Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Pronouns

Round 7 is entitled -

All About Alliteration!

Here's the deal: You pick a letter to alliterate the heck out of (hopefully not ending your sentences with prepositions, like I tend to do) and then find words in your handy dandy Webster's Theasaurus or at Thesaurus.com that mean the same things as The Words I've chosen. I realize there are not going to necessarily be literal synonyms for every word, so do the best you can. Don't kill yourself trying to write anything lengthy - I'm finding this one to be kind of difficult. (But maybe that's me.) If you run into trouble, check out this post by GoingLikeSixty - he seems to have nailed the alliteration thing.

The Words:

Child
Pitiful
Cereal (Use a name brand if you want. Maybe that will make it easier?)
Cabinet
Bug
Sad

Please be sure to highlight or italicize or bold your chosen words in your story, since no one's will be the same.

Stories are due by next Monday, July 23rd at 10pm Oklahoma time.

Redneck vs. Hillbilly

REDNECKS PREVAIL!!!

It appears that the rednecks rallied around their diva this round and have made me their queen. I am humbled and honored.

The next round is going to revolve solely around alliteration and I'm trying to come up with a list of The Words that can be used regardless of what letter you choose to use repeatedly in your story. This is going to require the use of a thesaurus and possibly one or seven Bud Lights.

Words will be chosen and posted by Saturday.

Hatfields vs. McCoys

Voting in Round 6 is now open. There is no reason for there not to be tons of votes this time because there are only TWO stories to read! Tell your friends, tell your neighbors, then VOTE!

Voting will be open until 10pm, Wednesday July 11th.

Jeremiah Falls

by Redneck Diva
Genre: Soap Opera


Cast:
Barbara Jean Redbone – 19 year old mother of 12, pregnant for the 11th time with a baby of unknown paternal heritage. In other words, she doesn't quite know who her baby daddy is this time.

Sally Sue, Amelia Bedelia, Eddie Ray Bobby, Nermal Wayne, Cindy Bertha, Barnaby Wallace, Rascal Jean, Stripes McGee, Jr., twin girls, Annie Fay and Fannie May and twin boys, Cecil John and Cyril Don – Children of Barbara Jean.

Darrell Darrell – Swarthy 34 year old 8th grader at Jeremiah Falls' Middle School. Probably Barbara Jean's latest baby daddy – he was the last 8 times.

Neon Leon – Quirky loner who tries to remain low-profile in Jeremiah Falls, but the fact that he glows in the dark due to a tragic accident at the nuclear farm on the edge of town keeps him from the quiet life he desires. Blamed for a lot of petty crime in town because well, he glows in the dark and they see him leaving the scene with the goods tucked under his glowing arm.

Barnaby Jones – Town doctor, Barbara Jean's father.

Jonas Barnaby – Barnaby Jones's evil twin.

"Stripes" McGee – One and only attorney in Jeremiah Falls. Kind of sleazy, smarmy and makes one want to wash their hands after prolonged contact. Father of Stripes McGee, Jr., Barbara Jean's oldest boy.
----------------------------------------------------------

[The scene opens in Barbara Jean's scantily furnished shack on the creek bank. Barbara Jean is washing dishes. There are children running amok, engaged in ornery frivolity in the cabin – little Sally Sue is hanging upside down from the rafters, shrieking while her brother Eddie Ray Bobby tries to catch her pigtails with his pocketknife. Rascal Jean is reading a three year old copy of the popular magazine, Hedonism and Leisure Journal. Amelia Bedelia is feeding all four twins. Stripes Jr. and Barnaby Wallace are in a heated debate over the war in Iraq. Cindy Bertha and Nermal Wayne are making out on the couch.]

Barbara Jean: Cindy Bertha Redbone! Nermal Wayne Redbone! Y'all just stop that kissin' right now! Do y'all wanna end up like your cousins Sara Carol and Norman Bates? Those two had to move to Arkansas and git married! Now y'all come 'ere and help me with these dishes. My back is killin' me tonight.

