From cutie to bearded lady to executioner.
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Random scene that played out in my head while I was trying to sleep.
Pam’s heels clicked on the tile floor. We were headed to the Friday morning staff meeting. A couple of interns almost broke their necks trying to catch a glance at Pam’s rear. She was the kind of woman who attracted attention.
“Heads up,” I whispered, “Danny’s wife is going to call you.”
Danny had only been married for six months.
“Me, why?”
“She found out Danny and I slept together a couple of years ago.”
It had only been twice on a business trip to Rio. I had obviously lost my mind.
“And that involves me why?”
“I had to throw you under the bus to get her off the phone.” Danny’s wife had turned out to be the jealous type.
“Really?” Pam was still as cool as ever.
We entered the still empty conference room. It was way too bright without coffee, which I would have had by now if I wasn’t answering phone calls from Danny’s wife.
“I told her Danny slept with you, Marcie and Barb.”
“He slept with Barb?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Between you and Marcie.”
“Was he trying to make me jealous?”
“Yeap,” I chuckled.
“Huh, I didn’t notice.”
“That made it more fun to watch.” I slid into my customary seat and waited for the others to join us.
“She called me a slut,” I said, tapping my pen.
Pam laughed, not just chuckled, an outright laugh.
I continued, “Do you think I’m a slut?”
“You haven’t slept with a man in two years. That and a few Hail Mary’s and you’re practically a nun.”
Other consultants began piling in the room. The rest of this conversation would have to wait.
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Living life dangerously, Mr. Bird.
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I got a call the other night from a fan of the previous owner of my phone number, AKA a John. He was looking for Raxxxxl. Gentlemen, someone out there’s imitating men, giving you guys a bad name.
The conversation went something like this –
“Hello, what’s your hourly rate?”
“Excuse me?” (It was after all the middle of the night.)
“Are you still open?”
“This isn’t who you think it is. She changed her number a long time ago.”
“How much do you charge?”
“What? No, I didn’t take over the business, I got this number from <insert telephone company name here>.”
“Oh, okay. What are you wearing?”
“Really?”
“Are you busy?”
My imagined reply –
“Getting ready to ask some strange guy over who just called for late night sex. I’m at <insert address of older brother>. Ask for me, his baby sister.”
No wait. I’ll give him my address. This post could be rename to How to Meet a Serial Killer. Gotta run, I need to sharpen my axe before he gets here.
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Scene in which Ambrose a vampire like creature is sitting on a roof while Madison who has slipped is hanging on the edge. He’s asked to help, but she tells him she doesn’t need his help. —-
I clung to the shingles on the roof’s edge. My hands slipped and I lost my hold.
Time paused and everything seemed to move in slow motion.
I fell backwards. Ambrose’s face moved further away. My arms were flailing, my hands reaching for him. The pounding of my heart filled my ears.
The cold night air pushed past me. as my head tipped further back, I could see the inked night above me. The stars. There were so many for being in the city. I could see my hair in front of me. Would this kill me or merely main me?
My heart pounded. The north star? I found myself searching for it. My heart beat. Funny I was falling and looking for a star.
Time caught up to me and I slammed to a stop.
I felt no pain. Had I hit the pavement so hard I felt nothing? My heart beat, I was alive.
Ambrose’s face hovered above mine.
He smiled. “I guess you needed me after all.”
He’d caught me.
My arms and legs began to flail again. But instead of reaching for him, I was pushing him away.
Arrogant Bastard.
Posted in art, books, comedian, comic, entertainment, fantasy, Fantasy/Scifi, Fiction, flash fiction, humor, life, literature, love, Personal, photography, Random, sarcasm, short story, writer, Writing | Tagged blood guardian | 7 Comments »
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Some of you may remember my young nephew the Pistol. His one and only Grandpa died. Now the Pistol and one of his cousins Katie are the youngest of their siblings. The other kids are teenagers.
The main service was over and family members were coming forward to relate their stories. The adults went first followed by the teens. No one thought about the five year olds. In awesome Pistol style, my little nephew stood up and loudly announced, “I have something to say.”
The Pistol climbed the steps up front. And he began.
“Grampa won’t be able to give Katie rides on the tractor anymore, because … well … he’s dead. And now I would like to sing God Bless America.” At which point, he began belting it out. The audience rose and joined him.
It was a lovely way to end a funeral. Pistol, you’re awesome
Posted in art, children, comedian, comic, entertainment, family, fantasy, Fiction, flash fiction, humor, life, literature, love, nephew, Personal, photography, sarcasm, short story, the pistol, Uncategorized, writer, Writing | Tagged author, comedian, comedy, family. job, funny, humor, humour, job, laugh, writer, writing | 14 Comments »
I couldn’t find my jeans. I was in a hurry since I had a “meeting” and waited till the last minute to get ready. Story of my life.
I raced to the laundry room, maybe my jeans were in there. My son was home doing his laundry. I glanced at the piles of clean and folded laundry. (He’s way too neat. Didn’t get it from me.)
“Are my jeans in here somewhere?”
He pulled a load from the dryer. “Here, these are your.”
There on top were my jeans. I grabbed them figuring I didn’t have time to handle the whole load right then. Besides if I leave them he’ll put them away later.
“Hey,” his voice stopped me, “take the whole load, they’re all yours.”
“You sound just like my mother.” I said, grabbing the bundle of clothes, not meaning this as a compliment.
To which my son replied, “Funny, you sound just like mine.”
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