We don’t watch a lot of reality TV, but one show we have watched a few times is “Naked and Afraid.” This is where they dump two strangers, a man and woman, in a tropical jungle or Louisiana swamp for twenty-one days. To survive, they must find their own food and water, and figure out which leaves to wipe on that aren’t poison ivy.
I suggest they up the stakes and force these poor nudists to go on a twenty-one day public speaking tour in manufacturing plants across the U.S. For three weeks, they get to explain to angry factory workers why their jobs are being outsourced to China, Mexico, and the District of Columbia. The only food available is the out-of-date sandwiches from The Carousel of Death (break room vending machine).
If they make it out alive, they win a free wrist watch and a lifetime supply of Jenny Craig pre-packaged meals. What a deal! I suspect many of my fellow writers will be signing up in droves. You can’t buy this kind of exposure at any price.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, your flight attendant our weekly cruise around the Imaginary Skies is Blue Angel (Flaps Down) Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for a complete list of safety instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Lucy had flown enough to recognize normal turbulence. She stared out the window and whispered a prayer. The two-caret stone on her wedding band felt as cold as the relationship she’d left behind.
The airplane rocked from side to side and dipped erratically. Flight attendants stumbled down the aisle, their forced smiles masking the anxiety roiling in their stomachs like volcanos about to erupt.
A voice came over the intercom, but the words were slurred and undecipherable.
“What did he say?” Lucy asked.
“Captain Brooks wants a drink.” The attendant feigned a smile.
“Make mine a double,” said Lucy.
For those of you who don’t remember Foster Brooks- here’s a little clip.
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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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