It will be fun. Truuuuuust me.

There are obviously two front runners in this round, so the two of you need to start thinking of your words, should you manage to make it without falling on your ass like Miss U.S.A.

But be ye advised, ladies....

There be changes coming to WitToI.

Next round, all those wishing to participate will draw a writing style from a virtual hat and will then draw a short list of pop culture references that have to be worked into the story from another virtual hat. Along with The Words.

Sound fun??

Stop! Don't run screaming!! It'll be fun! Really! We're going to be challenged as writers - just like on the show So You Think You Can Dance, where the contestants have to draw each week for a different dance style so they're challenged as dancers. Except we're budding writers, not dancers. (The only dancing I can do with any proficiency is clogging and that talent has yet to help me writing whatsoever.)

Annnnnnyhoo....I fully expect all of you who have been writing here regularly to particpate. No begging out. You're not THAT busy. Tate, the baby is no excuse, either.

(Any pop culture references that you might want to throw in the hat, send to me in an email. i.e. Paris Hilton, American Idol, TB outbreak on a plane, etc.)

Enter the Chamber of Voting

Voting is now open in 36 Chambers of Tate, otherwise known as Round 4.

Check out all the submissions, vote once, tell your friends and stay tuned for the results!

Voting will be open until 10pm, June 2nd.

Sad, Sad Sadie

by Jusdealem

Sadie couldn't find her keys, she was running late again. As she rummaged through her beige Coach bag, for the third time in ten minutes, she softly cursed, gave up and headed for the liquor cabinet. Pouring herself a Stoli rocks, she caught her image in the mirror above the wet bar. Her $800 highlights framed her pretty, slightly botoxed face and she declared Marco, her metrosexual stylist, a genius. She was rather enamored of Marco, having once even gone so far as to invite him home with her for the afternoon. "Only if I can bring along a friend." he'd teased.
She'd been so lonely the past year. Ever since her husband had been murdered in their upscale suburban driveway, Sadie had been simply lost. The local police had thought Dan's death to be a random gang initiation or a botched robbery attempt. There weren't any clues and not a suspect, nor murder weapon had ever been found. Sadie knew, though. She knew why her husband of fifteen years was dead and more importantly, she knew who was responsible for the single bullet that had pierced his heart, his lifeless body crumpled beside her beloved Daffodil.

In their early years, Dan and Sadie had been inseperatable. Two energetic, highly motivated success seekers. Both had come from dirt poor families and they were determined to break the chain, so to speak, by emassing an empire. Their intricate business plan was two years in the making, but was instantly and hugely successful. With their dreams realized, Sadie looked forward to her husband being able to relax and spend more time with her. That was not to be the case, however. The success seemed to distance Dan even more and he began drinking excessively, which made him increasingly pugnacious. She didn't give up on their marriage, though, instead she tried even harder to gain her husband's attention. It worked occasionally, enough to keep her challenged, if not exactly in love.

It was right after their fifth anniversary that Dan decided to take up politics, as well as a new assistant, who Sadie swore was a stripper. Over the years, he'd become quite erudite in the workings of the local political scene and this knowledge set in motion a series of byzantine plots and plans that he hoped would eventually see him elected as mayor of this small, but growing community.

Of course, the new assistant soon became a nightly argument between them. Sadie demanded Dan fire her and insisted that she, more than anyone else, should be his assistant. He grew so irritated with his wife's arguments that instead of coming home late as he usually did, he began not coming home at all. This only served to exacerbate Sadie's anger and she found herself contemplating killing the man. Unable to find enough hatred to do so, she decided to try another approach; she would confront the assistant.

The assistant, Tammy, agreed to meet Sadie downtown at a coffee shop called The Brew Guru. As Tammy walked through the door, Sadie felt an overwhelming desire to rid this woman from her husband's life, the pain was simply ineffable. Tammy would not be swayed, though, even openly admitting her love for Dan. Upon leaving their meeting, she remembered a distant cousin of hers who would know exactly how to handle this situation.

Jimmy was a small time con artist and all-around scofflaw with connections in the criminal world. He'd served a few years in a federal prison for money laundering, as well as other shady shenanigans, but he had been able to beat the murder rap that he was facing. They met in the park on a breezy Sunday afternoon, by Thursday, Tammy had disappeared. She was never seen again.

Afterwards, Dan seemed almost relieved and their relationship returned to the normalcy of the pre-Tammy days and stayed that way for the next few years. Inevitably, though, Dan returned to his old ways and more affairs arose. Finally, Sadie could take it no longer; last year, she made one last call to her cousin Jimmy.

As she sat there, sipping her Stoli, she noticed her keys were on the bar, next to a picture of her and Dan at Cape Cod. "To Hell with this blind date", she said to her dead husband, "I'm not going." Then she drained the last of her drink and took the picture in the silver frame with her to bed.

The Famous Botanist

by Cazzie!!!

Tomas Ohalleran was a great studious man. He was an erudite botanist, most famous at least in the Western World. At the ripe age of 27, this fine man had been to Oxford, Cambridge, travelled the seas to Australia and studied at Melbourne University. He went on to become a lecturer to many a student.

