Mother’s Day is Sunday and it’s only fitting that we pause and pay homage to the women who have made our lives heaven, hell, or some combination thereof. My own dear mother was a sweet Christian woman, naïve to the ways of the world, who generally thought the best of everyone. I didn’t realize until I left home how truly fortunate and blessed I was.
Not all women are cut out to be mothers. Some are better suited dishing out torture in prison camps, writing hate slogans for the Ku Klux Klan, and vaccinating patients at the doctor’s office. A good rule of thumb is DO NOT marry a child of one of these women. If you hurt their baby, they will track you to the ends of the earth and tear you apart limb by limb.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Grand Marshall for this Mother’s Day Parade of blogs is Roseanne Rosannadanna Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
She was a proud boat. Her magnificent deck measured 284 square feet. Made from the finest South-Pacific bamboo, she was lovingly lashed together with over 3,000 feet of vine.
“What cha gonna name her, Skipper?” asked the mate.
“She’ll be named after a woman I’ll never forget, my mother-in-law.”
“Is that because she is supportive, dependable, and concerned about the welfare of her loved ones?”
“No, Gilligan. It’s because her sail is full of hot air and her deck croaks ‘nag, nag, nag’ every time I take a step.”
“Oh no, we’ll never get off this island,” moaned Gilligan.
Here’s a great Mother’s Day song for y’all to enjoy.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
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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