Since it's nearly 5pm on deadline day and I haven't received a single story submission, I think it's going to be wise to extend the deadline until after the 4th of July holiday.
The deadline is now Friday, July 6th, 10pm. Voting will begin on Saturday the 7th.
Have a happy and safe holiday!
Friday, June 29, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Round 6 - Au lieu et place d'une vacances d'été, laissez-nous tout écrit des histoires
Don't ask me what it means. Ask Elizabeth.
Here are The Words for this round:
pontificate
frivolity
scantily
leisure
swarthy
hedonism
I'm publishing the genres this time because I don't want to sit here and email everyone individually. I'm lazy like that.
Hillbilly Mom - Science Fiction
Cap'n Neurotic - Mystery
Jusdealem - Teen romance
Cazzie - Horror
Elizabeth - Western
Redneck Diva - Soap Opera
Maverick - Historical Romance
Pigpen - Fantasy
Bubblegum Tate - Comedy
Li'l Random - Drama
Mrs. E. - Action
Some are those listed above are from the last round and didn't write, so I just listed them with what they had last time.
Okay, now you know The Words and your genre. You have until Friday, June 29th at 10pm to submit your stories.
Voulez vous couchet avec moi ce soir?
(Yeah, I'm pretty sure I just propositioned y'all, but hey, I'm trying to keep the theme going here.)
Here are The Words for this round:
pontificate
frivolity
scantily
leisure
swarthy
hedonism
I'm publishing the genres this time because I don't want to sit here and email everyone individually. I'm lazy like that.
Hillbilly Mom - Science Fiction
Cap'n Neurotic - Mystery
Jusdealem - Teen romance
Cazzie - Horror
Elizabeth - Western
Redneck Diva - Soap Opera
Maverick - Historical Romance
Pigpen - Fantasy
Bubblegum Tate - Comedy
Li'l Random - Drama
Mrs. E. - Action
Some are those listed above are from the last round and didn't write, so I just listed them with what they had last time.
Okay, now you know The Words and your genre. You have until Friday, June 29th at 10pm to submit your stories.
Voulez vous couchet avec moi ce soir?
(Yeah, I'm pretty sure I just propositioned y'all, but hey, I'm trying to keep the theme going here.)
The round that shall remain nameless
...until she sends me a title, that is.
Elizabeth has sent me her list of The Words and as soon as she titles the round, we'll get started.
So far, these are the entrants that have for sure told me they'll be participating in this round:
Hillbilly Mom
Cap'n Neurotic
Jusdealem
Cazzie
Elizabeth
If you were given a genre last round and didn't write, you can keep that genre if you want. If you want a new one, you need to let me know today. The Accounting Firm of Paul didn't get to draw new genres yesterday because my internet decided to be a big poopyhead and wouldn't connect. Sooo.....you've got until this evening to let me know.
Elizabeth has sent me her list of The Words and as soon as she titles the round, we'll get started.
So far, these are the entrants that have for sure told me they'll be participating in this round:
Hillbilly Mom
Cap'n Neurotic
Jusdealem
Cazzie
Elizabeth
If you were given a genre last round and didn't write, you can keep that genre if you want. If you want a new one, you need to let me know today. The Accounting Firm of Paul didn't get to draw new genres yesterday because my internet decided to be a big poopyhead and wouldn't connect. Sooo.....you've got until this evening to let me know.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
And the shoes have it
Elizabeth, aka The Shoe Diva, put on her walkin' shoes and walked all over the other submissions in Round 5, Cazzmania!!!, this week.
Congratulations to you, Elizabeth!
She'll be sending me her list of words ASAP.
In the meantime, y'all need to let me know if you're in for the next round - genres will be assigned this round, too - although, we are letting pop culture rest this week. I know I for one would run screaming if I had to try that again, lol.
(I do have some really fun ideas for the round after this one - don't worry, it has nothing to do with Tickle Me Elmo, American Idol or KISS.)
Congratulations to you, Elizabeth!
She'll be sending me her list of words ASAP.
In the meantime, y'all need to let me know if you're in for the next round - genres will be assigned this round, too - although, we are letting pop culture rest this week. I know I for one would run screaming if I had to try that again, lol.
(I do have some really fun ideas for the round after this one - don't worry, it has nothing to do with Tickle Me Elmo, American Idol or KISS.)
Friday, June 22, 2007
Voting Ends Tonight
I considered leaving the poll open until tomorrow night, but the numbers have remained the same since last night, so I think we've pretty much got all the votes we're going to get. I will close voting around 10 tonight (providing the weather cooperates and I can get online) and the winner will be emailed immediately thereafter.
The new Words will be posted hopefully by Monday. If you want to participate in this round, email me so we can draw genres again. We're going to leave out the pop culture references this time because my brain hurts from this round, but I think the genres at least give everyone some direction. I have some ideas for future rounds, but let's take it easy this time.
Good luck!
The new Words will be posted hopefully by Monday. If you want to participate in this round, email me so we can draw genres again. We're going to leave out the pop culture references this time because my brain hurts from this round, but I think the genres at least give everyone some direction. I have some ideas for future rounds, but let's take it easy this time.
Good luck!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Memories at the Monkey-Hog Saloon
by Cap'n Neurotic
Genre: Western
Pop Culture: Tickle Me Elmo, MTV, Rosie O'Donnell
-------------------------------
“Well tickle me Elmo and call me Spanky!” slurred the drunk who had just collapsed at Ford’s feet. The gunslinger did a double-take, shaken by the sot’s turn of phrase.
“You okay, pardner?” the dealer asked, and Ford waved the concern away.
“Just need to stretch my legs for a minute,” he said, pushing away from the card table. He knew the other players in the saloon would assume he was answering the call of nature again, but that was fine; better they think he had the bladder of an octogenarian spinster than they realize that the ramblings of the town drunkard could put him into such a state. He quickly strode out of the Monkey-Hog Saloon, so named for the rare creature rumored to live in the badlands surrounding the town of Chadwyck, although Ford suspected that its name came less from the fact that the creature was fabled to resemble some weird hybrid of a chimp and a sow than the fact that the whole idea was monkeyshines and hogwash. Still, the usual cynical thoughts which would flash through his mind at shenanigans like the obviously fake stuffed monkey-hog topping the saloon’s entrance were nowhere to be found, drowned out by the tumult conjured by his encounter with the drunk Pacing down the dusty street, he struggled to purge his mind of the images from that night 15 years previous when his youthful quest for enlightenment had led instead to nightmares.
As a young boy, Ford had always felt that he had a special destiny awaiting him, and after the massacre which had robbed him of his family he had set off to discover what that destiny could be. He eventually followed tales of a nomadic Indian tribe whose true name was unknown to all and whose shaman possessed the power to pierce the veils of time. It had taken him months to find the tribe, and then over a year of living with them to prove himself worthy to consult the shaman for guidance. The ceremony itself was cloaked in the fog of memory, with brief snatches surfacing from time to time: he remembered the sweat lodge; remembered the strange incense whose smoke flooded his lungs; remembered the rhythmic chanting which lulled him into a trance; and then, more than anything else, he remembered the visions that followed, terrible visions of another place and time: a shivering, red-haired monstrosity with its deafening high-pitched giggles; a box filled with images of young girls decked out in skimpy clothes and performing lewd gyrations that would have made Ms. Posey, the local madam, blush; a loud-mouthed harridan assailing a handsome mustachioed man about his right to bear arms; these sights and sounds filled his mind, and did many more, some more horrible than others.
When he had regained consciousness, he had found himself alone, abandoned in the middle of the now-deserted field where the tribe had last encamped. Even with the considerable tracking skills he had learned in his year with them, Ford was unable to find a trace that they had ever been there; indeed, in the many years since then the mysterious tribe had remained as elusive as their ineffable name. His only souvenirs were the frequent nightmares fueled by the strange visions, and the odd stares from many a companion over the years who, after having to listen to a night of his restless mumblings, would ask him questions such as “What is this ‘emteevee’ and why do you want it so bad?” or “I hope I never meet this Rosie O’Donnell of yours, boy, it sounds like she hurt you but good.”
After a few minutes, Ford was able to shake the uneasy feelings the drunkard had inadvertently caused, and he returned to the Monkey-Hog Saloon to reclaim his place at the card table and, he hoped, reclaim some of his money as well.
“Feeling better, friend?” asked Blonde John, the dandified card sharp to Ford’s left, whose faux geniality failed to conceal the condescension which dripped from every syllable that dropped from his mouth. From the instant Ford had met Blonde John, he had detested him; the slick-haired so-called gentleman’s clothes reeked of too much privilege, his vocabulary reeked of too much education, and his tendency to use both to intimidate others reeked of too little class. Having to play against him had set Ford’s teeth on edge earlier; now that his concentration was shaken, he was afraid he was going to need to swipe a horse tranquilizer off of the doc just to keep from losing his cool.
“So, what is it you do?” Blonde John asked, absentmindedly fingering his daffodil cufflinks as the next hand was dealt.
Ford had witnessed the cocky player weasel his way into the heads of the other players over the course of the evening, and decided he wasn’t going to provide the forked-tongued devil any ammo to shake Ford’s game. “Me? I’m just a student of the human condition,” Ford said with an air of distraction.
Blonde John snorted. “Oh, yes, I see, I haven’t just stumbled into any old saloon,” he snarked. “Why, it’s really just a psychiatric experiment in disguise, and you’re part of its Byzantine ruse.” The snobbish dandy grew more agitated as Ford studiously ignored his ribbing. “So, let’s see-- you’re a ‘student of the human condition,’ disguised as a pugnacious scofflaw, with no one the wiser. I’m sure our dealer here is a trained alienist, using our betting habits to write his thesis. And Ms. Posey over there, well, obviously she is secretly an erudite sexologist, and not just a common tram--”
His comment was cut short as Ford’s fist shot out, knocking the loudmouth backwards onto the ground; dazed, Blonde John reached for his gun, only to stop when he realized that the barrel of Ford’s revolver was inches away from his forehead.
“You really need to watch your mouth,” Ford said in a toneless voice.
“Ah, yes, in retrospect, I suppose I should,” Blonde John said carefully, obviously reassessing his position and not wanting to exacerbate the situation. “I suppose when I reminisce about this with my grandchildren one day, I shall describe it as the day a student of the human condition taught me something, eh?” Ford recognized the battered man’s feeble attempt to save face, and slowly put his gun back in its holster; there was a small corner of his mind that still hated resorting to such behavior, but over the years as his quest for a greater purpose in life had brought him nothing but pain and misery, he had come to accept that such actions were the only way to get along in this world.
“Hahaha, that tickles!” The voice of one of Posey’s girls flirting with a flush prospector sent chills down Ford’s spine as he was once again plagued by the high-pitched echoing cries of a strange creature from another time and place.
Genre: Western
Pop Culture: Tickle Me Elmo, MTV, Rosie O'Donnell
-------------------------------
“Well tickle me Elmo and call me Spanky!” slurred the drunk who had just collapsed at Ford’s feet. The gunslinger did a double-take, shaken by the sot’s turn of phrase.
“You okay, pardner?” the dealer asked, and Ford waved the concern away.
“Just need to stretch my legs for a minute,” he said, pushing away from the card table. He knew the other players in the saloon would assume he was answering the call of nature again, but that was fine; better they think he had the bladder of an octogenarian spinster than they realize that the ramblings of the town drunkard could put him into such a state. He quickly strode out of the Monkey-Hog Saloon, so named for the rare creature rumored to live in the badlands surrounding the town of Chadwyck, although Ford suspected that its name came less from the fact that the creature was fabled to resemble some weird hybrid of a chimp and a sow than the fact that the whole idea was monkeyshines and hogwash. Still, the usual cynical thoughts which would flash through his mind at shenanigans like the obviously fake stuffed monkey-hog topping the saloon’s entrance were nowhere to be found, drowned out by the tumult conjured by his encounter with the drunk Pacing down the dusty street, he struggled to purge his mind of the images from that night 15 years previous when his youthful quest for enlightenment had led instead to nightmares.