In his later years, he became known as a scofflaw creating his own set of rules, against traditional classes of other lecturers. One time, a rucous was coming from Tomas' lecture room.. The next few classes in the University block that Tomas was teaching in came to see what was going on.... Tomas had every student there dressed as their favourite plant. One student, aptly named Fern, was dressed as a Daffodil. In fits of laughter Tomas began his teachings of the day, himself dressed as an Orchid. One other student was dressed as a Fungi.... he had a label on the front of him saying, "Ï am a fun guy", well Pete was ever the larrikan.!

The director of the University, a most pugnacious man, came to Tomas' lecture room after having heard word of some shenanigans going on. He ended up sitting in on the class just to make sure the students did not get out of hand. Indeed, his presence only served to exacerbate any laughter.

A field trip for the class was undertaken in first term. The students took a train to the Emerald Forest. There, they alighted, and Fern looked around her and pointed to a tree of such ineffable beauty, even her best friend Sotcha was speachless with what lay before them. The only student who could not give a rats ass about the excursion was Scott Pervis, he who could only ever be seen to be listening to his Ipod, Byzantine playing at 1000 decibels, enough to make him deaf by the time he was 25 years for sure. Oh well, who said botanists needed hearing to be able to retain any knowledge hey?

In his late years, Tomas returned to England from whence he came, living out the rest of his life in The Secret Garden of Smallville. Who knows the reasons why he called it that, it was, afterall, common knowledge of the location of the place. Ever the illusionist was he.

Peep

by Hilbilly Mom

Once upon a time, there lived a troll under a rickety wooden bridge just outside the village. He was not considered attractive, as trolls go, with his lime-green flesh, tall tuft of lemon-yellow hair, and a shape like the Tasmanian devil of future cartoon fame. The similarity ended with the shape. This troll did not whirl like a tornado. He was bothered by an inner-ear disturbance, and tried not to spin or make sudden head movements. Though he had not been formally christened, the troll adopted the name of Peep.

Peep trolled his days away picking daffodils, arranging them in attractive floral displays under the bridge where he had established residence. Nobody ever came to visit, but Peep liked nice things. What he didn’t like was people. People pissed Peep off. They thumped willy-nilly over his bridge at all hours of the day, causing dirt and sand to sift down in a rain of grit into Peep’s home. To exacerbate the matter, children often stopped on the bridge and taunted Peep. They didn’t know if he truly existed, or was just a legend their parents had made up to keep them off the bridge. They jumped and stomped and hooted and hollered, bringing down grain upon grain of despair into Peep’s peaceful existence.

Peep did not retaliate against the children. He regarded them as merely ignorant, and would not seek revenge for their childish shenanigans . Peep was not of a pugnacious nature. All he wanted was to sit peacefully in his underbridge lair, and gaze upon the beauty of his daffodils. And while the people pissed Peep off, Peep preferred to internalize his anger. It wouldn’t do to lose one’s temper, charge out from under the bridge, and eat someone. The local scofflaws would take matters into their own hands, and Peep would pick daffodils no more.

So each day, Peep arose with the sun, and gathered his beloved daffodils. He licked the fresh dew from their stems, and wove them into the most Byzantine patterns no one had ever seen. He made walls of woven daffodil mats, and rugs, and blankets, and rich tapestries. Peep’s ineffable attention to detail created exquisite treasures the likes of which the townspeople would never encounter.

One sunny day, amidst the shuffle of the shouting children, a tiny tot was bumped over the edge of the bridge, and was saved from a nasty head-knock by one of Peep’s hanging daffodil curtains. The other children saw one of their own disappear under the bridge, and took off for the village. They were too afraid to tell the true tale of what had happened, having been forbidden to play on the bridge. They feigned surprise when one of their number was noted missing, and joined the crowd in beating the bushes for their fallen comrade until sunset. None of them slept well that night. They dreamed of the wee one being mauled and devoured by that ugly old troll under the bridge.

Peep had been much surprised by the chortling child who tumbled down his daffodil drape. At first, he stared as the child blinked in wonder at Peep’s colorful countenance. Then the tot crawled to him and clambered into Peep’s lap. Peep dandled the toddler on his knee all afternoon, and played pat-a-cake, and got-your-nose, and this-is-the-church-this-is-the-steeple. When night fell solidly, Peep picked up the sleeping child, and climbed out from under the bridge.

He plodded down the road toward the village, the slumbering tot in his arms, the moon at his back. Peep did not know where the child belonged, but deemed he would find the proper home before first light. The erudite daffodil-weaver knew he would never see his home sweet-daffodil home again if he was discovered with the young one in his arms.

Peep traipsed from house to house, peeping in each window. His eyes, long accustomed to dark nights under the bridge, had no trouble discerning beds full of sleeping children. Unfortunately, they turned into beds full of screaming children each time Peep looked in. Some sixth sense of child-preservation, or perhaps the nightmare of breaking the bridge rules, caused each child to awaken, and scream, “It’s PEEP! It’s PEEP! There! In the window! He’s going to eat me! EEEEEEE!”

Each time this happened, Peep quickly ducked and headed for the next house, sticking to the shadows. At the last house, he spied an empty cradle. The mother lay on the bed beside it, dangling her hand over the side of the crib. Peep took a deep breath, and slipped silently through the door. He laid the gently-snoring babe into the cradle, a lone daffodil clutched tightly in its chubby fist, and backed out as quietly as he had come.

Still in the shadows, Peep tiptoed through the village toward his daffodil-dappled lair. At each house he passed, he heard the stern voices of parents scolding their screaming offspring: “That’s enough of this foolishness! Trolls are not real. Now get back to sleep. I mean it. I don’t want to hear another peep out of you!”