[She sits down wearily in a kitchen chair as Cindy and Nermal enter the kitchen, winking at each other.]

Cindy Bertha: Oh, Momma. You don't even know howta have fun. Why, Nermal and I are just doing what you said. You always say, "Y'all kids need to git along better." So we are. Ain't we, baby?

[Nermal grins and pinches Cindy's rear]

Barbara Jean: You two are playin' with far. I'm not sure, but I think y'all have the same daddy…..

[Knock at the door. Barbara Jean stands and waddles to the front door. Opening it, she finds Darrell Darrell standing on the stoop with a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand. She tries to shut the door, but he stops it with his foot.]

Darrell: Oh, Barbara Jean. Don't be so mean. Heh. That kinda rhymed. Anyway, Barbara Jean, you know you love me and I love you. Why cain't I just take you away from all this – by the way, hi kids that are mine. Don't ferget yer daddy loves you! Barbara Jean, just run away with me. It looks like Cindy Bertha and Nermal are getting' on fine – let 'em play house for awhile and take care of the young'uns. I can shoot some extra possum and squirrel to get 'em through the winter. We'll hitchhike to Oklahoma and live the good life for awhile with our new young'un.

[This whole time, Barbara Jean is tapping her foot impatiently, hands on her hips, looking off at the wall.]

Barbara Jean: You done, Darrell Darrell? 'Cuz if you are, you can just take yer fancy flowers right back out and put 'em back in my garden. I ain't runnin' away with you. I have 'sponsibilities here and if you cain't handle that, you need to go find you some sweet thang in that fancy schmancy Jeremiah Falls Middle School you go to, and run off with her. I ain't your plaything, Darrell. Not no more.

[She chokes back a sob as she slowly shuts the door. Shoulders slumped, she pushes Cindy Bertha and Nermal apart from each other and starts washing dishes again.]

[Fade out]

[Scene opens to Jonas Barnaby pacing angrily. He has Barnaby Jones tied to the railroad track on the outskirts of town and Barnaby is doing his best to talk his evil twin into letting him go.]

Barnaby: Listen, evil twin brother, let's talk this through. It's not like I asked to be the one Momma Jones kept all those years ago. You hafta understand that it's fate, destiny's child, kissma or something. You were supposed to be the one to live in that orphanage, one of many ill, malnutritioned children, waiting daily for someone to take you home with them. You are who you are because of that orphanage.

Jonas: Don't pontificate at me, not-evil twin brother. You're Momma's chosen one.Do you know what it's like to watch child after child leave the orphanage with a new momma and daddy, knowing you have to stay and endure cold oatmeal, free government cheese and re-runs on PBS? Do you? No. You don't. You went to medical school and you have a good life, a daughter, grandkids. Lots of grandkids. What do I have? Well, aside from the clap I got last winter when I had to prostitute myself out just so I could stay warm, I don't have anything. Nothing.

[Jonas sits on the railroad track next to his bound twin brother. Jonas leans his head on Barnaby's shoulder and begins to cry.]

Barnaby: Damn, evil twin brother, you sure did have it bad. I can give you some sulfur pills for that clap, you can stay with me and Mrs. Jones and well, I know of 12 kids who would sure like to have another uncle. And just so you know….I didn't go to med school. I took a correspondence course from that place Sally Struthers went to.

Jonas: ICS?

Barnaby: You see what? Man, we better get you those sulfur pills quick. Untie me, evil twin brother. Let's go home.

[Jonas embraces Barnaby. As the camera pans around the two men, Jonas grins evilly.]

[Fade out.]

[Scene opens with Stripes McGee pacing in front of his large desk. Neon Leon is slouched down in a large wing-back chair. Stripes is muttering and stopping occasionally to peer at a legal pad on his desk.]

Stripes: So tell me, Neon Leon, do you trust me?

Leon: I don't have a choice, do I?