As a young boy, Ford had always felt that he had a special destiny awaiting him, and after the massacre which had robbed him of his family he had set off to discover what that destiny could be. He eventually followed tales of a nomadic Indian tribe whose true name was unknown to all and whose shaman possessed the power to pierce the veils of time. It had taken him months to find the tribe, and then over a year of living with them to prove himself worthy to consult the shaman for guidance. The ceremony itself was cloaked in the fog of memory, with brief snatches surfacing from time to time: he remembered the sweat lodge; remembered the strange incense whose smoke flooded his lungs; remembered the rhythmic chanting which lulled him into a trance; and then, more than anything else, he remembered the visions that followed, terrible visions of another place and time: a shivering, red-haired monstrosity with its deafening high-pitched giggles; a box filled with images of young girls decked out in skimpy clothes and performing lewd gyrations that would have made Ms. Posey, the local madam, blush; a loud-mouthed harridan assailing a handsome mustachioed man about his right to bear arms; these sights and sounds filled his mind, and did many more, some more horrible than others.
When he had regained consciousness, he had found himself alone, abandoned in the middle of the now-deserted field where the tribe had last encamped. Even with the considerable tracking skills he had learned in his year with them, Ford was unable to find a trace that they had ever been there; indeed, in the many years since then the mysterious tribe had remained as elusive as their ineffable name. His only souvenirs were the frequent nightmares fueled by the strange visions, and the odd stares from many a companion over the years who, after having to listen to a night of his restless mumblings, would ask him questions such as “What is this ‘emteevee’ and why do you want it so bad?” or “I hope I never meet this Rosie O’Donnell of yours, boy, it sounds like she hurt you but good.”
After a few minutes, Ford was able to shake the uneasy feelings the drunkard had inadvertently caused, and he returned to the Monkey-Hog Saloon to reclaim his place at the card table and, he hoped, reclaim some of his money as well.
“Feeling better, friend?” asked Blonde John, the dandified card sharp to Ford’s left, whose faux geniality failed to conceal the condescension which dripped from every syllable that dropped from his mouth. From the instant Ford had met Blonde John, he had detested him; the slick-haired so-called gentleman’s clothes reeked of too much privilege, his vocabulary reeked of too much education, and his tendency to use both to intimidate others reeked of too little class. Having to play against him had set Ford’s teeth on edge earlier; now that his concentration was shaken, he was afraid he was going to need to swipe a horse tranquilizer off of the doc just to keep from losing his cool.
“So, what is it you do?” Blonde John asked, absentmindedly fingering his daffodil cufflinks as the next hand was dealt.
Ford had witnessed the cocky player weasel his way into the heads of the other players over the course of the evening, and decided he wasn’t going to provide the forked-tongued devil any ammo to shake Ford’s game. “Me? I’m just a student of the human condition,” Ford said with an air of distraction.
Blonde John snorted. “Oh, yes, I see, I haven’t just stumbled into any old saloon,” he snarked. “Why, it’s really just a psychiatric experiment in disguise, and you’re part of its Byzantine ruse.” The snobbish dandy grew more agitated as Ford studiously ignored his ribbing. “So, let’s see-- you’re a ‘student of the human condition,’ disguised as a pugnacious scofflaw, with no one the wiser. I’m sure our dealer here is a trained alienist, using our betting habits to write his thesis. And Ms. Posey over there, well, obviously she is secretly an erudite sexologist, and not just a common tram--”
His comment was cut short as Ford’s fist shot out, knocking the loudmouth backwards onto the ground; dazed, Blonde John reached for his gun, only to stop when he realized that the barrel of Ford’s revolver was inches away from his forehead.
“You really need to watch your mouth,” Ford said in a toneless voice.
“Ah, yes, in retrospect, I suppose I should,” Blonde John said carefully, obviously reassessing his position and not wanting to exacerbate the situation. “I suppose when I reminisce about this with my grandchildren one day, I shall describe it as the day a student of the human condition taught me something, eh?” Ford recognized the battered man’s feeble attempt to save face, and slowly put his gun back in its holster; there was a small corner of his mind that still hated resorting to such behavior, but over the years as his quest for a greater purpose in life had brought him nothing but pain and misery, he had come to accept that such actions were the only way to get along in this world.
“Hahaha, that tickles!” The voice of one of Posey’s girls flirting with a flush prospector sent chills down Ford’s spine as he was once again plagued by the high-pitched echoing cries of a strange creature from another time and place.
Vibrator Hotel, No Batteries Included.
by Cazzie!!!
Genre: Soap Opera
Pop Culture: E.T., Brangelina, Princess Diana
-------------------------------
SCENE 1: Brad enters hotel foyer, dressed in a pin striped suit, complete with top hat and spats shoes. He has a rolled up newspaper under his left arm. Peering around the foyer, Brad steps up to the front counter.
Brad says in a whisper "Why, hello there. I have a reservation to see the Sexologist Miss Selina at 1400hours".
Desk attendant: "Why yes sir, right this way" She rings a small bell, the consierge comes out of a small room to the side of the desk. He hurriedly walks Brad to an elevator. The door opens, and a person steps out. Brad and the consierge enter the lift, second floor is selected as destination.
Stepping out of the lift they make a right hand turn down a small hall and knock on the large pink door. Consierge nods and leaves Brad alone.
Miss Selina: "Enter!" Is the command.
Brad, "Why hello Miss Selina"
Miss S: "Where is Angelina today? Is she not coming, it is not like you to go anywhere alone...Brangelina "
Brad: Well even love birds have to have time apart"
Miss S, "So, you are both having a hard time again? Tell me more"
Brad takes a seat on the sofa, Miss S sits to his right.
Brad: "Do you believe in destiny Miss S?
What if Brangelina was never meant to be?
Look at Princess Diana, her and Dodi, they never had a chance.
What if we don't stay together, will we ever know what we may miss out on?"
Miss S: "Only time can tell the tale. Unless you want to stop time itself, as if having been given a tranquiliser of some sort....time, standing still..." Miss S, starts to unbutton Brad's shirt. He does not resist. Miss S moves to Brad left and pulls him up off the sofa by his forearms.
They stare into each other's eyes....SCENE PAUSED HERE...
SCENE TWO: in the hotel kitchen, the head chef, wearing his white tall hat and chef checkered pants with white buttoned top is busy preparing for a banquet in the restaurant.
Head Chef: "Look, all my assistants have called in sick..what am I to do? How am I to cater for all these people in this short space of time before the restaurant opens? We may have to just go to Subway and order rolls for everyone to eat tonight!!"
Hotel Manager: "I have got some agency assistant chef's coming in. One of them used to work in the kitchens of some of the biggest chains of restaurant in the World..he is reportedly very accomplished"
Head Chef: "What..he worked for McDonald's or something? Gimme a break!"
Manager:"I will do my best. But, in retrospect, I can safely say the agency I called have such good repute, they will surely come through to help us out in our time of need here".
A clumsy waitress drops a whole tray of whole fish, it slops on the floor at the feet of the head chef and the hotel manager. She bends over to pick up the mess, as she bends, everyone can see she has a pattern of ET The Extra Terrestrial on her undergarment...it causes everyone to laugh, lightening the mood in the kitchen.
SCENE 3: Out at the pool there is a small gathering of elderly citizens. They are playing a game of cards, sipping pina coladas and smoking Havana Cigars.
Bob: "Say, Harry, get a load of the young birds coming out of the hotel for a swim over there"
Harry:"Oh, come on Bob, look the other way, you know they are out of our league. I mean, look at us."
Bob:"Speak for yourself old timer, I am going to get me some whoopee before the end of this vacation, and I am not talking about sitting on a cushion that just makes fart sounds..get my drift"(winking and waving his havanna around in the air"
Harry, "Well, it might be nice for you to reminisce about our younger playboy days Bob, but I got other things I want to do in the next few days"
Bob: "That's a full hand I got there..you are out mate" Bob slaps the cards down on the table, looks at the young girls in the pool, gets up and does a bomb into the pool. The young girls yell at him for wetting their hair, and they get out of the pool and go back into the hotel.
Harry laughs so hard he collapses.... an ambulance is called via a poolside phone.....
SCENE 4: Inside the recreation room there is a gathering of ladies, they are dressed in after 5 clothing, having their make up applied for a photo shoot for Little Ladies Magazine.
Florence: "I just love the feel of this silk dress, it makes me feel so fem-i-nine and all"
Stella: "Well, it would never compare to the feel of this velvet chemise Flo...so warm and soft".
Tilly: "You ladies know that Brangelina are staying here in our midst at the Vibrator Hotel don't you?"
Gasps heard all round.
Florence:"Well, I know where Brad is, but I do not know where Angelina is...I saw him enter the room of the sexologist Miss Selina"
Gasps all around again.
The waitress with the ET undergarments appears, she smells of the fish from the kitchen, this causes the ladies to vacate the room.
SCENE 5: The ballroom of the Hotel is where the next scene takes place.
Opening scene, Shot of the Enlightnment Ballroom sign on the double breasted door.
A waiter walks through the double doors, cameras take shot of the expanse of the room.
The ball gets underway.
Bob and Harry share a table with the ladies from the magazine shoot.
Brad and Angelina sit with Miss Selina.... Miss Selina stands up and profess out loud to everyone in the ballroom that she is in love with Brad and is having his baby. Angelina faints to the ground. Brad storms out of the room and Miss Selina is left looking silly at the camera until next Friday's episode...
Genre: Soap Opera
Pop Culture: E.T., Brangelina, Princess Diana
-------------------------------
SCENE 1: Brad enters hotel foyer, dressed in a pin striped suit, complete with top hat and spats shoes. He has a rolled up newspaper under his left arm. Peering around the foyer, Brad steps up to the front counter.
Brad says in a whisper "Why, hello there. I have a reservation to see the Sexologist Miss Selina at 1400hours".
Desk attendant: "Why yes sir, right this way" She rings a small bell, the consierge comes out of a small room to the side of the desk. He hurriedly walks Brad to an elevator. The door opens, and a person steps out. Brad and the consierge enter the lift, second floor is selected as destination.
Stepping out of the lift they make a right hand turn down a small hall and knock on the large pink door. Consierge nods and leaves Brad alone.
Miss Selina: "Enter!" Is the command.
Brad, "Why hello Miss Selina"
Miss S: "Where is Angelina today? Is she not coming, it is not like you to go anywhere alone...Brangelina "
Brad: Well even love birds have to have time apart"
Miss S, "So, you are both having a hard time again? Tell me more"
Brad takes a seat on the sofa, Miss S sits to his right.
Brad: "Do you believe in destiny Miss S?
What if Brangelina was never meant to be?
Look at Princess Diana, her and Dodi, they never had a chance.
What if we don't stay together, will we ever know what we may miss out on?"
Miss S: "Only time can tell the tale. Unless you want to stop time itself, as if having been given a tranquiliser of some sort....time, standing still..." Miss S, starts to unbutton Brad's shirt. He does not resist. Miss S moves to Brad left and pulls him up off the sofa by his forearms.
They stare into each other's eyes....SCENE PAUSED HERE...
SCENE TWO: in the hotel kitchen, the head chef, wearing his white tall hat and chef checkered pants with white buttoned top is busy preparing for a banquet in the restaurant.
Head Chef: "Look, all my assistants have called in sick..what am I to do? How am I to cater for all these people in this short space of time before the restaurant opens? We may have to just go to Subway and order rolls for everyone to eat tonight!!"
Hotel Manager: "I have got some agency assistant chef's coming in. One of them used to work in the kitchens of some of the biggest chains of restaurant in the World..he is reportedly very accomplished"
Head Chef: "What..he worked for McDonald's or something? Gimme a break!"
Manager:"I will do my best. But, in retrospect, I can safely say the agency I called have such good repute, they will surely come through to help us out in our time of need here".
A clumsy waitress drops a whole tray of whole fish, it slops on the floor at the feet of the head chef and the hotel manager. She bends over to pick up the mess, as she bends, everyone can see she has a pattern of ET The Extra Terrestrial on her undergarment...it causes everyone to laugh, lightening the mood in the kitchen.
SCENE 3: Out at the pool there is a small gathering of elderly citizens. They are playing a game of cards, sipping pina coladas and smoking Havana Cigars.
Bob: "Say, Harry, get a load of the young birds coming out of the hotel for a swim over there"
Harry:"Oh, come on Bob, look the other way, you know they are out of our league. I mean, look at us."