Dr. Avel B’hadgai & The Primeval Magus

in Ask not for whom the Wedding Bell tolls!

Part Four: Exposition…of EVIL!

by Bubblegum Tate

Dr. Avel B’hadgai lays ate the center of a large, dark room in a circle of light and nearly prone in a chair of his own invention. Thousands of wires, conduits and cables spread from the chair and hook, plug or tap into a variety of machines and computers. Each device is either a source of information or assists in the collation, sifting and processing of the titanic amount of data flowing into the doctor’s brain. The chair itself was created for maximum comfort and to tend to the doctor’s every need. The doctor seems to twitch in the chair, but this is due to electrodes attached to major muscle groups, keeping them from succumbing to atrophy during the hours, days and sometimes months the evil genius spends in the chair. The headrest of the chair interfaces directly with the part of B’hadgai’s head that is no longer human; the section of his brain that was cruelly destroyed adolescence by Ajax Stewart.

The unblinking electronic eye pulses as information flows into B’hadgai’s mind and his still human eye lies closed, but flashes back and forth beneath the lid. One could say the doctor was dreaming, but B’hadgai would claim concepts such as the subconscious have been left behind by a mind as advanced as his own. His brain is constantly at work; scheming, conspiring, plotting, and each byzantine and nefarious plan pointed directly at Ajax Stewart. If it can be said that Dr. B’hadgai dreams, then he dreams only of the destruction and humiliation of this hated adversary.

From the shadows, a wheezy voice echoes from a reedy frame; a weak vessel that belies the authority with which the figure intones, “Even I, who have communed with the spirits for a moon-cycle, am astonished at your lethargy, Doctor.” A chuff chuff of laughter escapes the lips of the ancient shaman men call the Primeval Magus, amused by his own joke.

The fluttering human eye snaps open and a frown tugs at B’hadgai’s mouth as it creases the half-flesh of his forehead. “Don’t presume to speak down to me as though I were some hubcap stealing scofflaw, Magus,” B’hadgai said with a sneer. “I am the greatest criminal mind the world has ever known!” Smiling evilly, the doctor continued, “And, I might add, the key to defeating your enemy… a woman in an animal skin bikini.”

The Primeval Magus stepped into the ring of illumination surrounding the chair. Once again, Dr. B’hadgai had to marvel at the interesting and striking figure. The Magus was rail thin, but covered in wiry, sinewy muscle. Wrapped in tattered robes, much of his exposed skin from the top of his bald pate to the leathery soles of his bare feet was covered in runic tattoos. He wore several circles of bone and wood at both ankles, each wrist and surrounding the left bicep. He leaned on a staff that was as brown and knotted as his own skin. His eyes, though sunk deep into the sockets, were penetrating and cold. The Primeval Magus was old and looked it. Not just old, but ancient. As ancient as mankind. As ancient as the Enigma Isles. Ancient…and powerful.

For, as loathe as B’hadgai was to admit it, the Magus radiated power. Even as a deposed dictator, he was a man used to being feared and had a voice used to being obeyed. Men, women, even the elements themselves, all obeyed the voice of the Primeval Magus. Dr. B’hadgai believed that there were no ineffable forces in the universe, only forces that had yet to be catalogued by science, but that belief was shaken to its core each and every time he stood in the presence of this most ancient of sorcerers.

It was this voice that intoned, “Tell me, doctor, what progress is Stewart making in collecting the items we require?”

B’hadgai, seeing that the Magus was the first to break off their banter, replied, “Believe it or not, my nemesis has done two things that surprise me; a feat he hasn’t managed in quite some time. First, he simply asked for the Papyrus of Ani and, even more shocking, the British Museum gave it to him. Second, the supposed paragon of virtue cheated.”

The hairless brows of the Magus knitted together in consternation, “Cheated?”

“Yes,” B’hadgai nodded, “Although my instructions didn’t specifically instruct Ajax to work alone, I assumed his natural tendencies would lead him to mount so important a rescue mission on his own. Instead, however, he sent Tiger Jack Hwang to collect Kwan Yin’s Sapphire from Hwang’s old master.”

“Does this aid or hinder us?” the Magus demanded. Even when he asked simple questions, he demanded.

“In the short term, Ajax’s shenanigans mean nothing. In the long term, I will miss Yu Zhi Shou as he was a most cruel and clever collaborator and the Wudan a very useful organization. Still,” the doctor turned with an evil grin towards the Magus, “what need have we of simple criminal organizations when we seek to bend all of reality to our will?”

The Magus shook his head as he answered, “Though you have had far less time to master the disciplines of science than I have had to master the occult, you have demonstrated that you are no less puissant than I. If any two men can combine the powers of sorcery and science, it will be men such as us. Tell me again how you plan to do it.”

“Magus, how have you managed to live so long?” B’hadgai asked, now all business.

“The earliest forms of what men would call magic were sympathetic,” the Magus began to explain, “a man who wished to hunt as a wolf would take a wolf as his totem, wearing its skin, trying to see the world as a wolf would see it. Over time, and with much practice, the man would take on wolfish characteristics. A more pugnacious demeanor, heightened senses, a love of the hunt. In a similar fashion, I was able to form a sympathetic bond with those islands that men call the Enigma Isles.”