Stripes: I'm Stripes McGee.

Leon: I know. I'm Neon Leon. I thought we did this earlier.

Stripes: Nevermind. I will win this case, Neon Leon, or my name isn't Stripes McGee.

Leon: Riiiiight. You're Stripes McGee. I'm Neon Leon. I thought we established that already.

[Fade out.]

[Scene opens to Barbara Jean's bedroom in the shack on the creek bank. Barbara Jean is very obviously in labor on the bed. Cindy Bertha is wiping her forehead with a washcloth. Amelia Bedelia is bouncing Fanny and Annie on her hips, while pacing the room.]

Amelia: Cindy Bertha, I think it's 'bout time we called ol' Papa Jones, don'tcha think? Momma's not lookin' so good right now.

Cindy: Amelia Bedelia Redbone, you'd think you'd never seen a woman give birth before. Of course, she don't look so good. She's gonna be pushin' a baby outta her hoohah here in a bit. I jist hope I look this purty when I have Nermal Wayne's baby…

Barbara Jean: What? UNNNGGGHHH! (pants) You're havin' his baby? Your brother's baby? Cindy Bertha Redbone, that child'll be borned with two heads or sumthin'.

Cindy: Oh, Momma. We'll be fine. We're in love. Besides, I did some checkin' with Stripes Jr. and he said that if memory served him c'rectly, Nermal Wayne and I don't have the same daddy. So, see? We'll be fine. If the baby is a little slow or sumthin', we'll just put him in daddy's class at the middle school. Daddy'll help 'im. It'll be good fer the baby t'spend time with his grampa.

Eddie Ray Bobby: Okay, Amelia Bedelia, I got the truck a'runnin' and I'm ready to go get ol' Papa Jones. You think she'll wait?

Amelia: Oh golly, I sure 'nuf hope she can….

Barbara Jean: UNNGGGH!! Nooooo! I can't wait no more! Eddie Ray Bobby get m'daddy NOW. I'm havin' this baby!

[Eddie leaves the room, a truck roars out of the yard.]

[Amelia hands the twins off to Sally Sue and she and Cindy prepare for the birth of their new brother or sister. They're excited to find out whether they'll be aunts of uncles, but are concerned for their mother, who doesn't seem to be handling the labor as well as she usually does.]

[Scene cuts to Eddie Ray Bobby pulling into Barnaby's house. Barnaby and Jonas run out of the house with Eddie and hurriedly get in the truck. The truck heads back to the shack on the creek bank.]

[Scene cuts back to the shack on the creek bank.]

Cindy Bertha: Just one more push now, Momma. Come on now. You can do it! PUUUUSH!

Amelia: Okay, here it comes…..I'm an uncle! [a baby's cry fills the room] Oh momma, it's the prettiest little Asian baby boy you've ever seen! Wonder who's the daddy of this one? Any ideas?

Barbara Jean: Lo Hung Dong

Cindy:[pulling back the baby's blanket] I'll say.

[Fade out.]

Davy Jones's Locker

by Hillbilly Mom
Genre: Science Fiction


It happened as predicted, on the exact day and time. The counties below them had been inundated for months now. The rising waters had crept higher and higher, at a rate of four inches per hour. When Davy went to bed, tendrils of water were licking at his front sidewalk. When he awoke the next morning, nearly four feet of water covered his yard. The basement was full, and about a foot of water swirled about the first floor. Davy’s family was well-prepared. The water would not go higher. They had switched over to the new electrical system without a hitch. Air mattresses and pool accessories dotted the living room. Mom and Dad had inflated them last night.

From the television mounted on the wall, Davy noted that his school was now running on the water route. This, too, had been planned and publicized. The kids knew what to do, as did the teachers. Davy slipped on his water shoes and slopped through the downstairs hall to the kitchen. His mother plopped two Eggos on his plate, and Davy coated them with syrup. It was pretty much like any other Wednesday. He wiped his mouth and headed out front to wait for his bus. He daydreamed a bit, as most 13-year-old boys are wont to do, about the girls at school. Davy hoped this new water world would meant the girls would dress more scantily than before. Not that some of them weren’t nearing the dividing line between ‘scantily-dressed’ and ‘undressed’ already.

