he couldn't surfeit himself with proper food, he might have to boil that belt and pretend. He wondered what boiled zombie brains would taste like, toeing a piece of skull as he pondered. He'd seen survivalists suck marrow out of bones back in the Age of Television but he didn't think there was enough left in a zombie to bother putting his lips together.
But then he found something that could entice him to do oh so much more. He found a real life woman. And from the look of her, she'd had plenty to eat. She saw him and walked in the other direction, letting him follow. The waggle of her walk reminded him of pork chops and bacon. He wanted to dip strips of her thighs in barbecue sauce and broil them on an open flame. He could have bit into the flesh of her upper arm while his fingers tore off her ears and stuffed them in his pockets for later.
Then she turned on him. And she shot him dead. From the shadow of an alley came a group of other plump humans. Together they hauled Mike away and made plans for a mighty good time.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The First in a Series
Ok, so I'm gonna use Creativity Tools' Random Word Generator (Plus) and get a noun, a verb, and an adjective and write a brief thing. Today's words are: embitterment, begriming, and enfeebling. Gonna shoot for 300 words, I guess.
In the beginning, when Jenny's lust for Rob had yet to fade and her desire to buy fancy underthings grew on a daily basis, she did not see the end coming nor did she fear its inevitability. When she finally bought some lacy teddy thingy at Frederick's and wore it for Rob, he clutched her with feverish fingers, begriming the $50 fabric with KFC grease and something that smelled like rust or blood or maybe even very old garbage.
It wasn't until Laundry Day that the embitterment began. She could not get the stains out of the teddy thingy. It smelled of his hands but worse now, stronger, more ripe, more like garbage now, less like rust. She bleached the item. When she removed it from the smelly bleachy water, it fell apart in her hands. The lace's intricate spacing and fine matter mushed up into balls of slime. The little satin bows fell limp, dejected, ratty along the edges. Small plastic pearls, once iridescent like the real things, faded to chalk white. Gossamer tulle, once her favorite feature of the item, snagged and matted, tangling itself. In that moment, when her fanciest garment disintegrated in her cold hands, she knew Rob's supposed affection was enfeebling, his sex degrading, and his touch corrosive.
In the end, she brought him a bucket of KFC extra crispy, and sprinkled on a little bleach for good measure.
In the beginning, when Jenny's lust for Rob had yet to fade and her desire to buy fancy underthings grew on a daily basis, she did not see the end coming nor did she fear its inevitability. When she finally bought some lacy teddy thingy at Frederick's and wore it for Rob, he clutched her with feverish fingers, begriming the $50 fabric with KFC grease and something that smelled like rust or blood or maybe even very old garbage.
It wasn't until Laundry Day that the embitterment began. She could not get the stains out of the teddy thingy. It smelled of his hands but worse now, stronger, more ripe, more like garbage now, less like rust. She bleached the item. When she removed it from the smelly bleachy water, it fell apart in her hands. The lace's intricate spacing and fine matter mushed up into balls of slime. The little satin bows fell limp, dejected, ratty along the edges. Small plastic pearls, once iridescent like the real things, faded to chalk white. Gossamer tulle, once her favorite feature of the item, snagged and matted, tangling itself. In that moment, when her fanciest garment disintegrated in her cold hands, she knew Rob's supposed affection was enfeebling, his sex degrading, and his touch corrosive.
In the end, she brought him a bucket of KFC extra crispy, and sprinkled on a little bleach for good measure.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Resurrection
I haven't been on here in....a very long time. And the reason is simple. I have no direction for this thing. I was thinking some sort of fictiony thing cuz my real life is not worth writing about. Maybe I will find a random word generator and write something brief based on what it gives me. Kinda like Three Words we used to do on Facebook...
If anyone reads this, tell me to go to Hell or to proceed or something. Please.
And thank you.
If anyone reads this, tell me to go to Hell or to proceed or something. Please.
And thank you.
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