Bob:"Speak for yourself old timer, I am going to get me some whoopee before the end of this vacation, and I am not talking about sitting on a cushion that just makes fart sounds..get my drift"(winking and waving his havanna around in the air"
Harry, "Well, it might be nice for you to reminisce about our younger playboy days Bob, but I got other things I want to do in the next few days"
Bob: "That's a full hand I got there..you are out mate" Bob slaps the cards down on the table, looks at the young girls in the pool, gets up and does a bomb into the pool. The young girls yell at him for wetting their hair, and they get out of the pool and go back into the hotel.
Harry laughs so hard he collapses.... an ambulance is called via a poolside phone.....
SCENE 4: Inside the recreation room there is a gathering of ladies, they are dressed in after 5 clothing, having their make up applied for a photo shoot for Little Ladies Magazine.
Florence: "I just love the feel of this silk dress, it makes me feel so fem-i-nine and all"
Stella: "Well, it would never compare to the feel of this velvet chemise Flo...so warm and soft".
Tilly: "You ladies know that Brangelina are staying here in our midst at the Vibrator Hotel don't you?"
Gasps heard all round.
Florence:"Well, I know where Brad is, but I do not know where Angelina is...I saw him enter the room of the sexologist Miss Selina"
Gasps all around again.
The waitress with the ET undergarments appears, she smells of the fish from the kitchen, this causes the ladies to vacate the room.
SCENE 5: The ballroom of the Hotel is where the next scene takes place.
Opening scene, Shot of the Enlightnment Ballroom sign on the double breasted door.
A waiter walks through the double doors, cameras take shot of the expanse of the room.
The ball gets underway.
Bob and Harry share a table with the ladies from the magazine shoot.
Brad and Angelina sit with Miss Selina.... Miss Selina stands up and profess out loud to everyone in the ballroom that she is in love with Brad and is having his baby. Angelina faints to the ground. Brad storms out of the room and Miss Selina is left looking silly at the camera until next Friday's episode...
Life Lived in Turmoil After Childhood
by Maverick
Genre: Drama
Pop Culture: The Brady Bunch, Smurfs, Play-doh
--------------------------------
Hi, my name is Jan. Well, that was my name on the famed TV show The Brady Bunch, and I’m her to tell you a little about my life story. From early childhood I thought it was my destiny to be in show biz. I loved acting and it was fun for a while. Being the middle sibling on the show gave me a huge complex; being behind Marcia made me feel less of a person week after week, but as I reminisce about the shortcomings of my childhood, it helped me grow up quicker. When the show went off the air I had trouble finding other work besides some infomercials and bit parts that underused my talents. I began to believe that there wasn’t anything left out there for me. I had a bit of a breakdown in the middle of Saks Fifth Avenue on Rodeo Drive. Someone called for an ambulance and when they arrived one of them gave me a tranquilizer and admitted me into the mental wing of the local hospital. Yeah, I was in there for a while. The hospital assigned me a doctor who, in turn, sent me to the in-house therapist who got down to the root of the problem. The therapist put me through a lot of tests and told me that the lack of a relationship with a man led to my breakdown, so I went to a sexologist who explained it to me through using something I thought was weird – playing with Play-Doh. She told me to mold it into a male and female figure and, because the Play-Doh was blue, all I could think about was those blue creatures The Smurfs – you know, like Smurfette and Brawny Smurf, so, I molded it into them. Then she told me to act out some very personal scenes with my figurines until she told me it was the lack of dating and male contact that had put me in the downward spiral through my adulthood. She recommended a few things I could do to fix my problems. I took her advice and within months my life was back on track. After all that enlightenment from my doctors I felt like a new person and, in retrospect, I think my childhood would have been better if I wasn’t so hard on myself for being the middle child on a sitcom that lasted forever and made me lots of money and residuals throughout the years.
Genre: Drama
Pop Culture: The Brady Bunch, Smurfs, Play-doh
--------------------------------
Hi, my name is Jan. Well, that was my name on the famed TV show The Brady Bunch, and I’m her to tell you a little about my life story. From early childhood I thought it was my destiny to be in show biz. I loved acting and it was fun for a while. Being the middle sibling on the show gave me a huge complex; being behind Marcia made me feel less of a person week after week, but as I reminisce about the shortcomings of my childhood, it helped me grow up quicker. When the show went off the air I had trouble finding other work besides some infomercials and bit parts that underused my talents. I began to believe that there wasn’t anything left out there for me. I had a bit of a breakdown in the middle of Saks Fifth Avenue on Rodeo Drive. Someone called for an ambulance and when they arrived one of them gave me a tranquilizer and admitted me into the mental wing of the local hospital. Yeah, I was in there for a while. The hospital assigned me a doctor who, in turn, sent me to the in-house therapist who got down to the root of the problem. The therapist put me through a lot of tests and told me that the lack of a relationship with a man led to my breakdown, so I went to a sexologist who explained it to me through using something I thought was weird – playing with Play-Doh. She told me to mold it into a male and female figure and, because the Play-Doh was blue, all I could think about was those blue creatures The Smurfs – you know, like Smurfette and Brawny Smurf, so, I molded it into them. Then she told me to act out some very personal scenes with my figurines until she told me it was the lack of dating and male contact that had put me in the downward spiral through my adulthood. She recommended a few things I could do to fix my problems. I took her advice and within months my life was back on track. After all that enlightenment from my doctors I felt like a new person and, in retrospect, I think my childhood would have been better if I wasn’t so hard on myself for being the middle child on a sitcom that lasted forever and made me lots of money and residuals throughout the years.
A Timeless Tale
by Hillbilly Mom
Genre: Historical Romance
Pop Culture: M. Night Shyamalan, KISS, The Beatles
----------------------------------
(We got a two-fer here, people! She's making up for her self-disqualification last time!)
The great hall was hung with tapestries of rich reds and greens and blues, with gold and silver accents. One was a magnificent unicorn, contained in a small pen. Others showed battle scenes, and the Lord and Lady, while yet another depicted a brightly-colored bird. I made note to ask Edward what kind of fowl sported such bright plumage, for I had never seen one such as this. I walked across a layer of straw, in which dogs wrestled about over bones from the most recent meal. The fire was banked in the huge stone fireplace. People bustled here and there, putting away salt cellars and cups and spoons. It smelled as if chicken and stew had been served, and perhaps mutton. A richer diet than my family was accustomed to, by far. Most of our meals consisted of beans and vegetables, from our own fields. The fields we worked for the Lord.
This was my first time in the castle. Edward had asked if I wanted to come. As a carpenter’s apprentice, Edward often worked inside. His father, Gilbert, agreed to the arrangement, so I put my hair under a hat, and walked along behind them, carrying the toolbox. I did not know the names of all the tools, though I recognized a plane and a chisel. Edward said his father valued the plane above all his other tools. It was covered with fine ornamentation. Edward and Gilbert handled the wood, which I believed to be walnut. We were to build a chest in the Lord’s sleeping area, in a secret compartment, to store his jewelry. With the Lord and Lady away to visit the Lord‘s family, this was the perfect time for the work to be done. The constable had no idea I was along for the job. Even if he had, it would have meant little to him if a farmer’s daughter visited the castle with the carpenters. I could do no harm to his Lord’s property. No one would be the wiser.
It was good of Edward to include me. As the son of a craftsman, he enjoyed more opportunities than I. Edward was fearless. Just last evening, he came by to fetch me to the river for some fishing. My father was still in the fields, and when I heard Edward whistle, I told my mother I was going to look for some truffles. She did not care. I was a big help to her during the day, and when my father was not home, she often let me go off by myself. As I entered the wood, Edward jumped from behind a tree. With a shock, I saw that he had painted his face with clay and soot, so that it nearly glowed white in the dusk, with jagged black outlines of soot about his eyes. Edward stuck out his tongue, so long that it nearly passed his chin. "KISS?” he asked. I blushed. He could be so much fun, so daring. I shook my head. Edward took my hand and pulled me down onto the damp, mossy bank. We sat for a moment in silence, only the babble of the water over the rocks to be heard.
Edward began to hum, then to sing a little tune. “Love, love me. Do.” He treated me as if I was special, not just a plain farmer’s daughter. As though I was nearly his equal, as if he cared about my opinions. He was my destiny. My reason for living. We both knew we were meant to be together. I put my hand on his arm. “Shhh. What was that?” It would not do to be caught alone together on the riverbank, especially by my father. “It is nothing. Just the Beatles chirping in the tree bark,” said Edward. “No one is coming.”
“And what are you, pray tell? Some kind of…m…night shyamalan?” I asked. Edward laughed. “You need some enlightenment, my dear. Methinks the word you are looking for is ‘shaman’.” He pushed the hair from my face and smiled, his countenance eerily white in the half-light. I shall never forget his gentle touch, ere I reminisce into my dotage. “We will be together,” Edward promised. “Nothing can keep me from you. You shall be my wife. It is only a matter of time.” His voice was as soothing as mandrake. Edward said mandrake was a tranquilizer the Lady took for a pain in her tooth. The Lord had sent out a page in the night to find a merchant with the mandrake, which was from a land far away. Edward’s mother was friends with the ale wife, and learned of goings on in the castle from her. It seemed as if Edward knew everything of the world, while I knew nothing. Already, Edward was in the carpenter’s guild, and would never have to want for anything, even when he grew old and could no longer work. My father respected Edward. He would allow me to marry Edward, I was sure, when I was old enough.
In retrospect, Edward had an other-worldly quality about him. He knew where the largest fish lurked under the roots that hung over the riverbank. He could seek out the sweetest honey in the hollow trees of the wood. He sensed which thicket the rabbit would dart into during the chase. He whispered things in my ear the likes of which I had never heard. Words like ‘sexologist’, of which I did not know the meaning, but did not want to ask. Edward was a man ahead of his time. He had traveled out of the village with his father to work on jobs for the Lord. He knew more of the world than most young men his age. Or old men, for that matter.
Something rose from the river and grabbed my foot! Edward put his arms around my shoulders and hugged me tightly. The thing that had my foot would not let go. It squeezed and shook my foot, pulling me toward the river…
********************************************************************
“Hey! I said wake up, Colleen! Yer out cold! Whadya do , take a freakin’ tranquilizer? Them pals o’ yers is on the way over. Ya sure know how ta find ‘em, gal. That long-hair with the KISS t-shirt is about the pick o’ the litter. Try ta get ‘im to shut his infernal yap, wouldja? And I don’t mean set him to singin’ those Beatles songs. He thinks that’s gonna make me like him more, but I’d as soon hear him screechin’ that ‘Rock ’n’ Roll All Night’ crap as mutilatin’ Eleanor Rigby.
“Sit up there, gal! You’re in a daze. Ya dropped yer book. What’s this? Ivanhoe? Jeez! We had ta read that same junk when I was in school. The sisters oughta change it up every century or so. Somebody tell ‘em it’s the Age of Enlightenment already. What’s yous kids need ta know that fairy tale crap for, anyways? Nowadays yer all sneakin’ the TV on at night, watchin’ some freakin’ sexologist or psychic friend. More Phil Donahue--that‘s what we need. It’s tough raisin’ kids these days.
“You watch out for that Shyamalan kid. What’s he go by? M. Night? What the hell kinda name is THAT? Last week, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and said ‘Good evening, Mrs. O’Mara’ to your dear departed mother, God rest her soul. And her been gone 5 years now. What’s in that kid’s noggin, I’ll never know. Be careful ‘round him. I wouldn’t wanna have somethin’ happen, and in retrospect wish I’d a kicked that little sicko to the gutter.
“Well, I’d love to reminisce with yas all night, kiddo, but it’s my destiny ta crack open a cold one and watch the Cubbies. Ya holler if yas need anything. And keep this door open!”
Genre: Historical Romance
Pop Culture: M. Night Shyamalan, KISS, The Beatles
----------------------------------
(We got a two-fer here, people! She's making up for her self-disqualification last time!)
The great hall was hung with tapestries of rich reds and greens and blues, with gold and silver accents. One was a magnificent unicorn, contained in a small pen. Others showed battle scenes, and the Lord and Lady, while yet another depicted a brightly-colored bird. I made note to ask Edward what kind of fowl sported such bright plumage, for I had never seen one such as this. I walked across a layer of straw, in which dogs wrestled about over bones from the most recent meal. The fire was banked in the huge stone fireplace. People bustled here and there, putting away salt cellars and cups and spoons. It smelled as if chicken and stew had been served, and perhaps mutton. A richer diet than my family was accustomed to, by far. Most of our meals consisted of beans and vegetables, from our own fields. The fields we worked for the Lord.