Nodding along with him, B’hadgai asked, “And this affected you how?”

“As I told you before, the Enigma Isles are a convergence of powerful forces, a storehouse of occult energies. They are untouched by time because time is a lesser force than the amalgam of forces that have taken root in the Enigma Isles. As I tuned myself to the Isles, the Isles attuned themselves to me. They showed me secrets, mysteries and shared their life force with me. As they stand outside of time, so do I. I have told you all this many times, Doctor!”

“Yes, I know, but tell me again how this made you the ruler of the Isles,” B’hadgai said.

“The Isles seemed to love me as a favored son, they…,” the Magus paused, obviously struggling with concepts no other human could comprehend, “every thing from the lowest daffodil to the largest beast seemed to worship me. Vicious animals refused to attack me, vegetation moved to shade me from the sun, geographical areas to which I wished to travel seemed to move closer together simply because I idly wished my walk to be shorter. The people of the Isles have become attuned to the energies and sensed the support the Isles gave me. I was their natural ruler and the Isles gave them to me as my playthings.”

“Until Shiarra led your playthings in revolt.” Dr. B’hadgai couldn’t help but say this in a mocking tone.

“Be careful speaking of that which you cannot possibly understand!” the Magus thundered. “After MILLENIA of my mastery over the Isles, they seemed to throw me over in favor of another. I was left, a jilted lover, as it wrapped another in its charms. Shiarra had no knowledge of occult power, but her father loved the Enigma Isles enough to die for them and when I took his life to stop his expedition, the Isles saw this as a betrayal. It was the Isles themselves that sent a Dire Wolf with a new litter to find the toddler. It was the Isles that made her able to understand the wolf pack that was her new family and live as one of them. And make no mistake, Scientist, the Isles themselves sought to exacerbate my misery by causing her to lead the Islanders in revolt against me. Though my knowledge of magic was ancient and vast, with the Isles against me I never stood a chance. And I will hate her until the end of time for that.”

“Hatred like that is something I can…sympathize with,” said B’hadgai laughing at his erudite turn of phrase. “And you can create this sympathy magic with any item of power, correct?”

“Given time, no item of occult power can withstand the will of the Primeval Magus,” intoned the ancient warlock, “even the items of great mystical power you have instructed Stewart to gather to ‘save’ the life of his betrothed.”

“Even as you seek to bend those items to your will, augmenting your already amazing strength, I will seek to unravel the mysteries of the Celestial Stele. Though it is so far removed from modern science as to appear like sorcery, it is a technological marvel lost from the far future in the rushing headwaters of Time itself!” Despite how he hated the “mad scientist” stereotype, Dr. B’hadgai couldn’t help but dissolve into mad cackles that reverberated throughout the chamber.

“And you believe that combining my mastery of occult energies and your newfound mastery of time will allow us to bend all reality to our will,” the Magus said with a firm nod. “Apart, Dr. B’hadgai, we could never undo the evil perpetrated on us by the Engineer and his She Wolf. Together, we will bring all creation to its knees and FINALLY there will be a reckoning!”

“You speak the truth, my ancient ally. Now, if you will excuse me, Ajax is on his way to collect the final piece of our vengeance puzzle and I must monitor the proceedings.” Dr. B’hadgai lay back in the chair, allowing his cybernetic mind to meld with the machines surrounding him. The Magus stepped back into the shadows, leaving his maniacal collaborator to his machinations. Both men were content that soon they would ascend to their rightful places in the cosmos.

To Exacerbate Exasperation: The Byzantine and Ineffable Shenanigans of the Pugnacious, Yet Erudite Scofflaw, "Daffodil" Dean Weslington

by Cap'n Neurotic

The red-head walked into the corner store, glancing at his list before making a bee-line for the dairy products. After a brief scan of the meager selection, he grabbed a half gallon 2% with an expiration date a little over a week away. "Guess this will have to do," he thought before heading to the counter, paying his money, and walking home, marking off yet one more item on his list as he did so.

THE END?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Oh, wait, yeah, it is. Sorry to get y'all's hopes up.

The End

College Days

by Redneck Diva

“Dude, you are so stupid!” she screamed at the Polo shirt-clad college boy standing in front of her. She was on her tip toes and in his face in the worst way. He looked like he wanted to fall into the nearest hole in the ground. She looked like she wanted to bury him in that hole.

“Hey, now,” he calmly replied, putting his hands up defensively in front of his chest. He wasn’t sure how the situation ended up like this and he wanted out of it quickly. He’d talk to her calmly if he could just get the pugnacious little shrew to quit screaming at him. He was trying to keep his cool and not exacerbate the situation, but she wasn’t taking any breaths to allow him to get a word in edgewise. The things I get myself into, he thought as he rolled his eyes.

She hadn’t had an angry outburst like this in a long time and it felt pretty good. Her workout schedule didn’t allow for a lot of time with a punching target at the gym to blow off some steam, so screaming at a frat boy on the quad would have to suffice for now.

While she continued her loud rant, he noted her overall appearance. She wore old army fatigue pants that looked like they dated back to the Viet Nam War. Her ponytail was loose at the nape of her neck and the untamable curls were slipping out with every angry shake of her head. Her backpack was OD green, as well, with angry words and byzantine artwork inked all over it. At first glance one automatically pegged her as either a hippie wanna-be, a poor girl on scholarship or a rich girl rebelling and playing scofflaw while mommy and daddy wrote a hefty check each and every month to pay for her unwanted higher education.

