Flash fiction using the above as a prompt. It'll be short and sweet...
A lime-green Honda Civic careened around a street corner,
four passengers canting to one side.
“Was that a stop sign?” said Tyna from the rear seat.
“Who cares?” said young Carey as he stomped on the gas
pedal. “We’re on a mission from God, aren’t we?”
“God has nothing to do with this.”
“What about St. Bernards?” said old Walter. He sat in the
passenger seat in pajama drawers, slippers and mauve velvety smoking jacket. “Or
angel hair pasta. Dancing to the mission bells, right? – the way noodles dance.
You know.” He popped his stubby unlit cigar back into his mouth and chewed at
its frayed soggy end.
“What’s he talking about now?” said DeSchayne. He hadn’t righted himself since the sharp
corner and now pressed his lips to Tyna’s available neck.
“It’s probably the demon talking.” Tyna shoved him back
upright. “Best you just ignore it.”
“Like Betty Boop for the most part,” said Walter.
“Why?” said DeSchayne.
“Why ignore it?”
“I don’t know. Just to be safe. Communicating with a Devil
is probably dangerous business. He might be looking to trick you into
“Wait a minute. Are we talking about a devil or a demon?”
“I don’t know. An evil spirit. It is what it is – however you
“Well I think you ought to choose one and stick with it.
Just sayin’.” He leaned into her neck again.
“Not now!” She pushed him away. “This is life-and-death
business here!” The car lurched as a sheet of water hit the driver’s side
“Damn, kid!” said DeSchayne. “Keep my ride out o’ them pot
“Sorry bro!” Carey tipped his grey fedora. “It’s dark and it’s
still raining a little. I couldn’t see it.”
“Well slow down then. And I’m not your bro you weird-ass old-time gangster wannabe.”
Tyna slapped his thigh. “Be nice!”
“What? I’m just sayin’ he’s a weird kid. That’s all.”
“Well don’t.” She leaned forward and palmed Walter’s
shoulder. “Mr. Prudence, pass me the bag. I just want to check on the Sonambule.”
“The sonata?” said Walter, frowning.
“The Sonambule, Walter. Just pass me the gym bag.”
Carey grabbed the small duffel bag off his grandfather’s lap
and tossed it over his shoulder. DeSchayne caught it deftly. “Are you kidding
me!” Tyna yelped. “It’s not a toy!”
“Sorry, doll!” said Carey. DeSchayne glared at the kid
through the rear-view mirror as he placed the bag on Tyna’s lap.
Tyna unzipped it and withdrew a thin hardcover book. “What
is this!” she cried.
“The Snowmobile,” said Walter.
Tyna read the title. “Everybody
Poops! Everybody poops? Walter, what have you done? “
“Everybody!” said Walter. “Even the Pope!”
“This is not the book! What happened to Alice in Wonderland?”
“She went through the looking glass, doll,” said Carey. He
had slowed at a red light and looked both ways as he slipped through the
“Stop calling her that!” DeSchayne snapped.
“Walter!” Tyna barked. “Where is Alice in Wonderland?”
“I don’t believe this. Carey, what is he talking about?”
“That’s where the ‘ho’s trick, doll.” A fist slammed into
the back of Carey’s seat. The boy lurched; his hat slipping down over his eyes.
He raised his chin and looked down his nose to see the road.
“Turn around Carey,” said Tyna. “We have to go back for the
Sonambule!” Carey slowed the car and made a tight, skidding U-turn on the wet
“I’m this tall,”
said Walter, raising his hand horizontally to his forehead.
Carey looked at him and laughed. “Hey, what’s that?” He
reached out and tapped the hard surface which bulged behind the breast of his grandfather's smoking jacket. Walter cackled silently and drew out another book. Alice in Wonderland. He put a vertical
finger to his lips and winked.
“Grab your hats, gang,” said Carey. “We’re going downtown.”
With that he slowed briefly and performed another dizzying U-turn. The
back-seaters issued loud protests. “He’s got the Snorembewl,” said Carey.
back in business.”
