A gift from my daughter that I’ve really been enjoying is a book entitled “The Insult Dictionary” by Julie Tibbot. Between the covers are hundreds of obscure, indelicate terms and phrases from ancient days up through modern pop culture. Armed with this new vernacular, I’ll be able to titillate friends and enemies alike.
Here are a couple of examples; “My great aunt is such a thornback, I’ll bet she’s never tipped the velvet.” (thornback ~a spinster; tip the velvet ~ kiss with tongues). “He tottered home late, covered in tears of the tankard, then shot the cat.” (tears of the tankard ~ splashes of beer on a man’s clothing; to shoot the cat ~ to vomit due to excessive alcohol intake).
And here’s a phrase Doug is sure to enjoy; Vice Admiral of the Narrow Seas ~ a drunken man who urinates under the table on his companions shoes.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Leader, who dares us to write with cogitation is Merriam Webster 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.
“Honey, I think we’re lost.”
“Lost? That’s ridiculous. I’ve never been lost in my life.”
“What about that time we were going from Joplin to Tulsa and wound up in Pensacola?”
“We weren’t lost. The map was folded the wrong way. And that shortcut took us further off course than I expected, but we were never lost.”
“Well, remember our trip to Sea World? I dozed off outside Barstow and when I woke up we were at the Great Salt Flats.”
“Yeah, I knew I should’ve taken that left turn at Albuquerque.”
“Where are we now?”
“Hell if I know.”
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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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