Davy listened for the bus. He knew it couldn’t possibly sound the same. He knew his old school bus could not drive in the 4-5 feet of water that covered the road. Davy dangled his legs off the rock-and-mortar post of the fence. He looked to his left, and saw the bus boat. It was bright yellow, with the driver sitting up front. Davy was near the end of the line. The end nearest to school. He was one of the last students picked up, and among the first dropped off after school. The bus boat was moving at a good clip. It slowed as it neared his stop. Davy was sad to see that
the girls were dressed the same as every other day.

“Good morning, Mr. Franklin.”

“Good morning, Davy.” Mr. Franklin handed Davy a paddle and a life jacket as he clambered aboard.

Davy sat down near the front of the bus boat, right side. He began to paddle as Mr. Franklin called out, “Stroke. Stroke.” They arrived at school at the regular time. Davy followed the other kids to the gym. They were not allowed to go to their lockers before school. Just as Davy had feared, the water in the main hallway was over his head. He was a small child for 13, and had been assigned the profession of “jockey” for his Beta Club Induction Dress-up Day. Davy was prepared. He pulled a jointed elbow straw from his pocket, and popped the short end in his mouth. With the long end above the surface, he could breathe just fine. He climbed the steps to the bleachers, bringing his head above water again. Instead of basketball this morning, the duty teacher was holding a diving contest. Contestants shinnied up the basketball goal supports, and dived from the hoop. The water at gym floor level was a bit over 10 feet deep. Some kids went for the technical difficulty. Others preferred the crowd-pleasing belly flop style.

When first bell sounded, Davy readied his straw and headed down the main hall to his locker. Just his luck, he had a bottom locker. Davy took a deep breath and ducked his head under the surface. He took out his pen and slammed the door. The Social Studies books were in Mr. Thompson’s classroom upstairs. They had been stacking them there in preparation for the flood. Davy jammed the straw in his mouth and walked toward the stairs. Once the students were seated in the classroom, Mr. Thompson began to pontificate, as usual, about the ancient Greeks. The steady drip drip drip of water from the students’ clothing made Davy sleepy. He tried to picture swarthy Mr. Thompson back in Greek times; Mr. Thompson pursuing and practicing hedonism. A small smile edged its way into his mouth.

Near the end of class, two office workers came in, pushing a cart from the A/V department. It was loaded with neon green waterwings. “How many students do you have under 4 feet nine inches, Mr. Thompson? The office says they have to wear these waterwings at all times, unless they are in the basement classrooms.” Mr. Thompson looked out at the class. “I think Davy Jones is the only one. Anybody else?” No one raised a hand. Mr. Thompson tossed Davy a pair of waterwings. “Blow them up, son.” Davy did. His face burned bright red. He felt like a baby.

When the bell rang to end first hour, Davy hurried back downstairs to his Math class. Mrs. Wilson told the students to sit on the backs of their chairs, and rest their feet on the seats. That way, everyone’s head was above water. Davy hated the waterwings. It was nearly impossible to walk down the hall now. His feet didn’t touch the floor. Bigger kids grabbed him and shoved him for sport. He bobbed like a cork. On the brighter side, he didn’t need his straw to breathe. The rest of the class was laughing. Davy turned, and saw bubbles popping up around Ricky Richardson. Mrs. Wilson frowned. “Enough of this frivolity! Save your farting for your leisure time, Ricky! We have a lot of work to get done before the MAP test. Pay attention!”