This was my first time in the castle. Edward had asked if I wanted to come. As a carpenter’s apprentice, Edward often worked inside. His father, Gilbert, agreed to the arrangement, so I put my hair under a hat, and walked along behind them, carrying the toolbox. I did not know the names of all the tools, though I recognized a plane and a chisel. Edward said his father valued the plane above all his other tools. It was covered with fine ornamentation. Edward and Gilbert handled the wood, which I believed to be walnut. We were to build a chest in the Lord’s sleeping area, in a secret compartment, to store his jewelry. With the Lord and Lady away to visit the Lord‘s family, this was the perfect time for the work to be done. The constable had no idea I was along for the job. Even if he had, it would have meant little to him if a farmer’s daughter visited the castle with the carpenters. I could do no harm to his Lord’s property. No one would be the wiser.
It was good of Edward to include me. As the son of a craftsman, he enjoyed more opportunities than I. Edward was fearless. Just last evening, he came by to fetch me to the river for some fishing. My father was still in the fields, and when I heard Edward whistle, I told my mother I was going to look for some truffles. She did not care. I was a big help to her during the day, and when my father was not home, she often let me go off by myself. As I entered the wood, Edward jumped from behind a tree. With a shock, I saw that he had painted his face with clay and soot, so that it nearly glowed white in the dusk, with jagged black outlines of soot about his eyes. Edward stuck out his tongue, so long that it nearly passed his chin. "KISS?” he asked. I blushed. He could be so much fun, so daring. I shook my head. Edward took my hand and pulled me down onto the damp, mossy bank. We sat for a moment in silence, only the babble of the water over the rocks to be heard.
Edward began to hum, then to sing a little tune. “Love, love me. Do.” He treated me as if I was special, not just a plain farmer’s daughter. As though I was nearly his equal, as if he cared about my opinions. He was my destiny. My reason for living. We both knew we were meant to be together. I put my hand on his arm. “Shhh. What was that?” It would not do to be caught alone together on the riverbank, especially by my father. “It is nothing. Just the Beatles chirping in the tree bark,” said Edward. “No one is coming.”
“And what are you, pray tell? Some kind of…m…night shyamalan?” I asked. Edward laughed. “You need some enlightenment, my dear. Methinks the word you are looking for is ‘shaman’.” He pushed the hair from my face and smiled, his countenance eerily white in the half-light. I shall never forget his gentle touch, ere I reminisce into my dotage. “We will be together,” Edward promised. “Nothing can keep me from you. You shall be my wife. It is only a matter of time.” His voice was as soothing as mandrake. Edward said mandrake was a tranquilizer the Lady took for a pain in her tooth. The Lord had sent out a page in the night to find a merchant with the mandrake, which was from a land far away. Edward’s mother was friends with the ale wife, and learned of goings on in the castle from her. It seemed as if Edward knew everything of the world, while I knew nothing. Already, Edward was in the carpenter’s guild, and would never have to want for anything, even when he grew old and could no longer work. My father respected Edward. He would allow me to marry Edward, I was sure, when I was old enough.
In retrospect, Edward had an other-worldly quality about him. He knew where the largest fish lurked under the roots that hung over the riverbank. He could seek out the sweetest honey in the hollow trees of the wood. He sensed which thicket the rabbit would dart into during the chase. He whispered things in my ear the likes of which I had never heard. Words like ‘sexologist’, of which I did not know the meaning, but did not want to ask. Edward was a man ahead of his time. He had traveled out of the village with his father to work on jobs for the Lord. He knew more of the world than most young men his age. Or old men, for that matter.
Something rose from the river and grabbed my foot! Edward put his arms around my shoulders and hugged me tightly. The thing that had my foot would not let go. It squeezed and shook my foot, pulling me toward the river…
********************************************************************
“Hey! I said wake up, Colleen! Yer out cold! Whadya do , take a freakin’ tranquilizer? Them pals o’ yers is on the way over. Ya sure know how ta find ‘em, gal. That long-hair with the KISS t-shirt is about the pick o’ the litter. Try ta get ‘im to shut his infernal yap, wouldja? And I don’t mean set him to singin’ those Beatles songs. He thinks that’s gonna make me like him more, but I’d as soon hear him screechin’ that ‘Rock ’n’ Roll All Night’ crap as mutilatin’ Eleanor Rigby.
“Sit up there, gal! You’re in a daze. Ya dropped yer book. What’s this? Ivanhoe? Jeez! We had ta read that same junk when I was in school. The sisters oughta change it up every century or so. Somebody tell ‘em it’s the Age of Enlightenment already. What’s yous kids need ta know that fairy tale crap for, anyways? Nowadays yer all sneakin’ the TV on at night, watchin’ some freakin’ sexologist or psychic friend. More Phil Donahue--that‘s what we need. It’s tough raisin’ kids these days.
“You watch out for that Shyamalan kid. What’s he go by? M. Night? What the hell kinda name is THAT? Last week, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and said ‘Good evening, Mrs. O’Mara’ to your dear departed mother, God rest her soul. And her been gone 5 years now. What’s in that kid’s noggin, I’ll never know. Be careful ‘round him. I wouldn’t wanna have somethin’ happen, and in retrospect wish I’d a kicked that little sicko to the gutter.
“Well, I’d love to reminisce with yas all night, kiddo, but it’s my destiny ta crack open a cold one and watch the Cubbies. Ya holler if yas need anything. And keep this door open!”
Untitled
by Eric
Genre: Fantasy
Pop Culture: Google, the TV show Wife Swap, Frank Sinatra
---------------------------------------
“This doesn’t look good.“
“In retrospect it may have been a bad idea.”
“Oh really? ….May have been a bad idea? Ya think?”
Her retort was not as sarcastic as it sounded, but nonetheless hurt Mark deeply. It had been his idea to go through the portal they had created in Sara’s garage. “It’s not all my fault, you made the portal.”
“Let’s not reminisce about who did what and whose fault it is, the fact remains that we need to find a way back.” Sara had started the argument, and as per her usual need, she had finished the argument. It was true that she had drawn the circle in the floor using her niece’s chalk, but she had no idea that it would open a portal to another dimension. And although Mark had suggested jumping in, the lure of the lush forest and golden sunshine in it had more of an appeal than the eight straight days of rain they had been living through . “So you got any more bright ideas Einstein?”
As if on cue her palm pilot lit up and played one of those Avril songs she had on there simply to annoy her husband. “You’re getting service out here?” “No, it was just a reminder that we were supposed to go see the sexologist today.”
This caused Mark to laugh. It had been her idea because she thought there marriage needed a little spicing up. Sara had seen a clip about the sexologist while watching an episode of Wife-Swap. That had also made him laugh. Wife-swap, sexologist…he still couldn’t believe he was going to go see her. I mean Sara had just picked the first doctor off a Google search and made an appointment.
“You know, I don’t really think she would have helped us anyways.”
“Yeah, like you got all the answers.”
“I know one thing you don’t know.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
She had turned her head to look at her husband and fell face forward into the ground. The last thing she remembered was a large object blocking out the sun. Had she been awake, she would have seen four men standing above her and her husband. Two of the men were carrying crudely made long pipes. They had hit them with some primitive form of tranquilizers. Had Mark and Sara been awake to see, they would have seen these men dressed in black and white medieval tunics and chain link armor. A fifth man appeared, leading a horse that pulled a small cart. The five of them loaded the couple in with what appeared to be 3 kegs of liquor.
They awoke later that night in what appeared to be a medieval dungeon. Both of them noticed immediately that their shoes had been removed and Sara was missing her wedding ring. There was a little light coming up from underneath a large black door. Mark started knocking on it in several places before pronouncing it solid. Sara had just sat down on hand-woven grass mat when a small piece of wood slid from the middle of the door and a bellowing voice told them to stand back from the door. They both moved to the back of the cell and the opening closed again. The door swung open very slowly and a hunched back little man appeared in the doorway.
“The King wants to meet you oddly clad strangers. Now we can do this the easy way or we can do this the real easy way,” he said as he produced a shackle and threw it down on the floor. “One for each of your wrists” he said as he licked his lips and stared at Sara. Mark picked up the shackle and clasped his wrist with one and handed the other to Sara. She hesitated for a second and the hunchback made a move for them.
“I got it, I got it!” she yelled hoping to keep his slimy hands from touching her. She clasped the shackle around her right wrist and kind of shook it showing that it was on tightly.
“Very well then. Off to see the King.” He motioned for them to follow and they clumsily exited the cell. Standing behind them were two very large guards holding very large axes. They were led down a long hallway, up a flight of stairs and into a huge dining hall.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“We are definitely not in Kansas anymore….” Mark was staring at the room with his mouth agape. He had assumed they were in medieval times, but this dining hall was reminiscent of a night club from the 1950s. Instead of little dining tables dotting the room, there were 3 long tables packed with exquisitely dressed lords and ladies. At the end of the hall was a huge stage with an elaborately jeweled throne. To one side was …unbelievably, what can only be described as a big band box. There were about two dozen black and white clad musicians all holding horns. To the left of the big throne sat four smaller less ornate thrones. As the guests rose to their feet, the big band started playing a song Mark eerily recognized.
“That’s Come Fly with Me.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah my father loved to listen to….”
Mark’s words were drowned out by a huge applause. Both turned their heads to the main stage and saw the king arriving. Sara closed her eyes and shook her head thinking she had to be dreaming. She had expected something weird in a nightclub throne room in a medieval castle…but this was outrageous. After the applause died down and the king took his seat , the hunchbacked jailor strode up and kneeled before the stage. After paying his allegiance to the king he ascended the stage and began to whisper to the king. The king burst from his throne and caused quite a stir amongst the dinner guests making the room fall silent.
“Bring them forward,” he bellowed . The two guards pushed Mark and Sara forward and they moved toward the stage at a brisk pace. As they neared the stage one of the guards tripped Sara , sending both of them to their knees. “You will bow to the king,” one of them said in a muffled voice. Mark looked up and saw the most unbelievable thing in this fantasy world. Standing before him on the stage was a man wearing a tuxedo with a red and gold crown, a lavish cape, and holding a gem encrusted scepter. Mark closed his eyes and squinted, hoping that he was dreaming. The man before him walked forward and offered his hand to Sara.
“You’ll have to forgive these cats, baby. They got no manners for beautiful women.” The king helped her to her feet as Mark rose at the same time. “Are you really Frank Sinatra?”
“It doesn’t get any more real than me , baby.” Frank waved the guards to back up and left the 3 alone at the foot of the stage. ”But…but you’re dead. I saw the funeral on CNN.”
“It was crazy man. There I was on my deathbed at the hospital. I think I was hallucinating or something. Then I see this white light and I think to myself that heaven’s calling me. I remember trying to say that I was losing my grip on the world, but the light flashed and I woke up in this forest. I wasn’t my old self, I was my old self. Well you know what I’m saying , baby. I was as I am now. I look 30 but I got 90 years of experience behind it.”
Mark had a wide smile on his face. He had loved Sinatra as a kid because his grandfather only played Sinatra. It had made Mark a huge fan of his. He began to wonder if he had created this world with Sinatra as the king as a dreamland. “Frank, I gotta ask ya. How did you go from chairman of the board to king of the castle?”
“That’s a great question. Do you believe in destiny?” Mark responded with a simple nod of his head. “Well so do I. If I tell you how to become king here, you’ll have all my power and riches. My transformation here has brought me a certain enlightenment. And I’ll be damned if I let some punks from the future take that away from me!” He made a motion to the guards and two logs were brought in front of them. Mark and Sara were pushed down onto the blocks of wood and had their hands secured to the bottom. “Sorry kiddos, but there’s only room for one king here.” Frank raised a goblet from his throne and made a motion for everyone to raise their cups.
“Let’s drink to tonight’s entertainment. May God grant them the mercy of a swift death.” The crowd raised their cups , drank and then cheered raucously . Frank started singing a farewell song for them. The last thing Mark heard as the guard’s axe fell was the unmistakable lyrics ….
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way.
Genre: Fantasy
Pop Culture: Google, the TV show Wife Swap, Frank Sinatra
---------------------------------------
“This doesn’t look good.“
“In retrospect it may have been a bad idea.”
“Oh really? ….May have been a bad idea? Ya think?”
