On Tuesday, I had the great joy and pleasure of being recorded for a Mutual of Omaha “aha” moment. They have a mobile studio inside an Airstream trailer and are on a 20 city tour capturing the voice of America.
I spent the last two weeks agonizing over what to say and how to say it in twenty-four seconds. That’s not the way it works. They prefer to film a 10 minute interview and cut and paste to suit themselves. The crew was young and energetic, and a lot of fun to work with. After spending 20 minutes with me, they’ll probably remember their trip to Fayetteville as an “uh-oh” moment.
It’s too bad Mutual of Omaha wasn’t searching for a new Marlin Perkins. I would be a perfect fit for the part. For our first episode, we could float the Elk River in southern Missouri. I guarantee you, that’s a “wild-life” adventure you’ll never forget.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the person who inspires us with startling revelations every week is Mojo Doctor 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.
“Vell, Gnomes, ve meet again.” Bothe’s thick German accent dripped with sarcasm. “Hand over de spud or ve kill de girl.”
“I don’t have the spud, but I can take you to it. First, let the girl go.”
“No. Ve all go together. Once I have de spud, the girl is yours.”
“Don’t do it, Idy,” cried Janet. Her heaving breast strained against the fabric of her thin cotton blouse.
“We’ve got no choice,” said Gnomes. They followed a path of arms, legs, and discarded hats deeper into the cave.
“There it is.” Gnomes pointed to a half-buried, wooden chest. [100 word limit – proceed at your own risk]
Bothe shoved Gnomes aside, grabbed the box, and cocked his pistol. “Tanks, Idaho. Too bad you and de girl have to die. Ha, ha!”
“Oh, Idy,” gasped Janet. The top button shot from her blouse and hit Bothe in the eye. He fell to his knees, writhing in pain.
Gnomes grabbed Janet’s arm and they raced from the cave.
“But what about the Golden Spud?” Janet panted between breaths.
“Don’t worry.” Gnomes flashed his trademark smirk, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Mr. Potato Head. “It’s right here.”
(My apologies for doubling the word limit, but this story was just itching to be told.)
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
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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.
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