She wasn’t any of those things. She had a scholarship of sorts, alright, but she wasn’t poor; she was smart. She had been the most erudite homecoming queen her high school had ever seen. She also was currently working nights as a motel clerk where she was becoming quite acquainted with the hundreds of John Smith’s that checked in with women that were clearly not their wives. Mommy and Daddy didn’t write a check every month because they were too busy trying to convince her that college was just another way she’d end up controlled by some government entity. Hippies (and not the wanna-be kind) and amateur conspiracy theorists were what her parents were. She was just biding her time, but they didn’t know that.

She was still screaming at him when, before she realized what was happening, he grabbed her upper arms, dipped her and kissed her hard on the mouth. She immediately tensed up and the lower parts of her arms that weren’t restrained began flailing in a feeble attempt to make him stop. The crowd that had gathered around them immediately sent up a loud “Oooooooh” and she blushed deeper while his lips were still pressed against hers. When she finally quit trying to smack him senseless - rather ineffectively - he leaned back up, pulled away from her and let go.
“What the HELL was that all about?” she said loudly, but not at the screaming pitch she had been at before the kiss.

“It was the only way I could get you to shut up,” he stated matter-of-factly, hoping he sounded more confident than he actually felt.

“Holy shit, have you been reading Harlequin Romances? Because that sounds exactly like a stupid stunt some muscle-bound hero would pull on the unsuspecting heroine.” And as she spoke she clasped her hands at her chest and batted her eyes. This caused the crowd to chuckle and he looked nervously at the circle of people who had become their impromptu audience.

“Would you please just let me take you somewhere not in the middle of a circle of gawking coeds and we can talk about this?”

“No.”

“Why not? I’m really not enjoying being on stage here…..uh, Ary, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s Ary,” she spat, “and we have been in the same PoliSci class for the entire semester AND have been in two discussion groups together. I’m hurt you don’t remember my name,” she said with feigned disappointment, then added venomously, “I’m fairly certain that you remember the tall blonde’s name without having to add ‘Isn’t it?’ afterwards. What’s her name? Ashley? Jennifer? Or is it Muffy? That kind of bimbo always has stupid names.”

Another “Ooooooh” from the crowd.

“And furthermore, I don’t care what you enjoy or you don’t. I’m prepared to discuss this with you all damn day if that’s what it takes.” She crossed her arms across her chest and widened her stance. She was barely five feet tall and knew she didn’t have a commanding presence. She hoped she was pulling this off effectively.

He grabbed her by the upper arms again and she turned her head to the side in anticipation of avoiding another kiss, but instead of kissing her he turned her around and pushed her ahead of him and led her out of the circle of voyeurs. As they parted the crowd, the other students began to clap. She ducked her head in an expression of annoyance, not embarrassment as he insisted on leading her further.

Once they were quite a distance away, well out of earshot from anyone, he let go of her arms, but not before he spun her roughly around to face him again. He dropped his arms and with a sigh said, “There.”

“You ASShole!” she blurted and hit him in the chest with both fists. “What’s the big idea KISSING me in front of all – those – people?” The last three words were punctuated with more punches to the chest. He was just glad she was small and hadn’t had time to go to the gym much. He’d have bruises tomorrow, regardless.

“Agent Sin- Ary. Really. Let me explain.”

“Yes, please. Explain your ineffable and embarrassing shenanigans. Please. Because I’m just dying to hear it.”

“Dying is almost what you did, Agent Singleton,” he said as he moved closer to her and pushed a stray curl behind her ear. “Just as you went into your tirade about ‘ineffective collegiate hogwash’ – which was an interesting choice of words, by the way - and really got yourself wound up nicely, our mark showed up. He had his gun trained on you. I saw him across the quad, but no one else did. If I hadn’t been looking for him, I wouldn’t have seen him either. I didn’t want to see your pretty head splattered on the daffodils underfoot. So I kissed you. I hope I didn’t really make you mad. I’m sorry if I did.” He looked down at his feet, then looked back up at her and grinned.

Unfazed she said, “Shit. I’ve got an Algebra test at 3 – think we’ll be done?” she asked as she pulled her errant ponytail back into submission.

“Should. He’s allergic to peanuts. Shouldn’t take long for the anaphylactic shock to take care of him. You won’t miss your test.”

“Cool.” She adjusted her backpack and reached up to kiss him softly on the cheek.

“Please promise me you’ll kiss me better than that soon, okay?”

“You got it, Agent Singleton. You got it.”

Extension, extension! We want an extension!

Wait. Why am I hollering for an extension - I'm the one that is in charge of that.

Okay, so because we're all a bunch of non-inspired, unimaginative geeks this week, I'm extending the deadline for 36 Chambers of Tate until Friday, the 25th. If it turns out there is only one submission, well, that'll make voting easy, now won't it?

Block

Anyone else having trouble finding inspiration for this round??

The Cap'n has mentioned his lack of inspiration as well. Are he and I the only two with serious cases of writer's block?

I don't want to make it a habit, but if everyone is having trouble getting stories written, I'd be open to extending the deadline a few days.

Leave a comment and let me know how things are going.

May I have your attention please?

