When I was in high school, my buddy’s father ran the bus station in Fayetteville. I would intentionally refer to it as Jefferson Lanes just to piss him off. “Lines, damn it! It’s Lines, not Lanes,” he would scream. Sometimes his dad would pay us $5 each to clean the inside of an empty bus. You could buy a half-case of beer and a cheeseburger with that kind of money back then.
Thanks to Ron Pruitt for week’s photo and the personal flashback to the ‘good ol’ days.’ To read more stories, go to http://madison-woods.com/ click on the Blog tab, and follow the links.
Their bags are packed and tucked safely in the storage compartment. His and hers spandex tights, pink stilettos, size forty-two thong underwear, weed-whacker shredded T-shirts, leopard print Cougar-wear, and two large bins of hair color, styling gel, and assorted make-up.
“A quarter of a million people applied for this year’s team,” said Bob Grossman, talent coordinator. “The competition was extremely stiff. It’s not enough just to dress tacky or obscene. Bad taste and poor judgment comes naturally to some people, but sinking to this level requires hard work and dedication.”
“We appreciate the Friday Fictioneers promoting the tour,” said Grossman.**I’ll be hiding in a cabin in Booger County for a few days starting at noon on Friday, with no access to a computer, but will respond to comments when I return next week.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.