Her retort was not as sarcastic as it sounded, but nonetheless hurt Mark deeply. It had been his idea to go through the portal they had created in Sara’s garage. “It’s not all my fault, you made the portal.”
“Let’s not reminisce about who did what and whose fault it is, the fact remains that we need to find a way back.” Sara had started the argument, and as per her usual need, she had finished the argument. It was true that she had drawn the circle in the floor using her niece’s chalk, but she had no idea that it would open a portal to another dimension. And although Mark had suggested jumping in, the lure of the lush forest and golden sunshine in it had more of an appeal than the eight straight days of rain they had been living through . “So you got any more bright ideas Einstein?”
As if on cue her palm pilot lit up and played one of those Avril songs she had on there simply to annoy her husband. “You’re getting service out here?” “No, it was just a reminder that we were supposed to go see the sexologist today.”
This caused Mark to laugh. It had been her idea because she thought there marriage needed a little spicing up. Sara had seen a clip about the sexologist while watching an episode of Wife-Swap. That had also made him laugh. Wife-swap, sexologist…he still couldn’t believe he was going to go see her. I mean Sara had just picked the first doctor off a Google search and made an appointment.
“You know, I don’t really think she would have helped us anyways.”
“Yeah, like you got all the answers.”
“I know one thing you don’t know.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
She had turned her head to look at her husband and fell face forward into the ground. The last thing she remembered was a large object blocking out the sun. Had she been awake, she would have seen four men standing above her and her husband. Two of the men were carrying crudely made long pipes. They had hit them with some primitive form of tranquilizers. Had Mark and Sara been awake to see, they would have seen these men dressed in black and white medieval tunics and chain link armor. A fifth man appeared, leading a horse that pulled a small cart. The five of them loaded the couple in with what appeared to be 3 kegs of liquor.
They awoke later that night in what appeared to be a medieval dungeon. Both of them noticed immediately that their shoes had been removed and Sara was missing her wedding ring. There was a little light coming up from underneath a large black door. Mark started knocking on it in several places before pronouncing it solid. Sara had just sat down on hand-woven grass mat when a small piece of wood slid from the middle of the door and a bellowing voice told them to stand back from the door. They both moved to the back of the cell and the opening closed again. The door swung open very slowly and a hunched back little man appeared in the doorway.
“The King wants to meet you oddly clad strangers. Now we can do this the easy way or we can do this the real easy way,” he said as he produced a shackle and threw it down on the floor. “One for each of your wrists” he said as he licked his lips and stared at Sara. Mark picked up the shackle and clasped his wrist with one and handed the other to Sara. She hesitated for a second and the hunchback made a move for them.
“I got it, I got it!” she yelled hoping to keep his slimy hands from touching her. She clasped the shackle around her right wrist and kind of shook it showing that it was on tightly.
“Very well then. Off to see the King.” He motioned for them to follow and they clumsily exited the cell. Standing behind them were two very large guards holding very large axes. They were led down a long hallway, up a flight of stairs and into a huge dining hall.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“We are definitely not in Kansas anymore….” Mark was staring at the room with his mouth agape. He had assumed they were in medieval times, but this dining hall was reminiscent of a night club from the 1950s. Instead of little dining tables dotting the room, there were 3 long tables packed with exquisitely dressed lords and ladies. At the end of the hall was a huge stage with an elaborately jeweled throne. To one side was …unbelievably, what can only be described as a big band box. There were about two dozen black and white clad musicians all holding horns. To the left of the big throne sat four smaller less ornate thrones. As the guests rose to their feet, the big band started playing a song Mark eerily recognized.
“That’s Come Fly with Me.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah my father loved to listen to….”
Mark’s words were drowned out by a huge applause. Both turned their heads to the main stage and saw the king arriving. Sara closed her eyes and shook her head thinking she had to be dreaming. She had expected something weird in a nightclub throne room in a medieval castle…but this was outrageous. After the applause died down and the king took his seat , the hunchbacked jailor strode up and kneeled before the stage. After paying his allegiance to the king he ascended the stage and began to whisper to the king. The king burst from his throne and caused quite a stir amongst the dinner guests making the room fall silent.
“Bring them forward,” he bellowed . The two guards pushed Mark and Sara forward and they moved toward the stage at a brisk pace. As they neared the stage one of the guards tripped Sara , sending both of them to their knees. “You will bow to the king,” one of them said in a muffled voice. Mark looked up and saw the most unbelievable thing in this fantasy world. Standing before him on the stage was a man wearing a tuxedo with a red and gold crown, a lavish cape, and holding a gem encrusted scepter. Mark closed his eyes and squinted, hoping that he was dreaming. The man before him walked forward and offered his hand to Sara.
“You’ll have to forgive these cats, baby. They got no manners for beautiful women.” The king helped her to her feet as Mark rose at the same time. “Are you really Frank Sinatra?”
“It doesn’t get any more real than me , baby.” Frank waved the guards to back up and left the 3 alone at the foot of the stage. ”But…but you’re dead. I saw the funeral on CNN.”
“It was crazy man. There I was on my deathbed at the hospital. I think I was hallucinating or something. Then I see this white light and I think to myself that heaven’s calling me. I remember trying to say that I was losing my grip on the world, but the light flashed and I woke up in this forest. I wasn’t my old self, I was my old self. Well you know what I’m saying , baby. I was as I am now. I look 30 but I got 90 years of experience behind it.”
Mark had a wide smile on his face. He had loved Sinatra as a kid because his grandfather only played Sinatra. It had made Mark a huge fan of his. He began to wonder if he had created this world with Sinatra as the king as a dreamland. “Frank, I gotta ask ya. How did you go from chairman of the board to king of the castle?”
“That’s a great question. Do you believe in destiny?” Mark responded with a simple nod of his head. “Well so do I. If I tell you how to become king here, you’ll have all my power and riches. My transformation here has brought me a certain enlightenment. And I’ll be damned if I let some punks from the future take that away from me!” He made a motion to the guards and two logs were brought in front of them. Mark and Sara were pushed down onto the blocks of wood and had their hands secured to the bottom. “Sorry kiddos, but there’s only room for one king here.” Frank raised a goblet from his throne and made a motion for everyone to raise their cups.
“Let’s drink to tonight’s entertainment. May God grant them the mercy of a swift death.” The crowd raised their cups , drank and then cheered raucously . Frank started singing a farewell song for them. The last thing Mark heard as the guard’s axe fell was the unmistakable lyrics ….
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way.
Denny Crane and the Case of the Heiress
by Elizabeth
Genre: Mystery
Pop Culture: Paris Hilton, Harry Potter, Denny Crane (from Boston Legal)
-----------------------------------------------
“The law is crystal clear Mr. Crane. You are not permitted to wear cowboy boots unless you already own at least two cows and no less than 43 Blythe citizens saw your client this very morning, as she walked about in what can only be described as cowboy boots. Hell, TMZ already posted photos of the indiscretion! Now, unless you can produce proof positive that Miss. Hilton does in fact have in her possession two separate bovine, I’m afraid I simply can not dismiss these charges.”
Denny Crane stared dumbfounded at the judge, then sank into the incredibly uncomfortable wooden chair beside his client. Bovine? Blythe? He’d really pissed off the communist regime this time, and now he was paying penance. Plenty of people carry loaded weapons into the courtroom; it’s just makes good sense. He looked again at the judge, whose plaid flannel collar peeked ominously above his robes, then at prosecuting attorney who hadn’t bothered to change from his jeans and Marlboro tee-shirt, and realized drastic measures were needed.
“Your honor I’d like to move for a change in venue. My client is a very busy and very successful celebrity of some importance to the state of California.” Denny rose from his seat and faced the judge with a winning smile, “She’s actually scheduled to make a personal appearance tomorrow at the 8th Annual Erotica Show in Los Angeles. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Famed sexologist Ava Cadell is this year’s ambassador?”
Judge Shermer glared at Denny from the bench before quickly ruling against the change in venue. “Your client can perform in whatever sex show she likes once she faces these charges.” With a ceremonial swing his gavel crashed onto the bench twice as he declared, “The defendant is remanded into custody pending trial. No bail!”
“Your honor! My client will never get a fair trial …your honor???” But the judge had disappeared to his chambers which were no doubt chock full of antlers, kegerators and safety orange. Denny turned to the defendant and celebutante, Paris Hilton, who looked questioningly at him as the bailiff placed handcuffs on her anorexic wrists.
“Don’t worry,” his words were lost in the shuffle of feet as Paris was led through double wooden doors, “Denny Crane never loses a case.”
By morning Paris’ mood was as foul as the body odor, which preceded her into the meeting room. Denny slid a brown paper bag across the table and waited while Paris took advantage of the breath mints, then smiled as she squirted a liberal dose of Binaca into each arm pit. “Ingenious, darling.”
“Tell me you spent the night pouring through little legal journals and have found the perfect loop-hole to spring me from this hell hole!” Her voice rose with each syllable and she looked suspiciously at the guard just inside the door and shivered involuntarily.
“Actually, no. I did spend the night pouring through ‘little legal journals’ and unfortunately you’ve been charged with what we refer to as a blue law.” The blank look on her face prompted further explanation. “Blue laws are obscure, mostly irrelevant laws which are rarely, if ever, enforced. They’re generally not considered worth the time or expense necessary to remove them. In fact, most people outside the legal community aren’t generally aware of them. Which leads to the obvious question…”
“What question?” Paris was hanging onto the conversation, but just barely.
“Someone set you up. These laws are usually so obscure the general populace wouldn’t be aware of them. So, I’m assuming someone who knew you’d be here, and knew about the law, set this situation up. The question is, who? Who knew you’d be filming here yesterday?”
“Only a million people. The shooting schedule for the show is set months in advance so the entire production staff would be aware of it. The media gets a press kit with a detailed schedule, and the production crew has to coordinate with the locals. We practically need permits to cross the street and all that.” Paris popped another much needed breath mint into her mouth and waited patiently for Denny to continue.
“Ok, let’s try something easier. Who, amongst those who knew you’d be here, would want to screw you over?”
“Um, only a million people. Ex-boyfriends, their ex-girlfriends, former employees, attorneys, publicists, managers, directors…” She trailed off and played with a stray strand of over-processed platinum blonde hair.
Denny stared at his client and realized there was quite possibly a million people who would want to see her behind bars. “I’m going to need a list of the crew...anyone with access to the set this week.”
“They faxed all of that over for you this morning. What I wanna know is, when is the arrangement and when am I getting out of here?”
Denny spoke to the guard quickly about picking up the faxes then turned to Paris. “The ‘arraignment’ was yesterday. You were there, remember? And I’m afraid until we figure out who’s behind the wayward cowboy boots, you’re stuck in the clink.”
The cast and crew of “The Simple Life” had been filming an episode just north of Blythe. The episode entitled Enlightenment, was another attempt to showcase the sad and awkward difference between the stars of the show and ordinary folk. Denny perused the faxed lists and determined no less than 79 crew members were present and accounted for the day Paris was arrested. Another 35 were back in Los Angeles. In retrospect, he realized the list of people who didn’t have access to the show and specifically, who didn’t want Paris in jail, would have been much shorter.
Feeling stymied and disgruntled, Denny slammed the faxes onto the rickety dinner table in his less than immaculate hotel room, and turned the television set on. He flipped channels briefly before landing on an entertainment news network. Ah! His new high profile client would warrant a mention on the entertainment networks and by default, he would warrant a mention. Maybe even a photo or live shot from a past case. He allowed himself to reminisce about the good old days when he and his father wrangled the law in and out of court. Things were better then, simpler. Now, the democrats ruled with their taxes and elevators.
“We’re naturally devastated by her arrest, but production won’t stop. In fact, we’re filming revised scenes tomorrow without Paris.” Denny glanced at the television screen and was met by the beaming face of Nicole Richie. “I mean it sucks that she can’t be with us, but I know she’d want me to go on…. in her place.” Denny snatched the fax from the wobbling table and flipped through to the sheet listing cast members. “Nicole Richie…. supporting actress.”
Most of the cast and crew were staying in the equally disastrous hotel four blocks over. Denny knew from his earlier excursions he’d never find anything even resembling a taxi, so he set off on foot. The concierge stared at him with a familiar blank look when he asked for Miss. Richie’s room number and Denny realized she was probably using a pseudonym. He fished the cast sheets from his briefcase and offered them to the clerk, but was quickly informed the man only spoke English. He couldn’t read it.