“Oh, thank God,” said Tyna.
“God has nothing to do with this,” DeSchayne muttered in her
ear, then dived for her neck again.
Tyna giggled shrilly. “Stop it!” DeSchayne didn’t. The night
suddenly came alive in flashes of red and blue.
“Shit!” Carey blurted. A siren burped behind them.
“Is that Allah?” said Walter.
“Worse,” said Carey. “Should I pull over?”
“Kid, are you spun?” said DeSchayne. “Of course!”
“I’ll handle it,” said Tyna. “Let me do the talking.”
“You’re not gonna…” said DeSchayne.
Tyna glared coolly. “You really are an ass hat sometimes.” The
car came to a halt. “Sweetie, you got a driver’s license, right?”
“Yeah,” said Carey.
“My beginner’s anyway.”
The mirrors offered glimpses of the cop approaching on
foot. Carey fingered a button and his window descended. The officer was female.
She flashed a light over each passenger before addressing the driver: “What the
hell was that?”
“Uh, the U-turn, you mean?” said Carey.
“Is that what you call it?”
“Officer,” said Tyna, “I think I can explain.”
“Or you can keep quiet,” said the officer.
“Or I can keep quiet,” Tyna mumbled.
“I beg your pardon?”
“License please.” Carey surrendered it to the cop’s
examination. “Beginner’s eh? I assume you're aware you’re prohibited from driving after
midnight with a learner’s permit.” Carey grimaced. She addressed Walter. “Sir,
your license please?”
“You’re the driver of account if you’re in the passenger
seat with a beginner behind the wheel. Walter fussed about with his wallet and
surrendered a slip of paper. Carey intercepted it. “Gramps, this is a grocery
receipt. She needs your driver’s license.”
“Confectionary?” said Walter.
“I beg your pardon,” said the officer.
“Thrills gum,” said Walter. “Ask her if she has any Thrills
“Okay, Grampa. But I’ll need your wallet.”
“Oh, of course.” Walter then addressed the officer. “Thrills
please!” She made no reply. Carey fished out a license.
“Thank you,” said the cop. She took one look at it. “Sir, do
you have a more current version?”
“Huh?” said Walter. “You mean like disco?”
“This card expired in 1987.” Carey delved back into the
wallet. “Dare we try our luck with an insurance slip?”
“Blackjack!” Walter cheered, smacking the dashboard with his
palm. He laughed delightedly.
“Sir, I need you to calm down.”
“Ma’am,” said DeSchayne, proffering a pink slip.
She took it. “Where are you all off to tonight? Bit late for
a driving lesson.”
“We’re delivering a demon spirit to the hydro sub-station on
Coventry Hill,” said Walter, “So we can dispatch it to the void.” He made a
fluttering sweep with his hand. Silence followed this. The cop cleared her
throat. “We captured him in a tea bag, you see, which we then pressed between
the pages of a book, as per ancient practice. It’s called a Snowmobile.”
The officer nodded slowly. “I see.”
“Do you poop?”
“I’m gonna run your licenses through the computer and then
we’ll talk.” She said this to Carey and then retreated to the cruiser.
If cows have put anyone's kids through college it's gotta be Gary Larson's - the Far Side cartoonist. Oh - and - you know - dairy farmers all over the world. Here's some of Larson's work you may not have seen because they were originally rejected or otherwise unpublished:
Okay - I'm caught in a lie already. Everyone has seen this one. It was never rejected. However it should have been rejected. Papers were inundated with letters from readers who didn't get the joke. The problem, according to Larson, was making one of the tools look like a saw. Readers then couldn't figure out what the others were. The only joke is that cows don't make tools.
Amoeba porn flicks
(untitled and notoriously tasteless)
Jesus rises from the grave
Just in time for Easter...
"Listen... You go tell Billy's mother and I'll start looking for another old tire."
So I just asked my table-mates here at the Camp NaNoWriMo Tuesday
night write-in at West Hamilton’s Williams Coffee Pub, What deep dark secret do
you most want to know concerning…
Here’s what inquiring minds want to know:
1 - Why is every ketchup brand precisely the same colour?