Due to some technical difficulties of the graphics kind, two business proposals were not posted yesterday. Seems the pictures themselves were posessed by demons from Hell. So one has sent me her pictures separately and the other has sadly announced that she might file Chapter 13 on her store. I leave in the morning for a trip to Branson, MO, with my kids, but the hotel has wi-fi and if we're not too worn out from walking the endless hills of the Ozarks in 85' temps with 4000% humidity, eating funnel cakes and fried things on sticks, watching clog dancing and listening to bluegrass, jumping on the hotel beds and shopping, I'll work on those last two business proposals. Vacations rock.

But here's something that'll make your day:

Tate has sent his list of The Words for Round 4, otherwise known, from here on out as:

36 Chambers of Tate
(Is it just me or does anyone else feel the urge to do that dramatic "dum dum DUMMMMM" after you say it? No? Just me then. Hmh.)

And here are The Words (Thankfully there are not 36 of them - I, The Walking Dictionary, may have to break out the ol' Websters on a few of these):

Shenanigans
Scofflaw
Erudite
Daffodil
Pugnacious
Byzantine
Ineffable
Exacerbate

Story submissions are due by May 21st at 10:00pm Central. Voting will begin on Tuesday the 22nd.

The Force, be with you it may.

After careful consid'ration

Ol' Joe Billy Bob has looked over all 'em bus'ness proposals and applications that ended up on his big ol' desk and after carefully consid'ring 'em all, well, it looks like that there mall's gonna have to be built onta! Some of the stores are asking for 5000 square foot!! Hooooodoggies!! Them's some big ol' stores, lemme tell ya!

The submitted plans are in the posts below.

AND Tate, his wife and the baby are home now and he's submitted The Words for the next challenge! Look for that post later tonight or early tomorrow.

The Gettin' Place

by The Shoe Diva

Attention: Joe Billy Bob, Redneck Hills Mall President of Operations

May 9, 2007

After careful reflection, and considerable mourning because those vermin’ stole my scotch tape idea, I present the following for your consideration:

The Gettin’ Place- A Redneck Haven where all of your redneck needs are met, and one-stop shopping for the thrifty shopper on the lookout for that special item.

The Getting’ Place is truly designed to be one-stop shopping and carries everything a red blooded redneck’s little heart could desire. With that in mind, the store is rather large, and will require at least 5,000 square feet of space. In keeping with your eco-friendly design, we propose an entirely recycled décor for our store. Untreated wood recycled from actual Appalachian barns will line both the walls and the floor. It’s a fine use of available products as well as a durable solution for the stampede of feet.

Curtains in the changing room will be hand sewn from scraps of old clothing, and all items sold will be neatly packaged in old Wal-mart shopping bags. They still have plenty of use in em’!
All products are hand crafted by artisans in the local community. We scour the countryside looking for artists with their finger on the pulse of the community, artists who know just what our shoppers are looking for.

Almost as unique as our product line are the employees we hire. Who better to serve the redneck community than fellow rednecks? Who knows the yearnings of a redneck better and who would be more familiar with their needs? We only hire from within the local community, and to provide the best skilled staff possible, we insist each and every one of them be a genuine high school graduate!

I’ve enclosed a brief catalog. Take a gander and you’ll see we’re truly a one of a kind store and a perfect fit for your mall environment.

All merchandise in The Gettin’ Place is indigenous to Redneck Hills. Each item is handcrafted by local artisans with the specific needs of the local redneck squarely in mind.

We maintain a truly unique line of seasonal items:








The one of a kind Christmas tree all-aglow with festiveness.








For the avid deer hunter feeling the Christmas spirit, this gutted deer










Truly unique Gingerbread House



Speaking of décor, we’ve got the snappiest doo-dads this side of the Mason Dixon line.

Most folks don’t know Miss Mona Lisa was a cousin of the Hatfield’s. Yessiree, a distant cousin to be sure, but a right perty one

We also carry a full line of special occasion items.

Birthday cakes,

Birth announcements

Hot tubs

wedding paraphenalia,










BBQ grills,











fine BBQ accessories



Behold, our useful household appliances:

Palm Pilots

Lawn mowers

Tape measures

Survival Kits

Pet supplies

And finally.....

Redneck Apparel

Yes, we have a complete line of redneck apparel for men and women.

Tours R Us

submitted by Lisa

Tours R Us

Come on in.

Get below ground and cool off.

Take a tour of a non-workin' lead and zinc mine.

Totally safe EPA Certified SuperFund Cleanup site awaits your visit.

Wear your hikin' boots - Hard hats provided - unless you've got your own.

Tours start purt' near every hour or as close to as we can get and start from right here in the mall.

Don't forget to visit our gift shop and tailings pile to pick up that souveneir to remember you were here.

Origins 'R' Us

submitted by Cap'n Neurotic

TO: Ol’ Joe Billy Bob
Redneck Hills Mall President of Operations

FROM: Cap’n Neurotic
Origins’R’Us Regional Director

RE: Space for rent

Dear sir,

In lieu of your standard “application,” please see the attached copy of our latest promotional material from our corporate offices in Wakanda. We feel that your rustic atmosphere and “green” philosophy fit well with the aesthetic sense of our other branches, housed in abandoned railway stations, ancient castles, labyrinthine caverns, and Whataburgers across the globe; we hope you agree.

ORIGINS’R’US

Paving the way for rouge justice since the dawn of the Galactic Pax Treaty

Are you tired of getting sand kicked in your face by bullies?

Are you sick of seeing the wicked profit from their misdeeds?