“I have photos…see?” He handed the clerk the sheet again and the man smiled with recognition.
“Yes, ci. Is Mrs. Potter.” The clerk beamed at Denny and handed him the fax.
“Potter?”
“Yes, ci. Mrs. Harry Potter. She at park, with Mr. Potter.”
Denny shouted a quick ‘adios’ to the clerk and headed towards the park. He heard Nicole and her mysterious Mr. Potter before he actually saw them. Nicole was wearing her trademark voluminous blouse and micro shorts and was laughing hysterically as she straddling a red and green seesaw. At the other end, doing his best impersonation of a Greek God, was Stavros Niarchos.
“Miss. Richie, might I have a word with you?” Denny approached Nicole from behind and caught her by surprise. She recovered quickly and smiled smugly as she dismounted the seesaw.
“Mr. Crane I’ve been expecting you, but I don’t know how I can help poor Paris.” Nicole sidled up to Stavros and flung her arm around him possessively.
Denny laughed facetiously and shot Nicole a piercing look. “I agree Miss. Richie. I don’t think there’s anything you could…or would do to help Paris out of this mess. I am curious about one thing though…who was your accomplice?”
Nicole glared at Denny Crane. She whispered to Stavros and he reluctantly wandered over to a nearby bench and sat. Nicole watched until he was out of earshot before she turned to Denny with a murderous look on her face. “Do you know anything about destiny Mr. Crane? Do you have any idea who my family is? My father was the lead singer for the most successful band of the 70’s and my mother was a model. I was meant to be a star. My destiny…is to be a star!”
Denny pondered this a moment and said, “I thought you were adopted?”
“That’s not important! I grew up in Hollywood knowing I’d be a star someday. No one ever sat me down as a child and said I’d grow up to be a great sidekick, second best co-star to some used up wanna-be celebrity. Her family isn’t even in entertainment! They’re in the hotel business!” Nicole slumped back onto the seesaw and crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant child.
“So you torpedoed her career thinking you’d step in as the star attraction? And you obviously had help. Why don’t you tell me how you arranged this?’
“Fine. It’s not like you can prove any of this anyway. We get the schedule weeks in advance so I knew we’d be in Blythe. It’s as small town as you can get. Kourtney…. Kardashian was telling me about these crazy blue laws one day. Like, in Alabama it’s illegal for a 200-pound woman to ride a horse in shorts. Crazy, huh? So I looked up the blue laws for Blythe. Turns out they’re just as wacky. I found one about cowboy boots and had a little chat with the wardrobe chick. It’s not like it was hard. Paris is fanatical about what shoes she wears. She’s got these boat-sized feet! Anyway, I called the sheriff the morning we were going to film and tipped him.” Nicole laughed. “I actually had to explain the law to him. Then I had to explain how the arrest would make national news and get all kinds of recognition for Blythe. And let’s face it, they can sure use some publicity…it’s like a ghost town around here.” She gestured around the deserted park and streets to emphasize her point.
Denny just stared at her. Despite everything, he liked the kid. She wasn’t nearly as stupid as he’d thought and she had spunk. She was a bit crazy, but then so was he. Unfortunately, she was right about one important fact. He couldn’t prove she’d done anything...and that wouldn’t help Paris.
For the next two days Denny sat next to Paris while the prosecution paraded a stunning array of witnesses through the courtroom. Apparently half of Blythe had turned out to watch the filming of the Simple Life. After each and every witness swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but…they all testified to seeing Paris sashaying about city streets in the offensive cowboy boots. Denny seemed to be paying rapt attention and would occasionally scribble furiously on his official looking legal pad. Paris grew more anxious with each passing witness. From her seat next to Denny she was able to see the legal pad clearly and couldn’t help but worry at the growing number of caricatures of Judge Shermer and the prosecuting attorney in various compromising positions. On day two, Denny gave up his doodles and began making slash marks in count with the number of times ‘ya’ll was uttered by the witnesses.
The third morning of the trial the prosecution finally rested. Paris was near tears by this point by Denny seemed jubilant. He leaped from his seat and approached the judge.
“Your honor, I’d like to draw the court’s attention to exhibit 1-A.” Denny held up a small book. “The Department of Podiatry: A History of Boots written by Cameron Kippen, professor at Cullen University of Technology in Perth Washington.” Denny flipped to a page marked by a yellow post-it.
“Standard cavalry issue during the American Civil War was the Wellington Boot. The modern Wellington had a low cut heel, which was calf high and not thigh high. Low heeled, high-topped boots made in hard, black leather called kip were often made by German immigrants. The most popular was the Coffeyville Boot from Coffeyville, Kansas. It combined the various US Cavalry styles and the original British leather, Wellington boot. By the 1880's the cowboy boot was beginning to emerge as a distinctive style. Starting life as a dress Wellington or full Wellington, the fashion merged with the hardwearing lace up boot (or packer), worn by drovers.” Denny looked up to be sure he had the court’s undivided attention before he read more.
“ Later the three-piece military boot was incorporated and worn by Hollywood's Cowboys. At first, films were made in the Eastern States and the costumes were based on exaggerated clothing illustrated in cheap novels and comics. By the time the industry moved to California in 1914 and employed real cowboys, their clothes were dull compared to the illusion. Instead actors wore highly decorated boots outside their trousers. It is therefore somewhat surprising to think; today’s cowboy boots are really fantasy footwear fabricated by Hollywood and have little to do with the Wild West.” Denny closed the book before he faced the small jury and continued.
“Today’s cowboy boots are ironically enough, an invention of Hollywood...the very place from which the defendant hails. More importantly, it should be noted the term ‘cowboy boot’ is a slang expression adopted by movie producers in relation to the western themed movies produced in the mid 1920’s, in which these boots were used. Cowboy boots are actually an adaptation of the English Wellington boots. So, I ask the court, if cowboy boots don’t actually exist how can my client be guilty of wearing them?
Denny placed the book gently on the judge’s bench before declaring, “I move all charges against my client be dismissed.”
Denny wandered over to the local drinking hole after the trial hoping for a cigar and some libation. Within minutes of the dismissal his cell phone had begun to ring. Now, hours later his head was throbbing from the cheap beer and smokey interior. When the waitress approached he inquired about something for his headache. “A percocet, vicodin, a tranquilizer!” The waitress promised to look behind the bar and replaced his empty bottle with a full one. Denny exhaled slowly and picked up his phone. He’d been forced to turn the ringer off after the twentieth call, but looked at the brightly lit screen to see who was calling this time. Paris? He clicked the ‘talk’ button and tentatively said ‘hello’?
“Mr. Crane, remember those blue laws? Well, apparently there’s some in Nevada too. Something about riding a camel down a highway. Could you come to Vegas?”
Genre: Mystery
Pop Culture: Paris Hilton, Harry Potter, Denny Crane (from Boston Legal)
-----------------------------------------------
“The law is crystal clear Mr. Crane. You are not permitted to wear cowboy boots unless you already own at least two cows and no less than 43 Blythe citizens saw your client this very morning, as she walked about in what can only be described as cowboy boots. Hell, TMZ already posted photos of the indiscretion! Now, unless you can produce proof positive that Miss. Hilton does in fact have in her possession two separate bovine, I’m afraid I simply can not dismiss these charges.”
Denny Crane stared dumbfounded at the judge, then sank into the incredibly uncomfortable wooden chair beside his client. Bovine? Blythe? He’d really pissed off the communist regime this time, and now he was paying penance. Plenty of people carry loaded weapons into the courtroom; it’s just makes good sense. He looked again at the judge, whose plaid flannel collar peeked ominously above his robes, then at prosecuting attorney who hadn’t bothered to change from his jeans and Marlboro tee-shirt, and realized drastic measures were needed.
“Your honor I’d like to move for a change in venue. My client is a very busy and very successful celebrity of some importance to the state of California.” Denny rose from his seat and faced the judge with a winning smile, “She’s actually scheduled to make a personal appearance tomorrow at the 8th Annual Erotica Show in Los Angeles. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Famed sexologist Ava Cadell is this year’s ambassador?”
Judge Shermer glared at Denny from the bench before quickly ruling against the change in venue. “Your client can perform in whatever sex show she likes once she faces these charges.” With a ceremonial swing his gavel crashed onto the bench twice as he declared, “The defendant is remanded into custody pending trial. No bail!”
“Your honor! My client will never get a fair trial …your honor???” But the judge had disappeared to his chambers which were no doubt chock full of antlers, kegerators and safety orange. Denny turned to the defendant and celebutante, Paris Hilton, who looked questioningly at him as the bailiff placed handcuffs on her anorexic wrists.
“Don’t worry,” his words were lost in the shuffle of feet as Paris was led through double wooden doors, “Denny Crane never loses a case.”
By morning Paris’ mood was as foul as the body odor, which preceded her into the meeting room. Denny slid a brown paper bag across the table and waited while Paris took advantage of the breath mints, then smiled as she squirted a liberal dose of Binaca into each arm pit. “Ingenious, darling.”
“Tell me you spent the night pouring through little legal journals and have found the perfect loop-hole to spring me from this hell hole!” Her voice rose with each syllable and she looked suspiciously at the guard just inside the door and shivered involuntarily.
“Actually, no. I did spend the night pouring through ‘little legal journals’ and unfortunately you’ve been charged with what we refer to as a blue law.” The blank look on her face prompted further explanation. “Blue laws are obscure, mostly irrelevant laws which are rarely, if ever, enforced. They’re generally not considered worth the time or expense necessary to remove them. In fact, most people outside the legal community aren’t generally aware of them. Which leads to the obvious question…”
“What question?” Paris was hanging onto the conversation, but just barely.
“Someone set you up. These laws are usually so obscure the general populace wouldn’t be aware of them. So, I’m assuming someone who knew you’d be here, and knew about the law, set this situation up. The question is, who? Who knew you’d be filming here yesterday?”
“Only a million people. The shooting schedule for the show is set months in advance so the entire production staff would be aware of it. The media gets a press kit with a detailed schedule, and the production crew has to coordinate with the locals. We practically need permits to cross the street and all that.” Paris popped another much needed breath mint into her mouth and waited patiently for Denny to continue.
“Ok, let’s try something easier. Who, amongst those who knew you’d be here, would want to screw you over?”
“Um, only a million people. Ex-boyfriends, their ex-girlfriends, former employees, attorneys, publicists, managers, directors…” She trailed off and played with a stray strand of over-processed platinum blonde hair.
Denny stared at his client and realized there was quite possibly a million people who would want to see her behind bars. “I’m going to need a list of the crew...anyone with access to the set this week.”
“They faxed all of that over for you this morning. What I wanna know is, when is the arrangement and when am I getting out of here?”
Denny spoke to the guard quickly about picking up the faxes then turned to Paris. “The ‘arraignment’ was yesterday. You were there, remember? And I’m afraid until we figure out who’s behind the wayward cowboy boots, you’re stuck in the clink.”
The cast and crew of “The Simple Life” had been filming an episode just north of Blythe. The episode entitled Enlightenment, was another attempt to showcase the sad and awkward difference between the stars of the show and ordinary folk. Denny perused the faxed lists and determined no less than 79 crew members were present and accounted for the day Paris was arrested. Another 35 were back in Los Angeles. In retrospect, he realized the list of people who didn’t have access to the show and specifically, who didn’t want Paris in jail, would have been much shorter.
Feeling stymied and disgruntled, Denny slammed the faxes onto the rickety dinner table in his less than immaculate hotel room, and turned the television set on. He flipped channels briefly before landing on an entertainment news network. Ah! His new high profile client would warrant a mention on the entertainment networks and by default, he would warrant a mention. Maybe even a photo or live shot from a past case. He allowed himself to reminisce about the good old days when he and his father wrangled the law in and out of court. Things were better then, simpler. Now, the democrats ruled with their taxes and elevators.
“We’re naturally devastated by her arrest, but production won’t stop. In fact, we’re filming revised scenes tomorrow without Paris.” Denny glanced at the television screen and was met by the beaming face of Nicole Richie. “I mean it sucks that she can’t be with us, but I know she’d want me to go on…. in her place.” Denny snatched the fax from the wobbling table and flipped through to the sheet listing cast members. “Nicole Richie…. supporting actress.”
