Tuesday, 22 July 2014

I Laughed My Nervous Laughter - @Studio30Plus Writing Prompt

I don't know what got into me. Nachos with bacon, cheese and jalapeƱo peppers as an appetizer, the burrito special and four Coronas.

Throughout the night I'd paid the price for that dinner.  Or rather my wife had having to put up with my intestinal acrobatics.

The air was blue, given my poor wife's comments, not to mention the lingering smell from my hind quarter's activity. And it had been active. Very active.

I apologized profusely as I hopped into the bath and tried to relax a bit until the day got under way. But my insides were still in turmoil and this was demonstrated by the bubbles in the water. Did you know bubbles from farts still smell when they break the surface? Amazing, huh? Isn't science something?

I towelled off and got dressed. Orange juice, bacon and eggs for breakfast. I wisely decided to skip the coffee.

As I drove to work I noticed an emission problem and it wasn't my car. I immediately rolled down the windows, so as not to to be overpowered by the odour.

I stopped at an ATM as I was low in cash. I joined the line waiting to use the bank machine. I don't know what it was about the small enclosed space, maybe the dust triggered my allergies, and I could feel a sneeze coming on.

AH-AH-AH-CHOO I wailed but having let loose with the sneeze I lost all self control of my nether regions and simultaneously let go a rip-roaring good one. I broke the sound barrier without a plane, a real cheek flapper, a flame thrower, and I immediately thought of that Faulkner piece The Sound and The Fury.

As the people in front of me turned around to see who had been practicing the colonic calliope I turned too. I laughed my nervous laughter, pointed at the guy behind me and said, "Please, sir, show a little decency" and fled the ATM cubicle without my money.

The moral of the story: if you eat Mexican be ready to pay so.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

It All Began To Fall Apart - @Studio30Plus Writing Prompt

Dr. Notverynice was quite pleased with himself. After three months of working day and night he was finally putting the finishing touches to his Whambam monster.

He'd used the finest parts, not always easily attainable but necessary, in order to build a top-notch destructive machine. His plans for world domination were falling into place. The creature was the missing link. He laughed to himself at his little joke.

He sat back and imagined Whambam being let loose to run amuck (not the get stuck in kind) among the streets of Pleasantown with citizens screaming in fear and attempting to escape the clutches of Whambam.

Dr. Notverynice had planned very carefully and his constructive efforts had been meticulous, right down to the three hundred mile extension cord need to power Whambam.

He plugged in the cord that would bring the menacing giant to life. The creature stirred. Its eyes slid open. It's arms quivered while its legs rattled.

Dr. Notverynice was thrilled. And with tears in his eyes screamed at his invention "Welcome to our world, my boy. Have I got plans for you."

Whambam sat up, turned and slipped off the table to stand upon the floor. He took three steps forward and slammed into the wall. He stepped back, turned, walked across the room only to slam into the other wall.

And that's when it all began to fall apart.

You see, in his haste to dominate the world with Whambam he had neglected to give the mechanical monster any optical equipment. The creature was blind as a bat.

"Damn" saud Dr. Notverynice. "I didn't see that coming."

Evidently, neither did Whambam.

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

He Wore a Faded Brown Fedora - @Studio30Plus Writing Prompt

Everyone certainly remembered his most distinguishing feature. He wore a faded brown fedora. Always. No one could recall ever seeing him without it. It was a part of him. He'd always worn it.

Ever since he was young he sported that hat, always at a jaunty angle that made him look older but not too serious. His friends would laugh and joke about it but their ribbing didn't influence him. Still he wore it.

It might be sunny or cloudy, raining or windy, day or night. Friends took bets on wether or not he wore that infernal hat to bed. He never let on. It was part of his mystique.

That chapeau never seemed to age. It was like it was in a constant state of suspended animation. The hat band bore a thin line of discolouration from sweat which was understandable seeing as how he never took it off. There was a dimple on the right side, more like a crumple where he'd place his hand to tip it ever so slightly when he passed a woman or departed the company of a good friend. And the brim was tuned down at the front casting a shadow over his deep blue eyes.

Some thought the hat, and sometimes the wearer, was an anachronism; a throwback to another day and time. After all, people didn't wear fedoras anymore. Yet he did and he didn't really care what people thought.

But it was evident people thought highly of him. Those gathered round his faded brown bier spoke glowingly of their dear departed friend. Of his generosity. Of his reliability. Of his sense of humour. Of his dear, dear friendship. And of his hat which now lay on his chest in the open casket. It was the first time, and the last, anyone had seen him without it.

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