Are you borderline psychotic in your need to avenge your parents’ deaths but aren’t quite sure how to do it?

If you answered “yes” to any of these, then what you need is a visit to everyone’s favorite super-power emporium ORIGINS’R’US!

Yes, ORIGINS’R’US offers a wide range of materials to give every would-be crimefighter a leg up in their never-ending battle for truth, justice, and all that jazz.

Ancient words of power?

We got ‘em!

Mystical gemstones with esoteric abilities?

We got ‘em!

Radioactive isotopes and irradiated lab animals?

We got ‘em!

Implausibly powerful bits of alien technology?

We got ‘em!

And, here at ORIGINS’R’US we do more than just hand over these items of incalculable power

willy-nilly. Each member of our highly trained staff is cloned from one of our founding partners and cybernetically implanted with all the knowledge which has not been lost in the mists of time

on each of our items. These custodians of our cosmic culture will not only help you select the life-altering item which best suits your personal needs, but will give you all the assistance you need to activate and access the powers and abilities which will make you so far above us mere mortals that you are like unto a god*!

Our patented TARDIS technology allows our store to be infinitely larger inside than it appears from without, allowing us to house our mind-staggering amount of merchandise, as well as special genetic-mutation-inducing environments such as:

• Gamma testing ranges
  
• Particle accelerators
  
• Lazarus Pits
  
• Rifts in Time and Space
  
• Terrigen Mist chambers
  
• Symbiote breeding grounds
  
• And many more!

In addition, our special three-day suspended animation waiting period with full psychic scans insures that only the most stable of vengeance-hungry vigilantes are allowed to roam free with catastrophic powers at their fingertips in order to take the law into their own hands.

And be sure to visit our sister store, SPANDEX WISHES AND CAPE-&-COWL DREAMS for all of your super-hero apparel needs.

ORIGINS’R’US: tracking down items of earth-shattering importance and universe-shaking power so that you don’t have to.

*Actual divinity not implied

Beck's Tea to Dye For

By Mrs. E.

Women Have I Got A DEAL FOR YOU!!!

I recently decided to do somethin about the grey in my hair which were beginin to show along with some dark roots. So I went to the Walmarts and got what was supposed to be just one shade darker than the last time because I had gone lighter but the grey was showin way too much with that color so I had to go darker. They had a new box with new pictures and this lovely color that would make my grey disappear and my roots too. That gal on that box had used that color and it twere down right beautiful. Well I snatched that baby up and took it home just waitin' to have enough time to use it. This weekend the time were right.

So I did just what it said except I didn't do a color test because heck I'd used this brand for many years and had never had no reaction or nothin just beautiful hair color. Imagine my surprise when I looked in the mirror as I was a dryin my curly locks and noticed the color was redder than the box showed. Matter of fact my hair was orangish. It twere Whore red!!!

Now I got a neice and she gots pretty red hair. Her daughters gots pretty red hair. Their hair is prettier than anything you'll ever see on a box of hair color. Mine was not that color. I don't usually get too bent out of shape over hair color. I mean I've been doing it so long that I have had a few times when the color weren't quite what I had hoped for. Why I've had my hair have geenish tints to it where it kind of glowed like them glow sticks you can get for Halloween so as to see better in the dark but never, never, never, ever have I seen my hair look this bad. I panicked.

I called my friend who later told me that the sound of my voice really had her scared. She thought there was some major disaster. She thought she was a gonna haft to get into her car and drive half way across town just to rescue me from whatever fiend was a tormentin me. When she heard it were just my hair, she tried to reasure me but I was havin' none of that. Bein the good friend that she is, she called her sister who called a friend who wasn't home and I still was freakin out. I washed my hair twice while I was waitin for her call back.
\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\> \u003cdiv\>Any way she called the girl who does our hair who by the way was in St. Louis at a hair show. This darlin girl called me all the way from St Louis and then went to talk to all those high falootin hair people at the hair show. She called back with a solution. I was willin' to try just about anythin and heck them hair people in St. Louis surely knew somethin about fixin bad hair dolor. So I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, stuffed\n it under a ball cap of Duane's so that none of it was a showin and headed for the Walmarts to see if I could find a remedy.

Well, I had to get something that had Ash in it. I thought I had already made an "ASH" of myself but I was willin to try anything. Whore Red!!! Horrid Whore Red!!! Well, it worked. I still have reddish tints but the color does look more natural and I can go out in public again.

At school on Monday nobody even noticed or at least they never said nothin.

So I said all of that to tell you about a new store that I am openin for women only. Its gonna be a hair colorin place. Now I know they already have these things I've been there but dang those gals charge out the wazoo. I'm thinkin it would just be a place where women could sit around discussin whatever came to mind and then when someone needed a\n hair colorin done we could all look her over real good and then as a committee pick out the right color. We could help one another get it on right. You know like only coverin the roots for awhile and then spreadin it out thru the rest of the hair. We could help time one another and cheer each other on. Heck we'd only have to charge a dollor or two more than what it cost at the Walmarts.

We'd have to call it somethin that don't sound like no beauty shop stuff 'cause you gots to have a license to call it that. I was thinkin of pretendin the shoppe were a fancy tea type place. We'd have a code we used. You'd order green tea and that would be the ash colors. You'd order tomato juice or red soda pop for the redder colors or lemonade for the blonde.