Most of the cast and crew were staying in the equally disastrous hotel four blocks over. Denny knew from his earlier excursions he’d never find anything even resembling a taxi, so he set off on foot. The concierge stared at him with a familiar blank look when he asked for Miss. Richie’s room number and Denny realized she was probably using a pseudonym. He fished the cast sheets from his briefcase and offered them to the clerk, but was quickly informed the man only spoke English. He couldn’t read it.
“I have photos…see?” He handed the clerk the sheet again and the man smiled with recognition.
“Yes, ci. Is Mrs. Potter.” The clerk beamed at Denny and handed him the fax.
“Potter?”
“Yes, ci. Mrs. Harry Potter. She at park, with Mr. Potter.”
Denny shouted a quick ‘adios’ to the clerk and headed towards the park. He heard Nicole and her mysterious Mr. Potter before he actually saw them. Nicole was wearing her trademark voluminous blouse and micro shorts and was laughing hysterically as she straddling a red and green seesaw. At the other end, doing his best impersonation of a Greek God, was Stavros Niarchos.
“Miss. Richie, might I have a word with you?” Denny approached Nicole from behind and caught her by surprise. She recovered quickly and smiled smugly as she dismounted the seesaw.
“Mr. Crane I’ve been expecting you, but I don’t know how I can help poor Paris.” Nicole sidled up to Stavros and flung her arm around him possessively.
Denny laughed facetiously and shot Nicole a piercing look. “I agree Miss. Richie. I don’t think there’s anything you could…or would do to help Paris out of this mess. I am curious about one thing though…who was your accomplice?”
Nicole glared at Denny Crane. She whispered to Stavros and he reluctantly wandered over to a nearby bench and sat. Nicole watched until he was out of earshot before she turned to Denny with a murderous look on her face. “Do you know anything about destiny Mr. Crane? Do you have any idea who my family is? My father was the lead singer for the most successful band of the 70’s and my mother was a model. I was meant to be a star. My destiny…is to be a star!”
Denny pondered this a moment and said, “I thought you were adopted?”
“That’s not important! I grew up in Hollywood knowing I’d be a star someday. No one ever sat me down as a child and said I’d grow up to be a great sidekick, second best co-star to some used up wanna-be celebrity. Her family isn’t even in entertainment! They’re in the hotel business!” Nicole slumped back onto the seesaw and crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant child.
“So you torpedoed her career thinking you’d step in as the star attraction? And you obviously had help. Why don’t you tell me how you arranged this?’
“Fine. It’s not like you can prove any of this anyway. We get the schedule weeks in advance so I knew we’d be in Blythe. It’s as small town as you can get. Kourtney…. Kardashian was telling me about these crazy blue laws one day. Like, in Alabama it’s illegal for a 200-pound woman to ride a horse in shorts. Crazy, huh? So I looked up the blue laws for Blythe. Turns out they’re just as wacky. I found one about cowboy boots and had a little chat with the wardrobe chick. It’s not like it was hard. Paris is fanatical about what shoes she wears. She’s got these boat-sized feet! Anyway, I called the sheriff the morning we were going to film and tipped him.” Nicole laughed. “I actually had to explain the law to him. Then I had to explain how the arrest would make national news and get all kinds of recognition for Blythe. And let’s face it, they can sure use some publicity…it’s like a ghost town around here.” She gestured around the deserted park and streets to emphasize her point.
Denny just stared at her. Despite everything, he liked the kid. She wasn’t nearly as stupid as he’d thought and she had spunk. She was a bit crazy, but then so was he. Unfortunately, she was right about one important fact. He couldn’t prove she’d done anything...and that wouldn’t help Paris.
For the next two days Denny sat next to Paris while the prosecution paraded a stunning array of witnesses through the courtroom. Apparently half of Blythe had turned out to watch the filming of the Simple Life. After each and every witness swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but…they all testified to seeing Paris sashaying about city streets in the offensive cowboy boots. Denny seemed to be paying rapt attention and would occasionally scribble furiously on his official looking legal pad. Paris grew more anxious with each passing witness. From her seat next to Denny she was able to see the legal pad clearly and couldn’t help but worry at the growing number of caricatures of Judge Shermer and the prosecuting attorney in various compromising positions. On day two, Denny gave up his doodles and began making slash marks in count with the number of times ‘ya’ll was uttered by the witnesses.
The third morning of the trial the prosecution finally rested. Paris was near tears by this point by Denny seemed jubilant. He leaped from his seat and approached the judge.
“Your honor, I’d like to draw the court’s attention to exhibit 1-A.” Denny held up a small book. “The Department of Podiatry: A History of Boots written by Cameron Kippen, professor at Cullen University of Technology in Perth Washington.” Denny flipped to a page marked by a yellow post-it.
“Standard cavalry issue during the American Civil War was the Wellington Boot. The modern Wellington had a low cut heel, which was calf high and not thigh high. Low heeled, high-topped boots made in hard, black leather called kip were often made by German immigrants. The most popular was the Coffeyville Boot from Coffeyville, Kansas. It combined the various US Cavalry styles and the original British leather, Wellington boot. By the 1880's the cowboy boot was beginning to emerge as a distinctive style. Starting life as a dress Wellington or full Wellington, the fashion merged with the hardwearing lace up boot (or packer), worn by drovers.” Denny looked up to be sure he had the court’s undivided attention before he read more.
“ Later the three-piece military boot was incorporated and worn by Hollywood's Cowboys. At first, films were made in the Eastern States and the costumes were based on exaggerated clothing illustrated in cheap novels and comics. By the time the industry moved to California in 1914 and employed real cowboys, their clothes were dull compared to the illusion. Instead actors wore highly decorated boots outside their trousers. It is therefore somewhat surprising to think; today’s cowboy boots are really fantasy footwear fabricated by Hollywood and have little to do with the Wild West.” Denny closed the book before he faced the small jury and continued.
“Today’s cowboy boots are ironically enough, an invention of Hollywood...the very place from which the defendant hails. More importantly, it should be noted the term ‘cowboy boot’ is a slang expression adopted by movie producers in relation to the western themed movies produced in the mid 1920’s, in which these boots were used. Cowboy boots are actually an adaptation of the English Wellington boots. So, I ask the court, if cowboy boots don’t actually exist how can my client be guilty of wearing them?
Denny placed the book gently on the judge’s bench before declaring, “I move all charges against my client be dismissed.”
Denny wandered over to the local drinking hole after the trial hoping for a cigar and some libation. Within minutes of the dismissal his cell phone had begun to ring. Now, hours later his head was throbbing from the cheap beer and smokey interior. When the waitress approached he inquired about something for his headache. “A percocet, vicodin, a tranquilizer!” The waitress promised to look behind the bar and replaced his empty bottle with a full one. Denny exhaled slowly and picked up his phone. He’d been forced to turn the ringer off after the twentieth call, but looked at the brightly lit screen to see who was calling this time. Paris? He clicked the ‘talk’ button and tentatively said ‘hello’?
“Mr. Crane, remember those blue laws? Well, apparently there’s some in Nevada too. Something about riding a camel down a highway. Could you come to Vegas?”
In the Woods
by Redneck Diva
Genre: Horror
Pop Culture: Al Gore inventing the internet, Wal*Mart, American Idol
--------------------------------------------
“Come on, Les! Let’s go! Vamanos!”
Through an open window, they heard,“Alright there, Dora the Explorer, I’m coming.”
The group was ready to go and Les was taking his time, as usual. Dawn adjusted her ball cap and sighed dramatically. She looked at her best friend and their apartment complex’s resident amateur sexologist, Anne, and Anne’s boyfriend, Taco, on the ATV next to her. Anne shrugged and giggled. Taco yawned. Dawn got angrier by the second.
Les finally emerged from the house, doing a half trot, half stagger while tucking in his shirt and zipping his shorts.
“Damn zipper’s stuck,” he grumbled.
“Well, if you didn’t buy your clothes off of the clearance rack at Wal*Mart, maybe they wouldn’t wear out so quick, ya doofus. Y’ain’t savin’ money if you have to buy clothes twice as often as the rest of us!” his roommate Peter said. As Les finally jerked the zipper into submission, Peter, let loose with a guffaw that made the girls in the group grimace.
“Peter, baby? Honestly, you sound like a mule that’s being murdered when you laugh. I love you so much, but you gotta stop. I think Anne’s ears are bleeding.”
The tall blonde with enormous breasts, Daena, a relative newcomer to the group so far, hadn’t worked her way completely “in” the group. Dawn and Anne spent many a night imitating her baby-talking ways toward Peter. Granted, she was getting better, but at first she nearly drove them all bananas.
“Petey-weety? Schnoogum boogum makey me so horny-worny,” Anne would mock and Dawn would fall back on the bed, legs in the air, dramatically making out with a pillow.
“Daena, my darling, I’ve laughed this way since I was born. I ain’t changin’ now. Regulators! Mount up!” he said loudly, firing the engine on his four-wheeler. Les climbed on his ATV, swung his leg over and nearly kicked Dawn in the face.
“Dipshit,” she muttered. Wrapping her arms around him as he started the engine, she bit her lip. It was dusk and she didn’t like riding at night.
“Are you sure we can’t just stay here instead of riding? I’ve got some American Idol on the DVR and I uh, I could make popcorn...” she trailed off when the other two ATVs left them in the dust.
"Alrighty. We’ll just ride then. I guess.”
“Relax, babycakes,” assured Les as he reached back to pat her leg. “American Idol can wait. We’re gonna riiiiiide!” He peeled out in the yard, causing Dawn to squeal. She liked his recklessness, but she still didn’t like riding at night.
“You keep driving like that and I’m gonna need a tranquilizer!!” she hollered.
They caught up with the other two ATVs after watching them swerve at each other for half a mile of gravel road. She could hear the girls screaming and squealing and she was fairly certain that she saw Daena smack at Peter’s shoulder once. She liked to cut up and have fun with them, but sometimes they went too far. She made Les not take as many chances when she was riding on the back of his four-wheeler - she didn’t think her destiny involved body casts and life support. She wanted to have fun while they were young so that years from now they wouldn’t sit back and reminisce about the good ol’ days that weren’t all that memorable. She wanted their good ol’ days to truly be something good. But she also didn't want to die.
They saw Peter’s four-wheeler dart off down a vertical path and Taco followed. Dawn tapped Les on the shoulder and said, “I really don’t want to go down that vertical!” but the words were barely out of her mouth before Les, too, veered off the road. She grumbled, “You are about as dim-witted as Al Gore.”
“The dude that invented the internet?” Les hollered over his shoulder.
“Whatever. Asshat.” Dawn replied.
The further they rode into the darkening woods, the more they realized they had to keep moving at a relatively quick pace. If they slowed down the mosquitoes swarmed. Pete stopped just past a curve in the trail so they could decide if they wanted to ride further or go back to the apartment. The guys weren’t daunted by the mosquitoes, but the girls were tired of slapping at the irritating bugs. Realizing their boyfriends weren’t going to relent and take them back, Daena got off the bike of the four-wheeler and pulled a can of Off from the cargo box. The other two girls sighed in stereo when they saw the orange can in her hand.
“In retrospect, ladies, that would’ve been smart before you were covered in itchy welts,” stated Peter, but after three piercing glares aimed in his direction, he finished with, “I mean, it was just a thought…” After they were covered with enough Off to cover small army, the girls got back on the ATV’s and Taco and Anne took the lead.
Once the bugs weren’t swarming so badly, Dawn was less irritated with Les, but still wanted to go home. She really didn’t like the dark, sticky, noisy-but-quiet woods. Then she had a moment of pure enlightenment – she knew how to get what she wanted. She slid her hands around his waist again and began pulling at his shirt until she released the hem from his shorts. Her fingernails raking softly on his stomach got the reaction she wanted – he grinned and shifted on the seat. She thought she might even try the trick Anne had told her about a few weeks ago. She bit his earlobe and in one quick move, unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts. “Mmm…I didn’t have any trouble with that zipper just now….” He chuckled, then nodded when she whispered in his ear to slow down so they could have some privacy. She was hoping she’d tease him just enough that he’d want to go home and get down to the business she had in her hand. He down-shifted the four-wheeler to nearly a crawl.