Third hour sent Davy to the basement for Science. They had practiced what to do when the water arrived. Yes, they’d had drills once a week. He took a deep breath and dived underwater. Good thing Mrs. Wilson had given up one minute before the bell so he could deflate his waterwings and stuff them in his pocket. Davy swam his way down the stairwell, down the hall, and into Mrs. Beemer’s classroom. He swam like a dolphin to his desk, snagged his air line from the ceiling, and popped it into his mouth. Whew! That was pushing the limit on his breath. He’d have to take a deeper one next time. Mrs. Beemer started class. It was a lesson on density. Davy liked the hands-on lessons of Mrs. Beemer, but his stomach could only think about lunch.

During lunch, a bit of an argument broke out at the teachers’ table. Mrs. Beemer taunted Mr. Thompson for having a wreck on the way to school.

“Couldn’t you see that GIANT schoolboat in front of you, Thompson?”

“Hmpf! I SAW it, but you can’t exactly put the brakes on like you do with a car, now can you, Mrs. Beemer? Surely you know something about momentum and friction and deceleration.”

“I certainly do. And I know not to follow too closely behind a schoolboat, too. How much damage did you do?”

“I must’ve cracked the bow, somehow. When I pulled into the teachers’ marina, I was taking on water. Bailing couldn’t keep up with it. Lucky for me, I had my emergency raft.”

“Yes. I saw you send those kids out to blow it up. What century do you live in, Thompson? They have those auto-inflate rafts now. You don’t have to make 6th graders blow it up by mouth.”

“They didn’t mind. It gave them something else to do besides annoy the hell out of me!”

“Somebody got up on the wrong side of the dock this morning.”

“Get off my back, Beemer! This is harrassment!”

“I’m just teasing. You never could take a joke if it was on you.”

“Shut up, you stupid…PUCKER! That’s what you are, you basement-dwelling denizen! PUCKER!

You spend all day underwater and think you are our equal. One of these days, I’m gonna put a kink in your airhose. Then we’ll see who has the last laugh.”

“Don’t threaten me, Thompson! I’ll file a grievance!”

“Grievance, schmievance. Keep flappin’ your jaws, you damn PUCKER! You’ll get what’s coming to you. And that’s a promise.”

The lunch bell ended the spat, and all rushed back to class. For the most part, the days began to stretch into one another as everyone adapted to the new routine. Davy became adept at evading the kids who wished to make sport of him. He found that a well-placed underwater knee did wonders to discourage other students from turning him into their own personal beach ball. He didn’t even need his locker any more, what with the books being stored in the upper classrooms. Mr. Thompson let most of the kids with bottom lockers keep their paper and pens in his room, in cubbies made from boxes that used to hold copier paper.

Yes, the students and teachers adapted. In fact, they all got along swimmingly, as Mr. Thompson was wont to say. That is, until the day that Mrs. Beemer did not show up for work. The police checked her home, but found only her 13 cats, perched high upon the kitchen cabinets. Later in the morning, about the middle of third hour, the police met with Mr. Thompson in the principal’s office. After one hour and fifty-seven minutes of questioning, just in time for Mr. Thompson to have his planning period, he said matter-of-factly:
“You might want to check Davy Jones’s locker.”

The police rushed to the abandoned locker, and found one Vivian Beemer, bound with an air hose, breathing through two bendy elbow straws. The slight woman had a straw in each nostril, with the other ends poking up through the vent holes into the top locker. Extra straws had been squeezed down onto the long part, making each one about two feet long. The police freed Mrs. Beemer, and took her down to the police station, where the bailiff gave her some towels and chicken noodle soup.

Mr. Thompson was transferred to the high school across town, and padlocks were placed on all bottom lockers. Davy Jones went about his life in the wet new world much as he did before: quietly, without much fuss.

Geez, it's like y'all have a life or something

I've waited all day, hoping that someone would send another submission, but here it is 5:30 Oklahoma time and nada.

I'll wait a little bit longer and then I'll post the two submissions I do have - mine and Hillbilly Mom's.

As she said, "...may the best woman win. Or, considering that it's just us...may the least annoying woman win." She pretty much nailed that one.