I gots a plan here. I'm workin on a name. We'd have to be exclusive. None of them funny boys a hangin around. I'm thinkin of callin it Beck's Tea to Dye For!!!!! Snappy! Huh!!

Look for it the next time you head out to cruise main street. This is an idee that is way past due. We'll be a lookin for you and have the teapot ready to boil unless your in the mood for some red soda or some lemonade.

Cazzie's Hats for You

submitted by Cazzie!!!

To Ole' Joe Billy Bob (POA),



My name is Cazzie, I am the proud proprieter of "Cazzie's Hats For You". I am writing of my intention to market my wonderful hats in your Mall. Proposal is as follows: My store needs to be large, 800 square metres of floor space to be exact. My products are displayed in a manner to which no other hat store can top..pardon the punn. One quarter of the floor space will camoflage. Complete with metal shelving and netting from the roof. All types of military hats will be on display here Two of my ex Navy Service people to assist in getting the fitting to the customer's mug..sorry, head, correct.
The next quarter of the store will be set up in a Horse Carnival Scene, complete with statues of horses and models wearing race day gear and my brand of headwear designed for comfort for the race goer. Of couse, if people want to buy a hat for their loved one, or someone who lives abroad, this can be arranged. The sales staff in the Carnival area will be wearing the finest race wear and of course, our very own hats.
The last half, the front half of the store, will be adorned with tuelle and lace and organza. No shelves here but there will be lovely golden hat stands displaying some of the finest head wear going. Staff in this area will be some of the top models from around the Globe, a sure attraction to your Mall. This will be a shop that will attract all the best customers who will just want to go on spending at the other stores your Mall has to offer. At Cazzie's Hats For You, the customer comes first.

And away we go!

That Hillbilly Mom is so durn creative she should be a teacher! After my last post asking for suggestions about a mini-task to complete while we wait on Bubblegum Tate, (And trust me, we are not complaining, dude. Take your time.) she promptly sent me an email just chock full of ideas! I'm telling you, she should teach.

So without further ado, I am announcing Mini-Task #1!

--------------------------------------

Welcome to Redneck Hills Mall! Nestled deep in the flat hills of northeastern Oklahoma, Redneck Hills Mall offers shopping for every taste. Come on in and browse our un-airconditioned shopping haven. Oh, don't worry - the lack of air conditioning isn't a big deal. We've got lots of stand fans and box fans stuck in the windows. Plus, when we have them in stock, we hand out those Jesus fans at the door. (You know, the ones on a popsicle stick.) The floors are luxurious hardwood - if you interpret "hardwood" as 1/2" plywood - and the skylights offer you to see nature in all of its uninhibited beauty because well, there's no glass in them. We do have one of the most comfortable restrooms in the area, according to most rednecks who shop here. Well, just have a look-see for yourself:

The carousel in the entrance is a favorite of the young'uns who come to Redneck Hills Mall. Ordinary horses aren't good enough for us high-falootin' shoppers - we have mules, deer and a few large dogs. The kiddies just go berzerk to ride the thirty-point buck.

The parking lot is large and again, we've kept the nature-lover in mind by leaving weeds and brush in their natural state. We try to be a "green" mall when we can. By "green" we mean "we don't mow."

We have many stores here at Redneck Hills Mall. The Scotch Tape Store and The All Applesauce Store are two area favorites. The Quirky Maladjusted Borderline Sociopath Store went out of business last year because the proprietor kept refusing to open for business and when people would peek in the window he would throw tennis balls at them. But that was one isolated incident and the screening process is a little more stringent now. We do have openings for a stores and are accepting applications and business plans now.

Apply today. Applications will be accepted through Wednesday, May 9th, so don't delay!

In your application/business plan, you need to describe the products sold in your store, how the store is laid out, what kind of employees you will hire to run the store, basic decor, etc. Include pictures, if possible. Be creative because Ol' Joe Billy Bob, Redneck Hills Mall President of Operations, while he can't read past about a first grade level, does like to listen to a creative tale written by prospective proprietors in his mall. If you get a knee-slap outta Ol' Joe Billy Bob, you are in for sure!

Send applications to: theredneckdiva@gmail.com

Daddy blogger

Apparently, our most recent winner, Bubblegum Tate, has just had a baby. Okay, not him personally, but his wife just had a baby and well, he kind of participated.

So because he's off establishing himself among the ranks of daddybloggers everywhere, we're sitting here on our laurels. Not that we're complaining - most of us have kid a or two. They truly are a bit time-consuming, the little boogers. So I'm proposing that we do something in the meantime. School's out and I'm still avoiding housework like the plague. I need something to do!

So what's your pleasure, writers at large? We can dredge up old creative writing assignments from our teen years, we have try a limerick writing challenge, we can try plain ol' poetry (although I might gag, but I'll play along)....we can do all sorts of things.

So tell me ....... throw some things out there and we'll see what we come up with. Hopefully, whatever it is, we can end our sentences with prepositions.

The edge of the sword has delivered a victory

Bubblegum Tate, when he submitted his story, proclaimed "The Nation of Hillmomba is claimed in the name of Tate-ania!"

I guess he has some prophetic qualities in him somewhere.

With 32% of the votes this round, Tate claims his victory and now is faced with the challenge of coming up with a new list of The Words for the next round.

As soon as he gets his title and list to me, the next round will begin!

Congratulations, Bubblegum Tate!