The sound of the other two engines faded then stopped altogether. She noticed the absence of engine whine, but figured the other couples were fooling around, too. She figured she'd just get Les good and excited, then suggest - or even insist if she had to - that they go back and get serious, but the plot to get him to take her home was forgotten when he softly growled in her ear that fooling around in the woods turned him on even more. It didn’t take long for her to climb around on the seat so she was facing him. Their kissing became more intense and Les was nibbling and kissing all over her arms and neck. He teasingly bit at her collar bone and caused her to groan. A mosquito buzzed by her ear, but she barely heard it because Les was growling and starting to talk dirty. He reached around and unsnapped her bra as he nibbled up the length of her neck. When he had completed his freeing task, he leaned her back, resting her back against the control panel. His kisses wandered lower down her neck and as he lifted her shirt to expose more, she leaned her head back all the way. With her eyes closed and head back, enjoying the sensations Les was providing and didn’t even see the knife that slit her exposed throat.
The dark figures in the brush moved out into the moonlight and as she gurgled, her hands frantically clawing at her bleeding throat, Les got off of the ATV. She saw him standing beside her, wiping her mouth on his shirt and spitting. "Dude, I’m glad you showed up when you did. I was getting sick of the taste of bug spray.”
Genre: Horror
Pop Culture: Al Gore inventing the internet, Wal*Mart, American Idol
--------------------------------------------
“Come on, Les! Let’s go! Vamanos!”
Through an open window, they heard,“Alright there, Dora the Explorer, I’m coming.”
The group was ready to go and Les was taking his time, as usual. Dawn adjusted her ball cap and sighed dramatically. She looked at her best friend and their apartment complex’s resident amateur sexologist, Anne, and Anne’s boyfriend, Taco, on the ATV next to her. Anne shrugged and giggled. Taco yawned. Dawn got angrier by the second.
Les finally emerged from the house, doing a half trot, half stagger while tucking in his shirt and zipping his shorts.
“Damn zipper’s stuck,” he grumbled.
“Well, if you didn’t buy your clothes off of the clearance rack at Wal*Mart, maybe they wouldn’t wear out so quick, ya doofus. Y’ain’t savin’ money if you have to buy clothes twice as often as the rest of us!” his roommate Peter said. As Les finally jerked the zipper into submission, Peter, let loose with a guffaw that made the girls in the group grimace.
“Peter, baby? Honestly, you sound like a mule that’s being murdered when you laugh. I love you so much, but you gotta stop. I think Anne’s ears are bleeding.”
The tall blonde with enormous breasts, Daena, a relative newcomer to the group so far, hadn’t worked her way completely “in” the group. Dawn and Anne spent many a night imitating her baby-talking ways toward Peter. Granted, she was getting better, but at first she nearly drove them all bananas.
“Petey-weety? Schnoogum boogum makey me so horny-worny,” Anne would mock and Dawn would fall back on the bed, legs in the air, dramatically making out with a pillow.
“Daena, my darling, I’ve laughed this way since I was born. I ain’t changin’ now. Regulators! Mount up!” he said loudly, firing the engine on his four-wheeler. Les climbed on his ATV, swung his leg over and nearly kicked Dawn in the face.
“Dipshit,” she muttered. Wrapping her arms around him as he started the engine, she bit her lip. It was dusk and she didn’t like riding at night.
“Are you sure we can’t just stay here instead of riding? I’ve got some American Idol on the DVR and I uh, I could make popcorn...” she trailed off when the other two ATVs left them in the dust.
"Alrighty. We’ll just ride then. I guess.”
“Relax, babycakes,” assured Les as he reached back to pat her leg. “American Idol can wait. We’re gonna riiiiiide!” He peeled out in the yard, causing Dawn to squeal. She liked his recklessness, but she still didn’t like riding at night.
“You keep driving like that and I’m gonna need a tranquilizer!!” she hollered.
They caught up with the other two ATVs after watching them swerve at each other for half a mile of gravel road. She could hear the girls screaming and squealing and she was fairly certain that she saw Daena smack at Peter’s shoulder once. She liked to cut up and have fun with them, but sometimes they went too far. She made Les not take as many chances when she was riding on the back of his four-wheeler - she didn’t think her destiny involved body casts and life support. She wanted to have fun while they were young so that years from now they wouldn’t sit back and reminisce about the good ol’ days that weren’t all that memorable. She wanted their good ol’ days to truly be something good. But she also didn't want to die.
They saw Peter’s four-wheeler dart off down a vertical path and Taco followed. Dawn tapped Les on the shoulder and said, “I really don’t want to go down that vertical!” but the words were barely out of her mouth before Les, too, veered off the road. She grumbled, “You are about as dim-witted as Al Gore.”
“The dude that invented the internet?” Les hollered over his shoulder.
“Whatever. Asshat.” Dawn replied.
The further they rode into the darkening woods, the more they realized they had to keep moving at a relatively quick pace. If they slowed down the mosquitoes swarmed. Pete stopped just past a curve in the trail so they could decide if they wanted to ride further or go back to the apartment. The guys weren’t daunted by the mosquitoes, but the girls were tired of slapping at the irritating bugs. Realizing their boyfriends weren’t going to relent and take them back, Daena got off the bike of the four-wheeler and pulled a can of Off from the cargo box. The other two girls sighed in stereo when they saw the orange can in her hand.
“In retrospect, ladies, that would’ve been smart before you were covered in itchy welts,” stated Peter, but after three piercing glares aimed in his direction, he finished with, “I mean, it was just a thought…” After they were covered with enough Off to cover small army, the girls got back on the ATV’s and Taco and Anne took the lead.
Once the bugs weren’t swarming so badly, Dawn was less irritated with Les, but still wanted to go home. She really didn’t like the dark, sticky, noisy-but-quiet woods. Then she had a moment of pure enlightenment – she knew how to get what she wanted. She slid her hands around his waist again and began pulling at his shirt until she released the hem from his shorts. Her fingernails raking softly on his stomach got the reaction she wanted – he grinned and shifted on the seat. She thought she might even try the trick Anne had told her about a few weeks ago. She bit his earlobe and in one quick move, unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts. “Mmm…I didn’t have any trouble with that zipper just now….” He chuckled, then nodded when she whispered in his ear to slow down so they could have some privacy. She was hoping she’d tease him just enough that he’d want to go home and get down to the business she had in her hand. He down-shifted the four-wheeler to nearly a crawl.
The sound of the other two engines faded then stopped altogether. She noticed the absence of engine whine, but figured the other couples were fooling around, too. She figured she'd just get Les good and excited, then suggest - or even insist if she had to - that they go back and get serious, but the plot to get him to take her home was forgotten when he softly growled in her ear that fooling around in the woods turned him on even more. It didn’t take long for her to climb around on the seat so she was facing him. Their kissing became more intense and Les was nibbling and kissing all over her arms and neck. He teasingly bit at her collar bone and caused her to groan. A mosquito buzzed by her ear, but she barely heard it because Les was growling and starting to talk dirty. He reached around and unsnapped her bra as he nibbled up the length of her neck. When he had completed his freeing task, he leaned her back, resting her back against the control panel. His kisses wandered lower down her neck and as he lifted her shirt to expose more, she leaned her head back all the way. With her eyes closed and head back, enjoying the sensations Les was providing and didn’t even see the knife that slit her exposed throat.
The dark figures in the brush moved out into the moonlight and as she gurgled, her hands frantically clawing at her bleeding throat, Les got off of the ATV. She saw him standing beside her, wiping her mouth on his shirt and spitting. "Dude, I’m glad you showed up when you did. I was getting sick of the taste of bug spray.”
Monday, June 18, 2007
I am SO apologizing
Readers and writers, I SWEAR to you that I am still alive. Last week was one of the worst weeks I've experienced in a long time what with no air conditioning in the house, blog drama, the threat of flood and just general crankiness. THEN the weekend was filled with my oldest child breaking out in a freak rash, the air conditioning going out in my van, a few storms scattered here and there and other mundane b.s.
I am in the process of packing the rashy child off to church camp (let someone else watch her scratch for a week, lol) and, weather permitting, the stories will be posted tonight.
I apologize for the delay. I keep meaning to talk to the Cap'n and make him my partner in crime so he can help out during these times when my life gets in the way, but well, my life keeps getting in the way and I forget to add him.
Just hang on a few more hours. Please.
I am in the process of packing the rashy child off to church camp (let someone else watch her scratch for a week, lol) and, weather permitting, the stories will be posted tonight.
I apologize for the delay. I keep meaning to talk to the Cap'n and make him my partner in crime so he can help out during these times when my life gets in the way, but well, my life keeps getting in the way and I forget to add him.
Just hang on a few more hours. Please.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Cazzmania ensues!
The drawing has been conducted by the independent accounting firm of Paul and the results have been confirmed. The entrants's missions have been sent.
The rules are:
*All six of The Words put forth by Cazzie!!! must be used in their listed form (there will be no disqualifications this round, dangit)
*The story must be written in the entrant's drawn genre
*The story must contain all three pop culture references, not necessarily in the form they were given, but they must be referenced
The Words are:
tranquilizer
reminisce
destiny
retrospect
sexologist
enlightenment
All stories are due by Wednesday, June 13th at 10pm. Voting will begin Friday, June 15th.
(If you would like to try your hand at our little game, you must email me so I can give you a mission of your very own.)
Good luck, Cazzmaniacs!
The rules are:
*All six of The Words put forth by Cazzie!!! must be used in their listed form (there will be no disqualifications this round, dangit)
*The story must be written in the entrant's drawn genre
*The story must contain all three pop culture references, not necessarily in the form they were given, but they must be referenced
The Words are:
tranquilizer
reminisce
destiny
retrospect
sexologist
enlightenment
All stories are due by Wednesday, June 13th at 10pm. Voting will begin Friday, June 15th.
(If you would like to try your hand at our little game, you must email me so I can give you a mission of your very own.)
Good luck, Cazzmaniacs!
Sunday, June 3, 2007
The Chamber produces a landslide **ATTENTION - important info for next round enclosed**
Because you, Constant Reader, demanded it,
Cazzie!!! is the winner of
Round 4: 36 Chambers of Tate!!
Give her a hand - she pulled off an amazing victory from all the way across the ocean!
As soon as she turns in her list of The Words and the title for the next round, we'll begin.
*******************************************
Regarding the next round - rather than trying to figure out a way to conjure up a virtual hat to throw the writing styles and pop culture items in, I am going to use a real-live hat and let the still dependent accounting firm of Abby, Sam & Kady, LLC take care of the official drawing of things from a hat.
If you have a problem with this, speak now or forever hold your peace. I assure you, they are fair. They better be or their momma will spank 'em.
Also, if you intend on writing, you MUST submit an email of intent to me ASAP so I can commence the drawing of the things from the hat. I need to know your intentions (and there had better be a bunch of you) by Tuesday of this week (the 5th).
Cazzie!!! is the winner of
Round 4: 36 Chambers of Tate!!
Give her a hand - she pulled off an amazing victory from all the way across the ocean!
As soon as she turns in her list of The Words and the title for the next round, we'll begin.
*******************************************
Regarding the next round - rather than trying to figure out a way to conjure up a virtual hat to throw the writing styles and pop culture items in, I am going to use a real-live hat and let the still dependent accounting firm of Abby, Sam & Kady, LLC take care of the official drawing of things from a hat.
If you have a problem with this, speak now or forever hold your peace. I assure you, they are fair. They better be or their momma will spank 'em.
Also, if you intend on writing, you MUST submit an email of intent to me ASAP so I can commence the drawing of the things from the hat. I need to know your intentions (and there had better be a bunch of you) by Tuesday of this week (the 5th).
Friday, June 1, 2007
It pains me to do this
As per repeated requests by Hillbilly Mom, I am disqualifying her from 36 Chambers of Tate.
I personally was going to give her grace since it's her first offense, but she's obviously got guilt issues. I fear if I don't disqualify her soon, she will come out of the Blogger Protection Program, detour to Oklahoma on her way to Branson to take over Lorraine the Laptop and disqualify herself forcibly.
So....there ya go. She's out.
*sob*
I personally was going to give her grace since it's her first offense, but she's obviously got guilt issues. I fear if I don't disqualify her soon, she will come out of the Blogger Protection Program, detour to Oklahoma on her way to Branson to take over Lorraine the Laptop and disqualify herself forcibly.
So....there ya go. She's out.
*sob*
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