The first cold front of the season moved into NW Arkansas this week. Connie dug our long-handles out of the dresser. I get to wear them Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and she gets ‘em Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday—wash day is on Monday. If the temperature drops any further, we may have to start wearing shoes.
Poor Connie’s been worrying day and night about her hens getting too cold. I suggested she knit each of them a sweater and some fuzzy mohair stocking for their little feet. She seems to think a couple of heat lamps is a better solution. Maybe so, but it doesn’t make much of a fashion statement.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the person who wrote from Kansas City to Hollywood with a laptop on her knee is Susannah Clementine 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.
Look! Up in the bird. It’s the sky. It’s a plane. It’s Dyslexia Man.
Slower than a mentally challenged sloth wading through molasses.
Weaker than single-ply bath tissue.
Unable to infuse short sentences with a single noun.
Yes, it’s Dyslexia Man, backwards visitor from the hills of Arkansas who came to Bloggywood with the power and ability to render the English language incomprehensible. Dyslexia Man, who can alter the meaning of common phrases, blend two-syllable words into inaudible gibberish. And who, disguised as Enos “Skin” Flint, half-witted blogger for Friday Flash Fiction, fights a never ending battle for humor, foolishness and the Redneck way.
We can only hope our hero’s arch enemy and lifelong nemesis, Grammar Girl, will stop by to save us from the twisted vernacular and nonsensical jabbering of Dyslexia Man. Please hurry, Grammar Girl!
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
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.
A Humor Blog
Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
An author's perspective of mystery and more.
And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.