2 - Why is Heinze such a universally dominant brand with no
significant competitor threat in its history; a claim virtually unique in the
3 - The labels lists the ingredient spices. What are the spices?
It’s fast-answers day here at NaNo-A-to-Z Central, so here’s
some fast answers:
According to leading Area 51 conspiracy theorists, onion and
garlic powders are a given while the covert ingredient leading suspects include
allspice, anchovies, nutmeg, coriander, cloves, cinnamon, bay leaf and black
Through personal discussion I have heard testimony around
Heinze’s dominance to do with it being the perfect invention from day one.
Heinze ketchup is perhaps the perfect food, with perfect balances between sweet
and sour; between salty and… sweet…? Whatever…
And according to the deep dark suspicions of internet lurker Evil Horner, ketchup colour is largely influenced by the presence
of turmeric. So there.
And now to conclude this totally sucky post… a very lame
joke (and don’t be scandalized, the offending organ is surely artificial).
Everyone knows this classic tale, right? A little kid named Jack, his cow, the magic beans, a beanstalk-cloud ladder and a golden goose which the little punk pilfers when he burglarizes a giant's cloud castle. I presume the magic beans were just that, and the rest of the story is some kind of trip.
If you think you know the story, here's a little trivia question for you: What was the giant's name? Think about that and I'll get right back to you with the answer.
Jack AND the Beanstalk is a traditional English fairy tale, first recorded in print in 1807 by Benjamin Tabart and often adapted; most recently in 2006 as Jackin' the Beanstalk starring Lexi Bardot, Persia DeCarlo, Joe Friday, Tina Ling and Van Damage; directed by Barrett Blade. Now, there's not a single clip from this film which I could show on this blog without then feeling awkward around my Christian friends so... here's a nice trippy clip from the 1974 adaptation. Fasten your seatbelt...
Oh - almost forgot - the giant's name? Didn't have one. Jack is the only character in the traditional story with a name. However, many adaptations, including Jack the Giant Killer, assign him the name Blunderbore.
"How's your belly where the pig bit ya?" said the Lonely Lumberjack to me one evening,
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He cackled with laughter. "I don't know. But my grandfather used to ask me that all the time and I thought it was funny. I think it means - how's your belly button."
"Oh. Well my belly button's fine as far as I know. Thanks for asking."
My belly button may have been fine but the rest of me wasn't. I had to know what was behind all of this...
According to R. K. Guest of Erdington, England, his grandfather had been a slaughterer of pigs by means of knife to the throat while the victim lay hog-tied on it's back on a bench - leaving the teeth at the executioner's belly-level, and one had to be careful of bites.
In A Dictionary of Catch Phrases (Routledge, 2003) by Eric Partridge, the phrase is pegged a facetious greeting originating circa 1930. The Aussies, ever the chanters of peculiar sayings, are largely credited with keeping this saying alive. A national survey puts the phrase just into the top 400 Aussieisms alongside If I bought a kangaroo it wouldn't hop [I'm unlucky], Since God's dog was a pup [since a long time] and A few snags short of a barbie [not all there].
Snags means sausages... in case you were wondering.
More of my little cartoons rescued from the awesome eatpoopucat.com website. I'm hopeful it will be revived one day. The other telephone pictionary sites are just not the same. The theme is automobiles. I'll include the captions which prompted the drawings if I can remember them.
Oh yeah! My Happy Cube's been delivered!
Penguins learn the hard way not to hitchhike.
A gang of cats hijack the lunch truck
Some folks are too eager to die
Vader hates my race car. Oh - and ouch. My legs
This must be Goofball's work
Hi ho silver, away, cabbie!
The parade ended with the priest and his prawns
The new Dodge Remoraz is a gas guzzler
Satan is awakened by an accident on his front lawn
The snake thought his eggs would be safe from vans on this park bench
Exxon Mobil is always looking for new innovative ways to spill oil and kill people