Today, May 21st 2015, is the inaugural Red Nose Day. To those of you not up to speed on this occasion, it’s not an excuse to drink until your nose glows like a neon bulb, a job-fair opportunity at the North Pole, or a hay fever condition brought on by global warming.
Red Nose Day is a campaign dedicated to raising money for children and young people living in poverty by simply having fun and making people laugh (copied verbatim from rednoseday.org).
This is one cause that aligns perfectly with my values because I love having fun, making people laugh, and I’ve been wearing red hose . . . I mean, a red nose, long before Rudolph made it fashionable. I hope you’ll consider donating even though they snubbed me by not inviting me to perform at the big celebrity gala tonight in LA. ~ Remember, this about the kids—not my nose.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the ringmaster who keeps our cavalcade of clowns in check is Bo Jangles Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Difficulty discerning the lyrics of popular rhythm and blues anthem, “Louie Louie” sparked a 1964 FBI investigation regarding obscenity.
Evidence discovered inside a Prince Albert tobacco tin under the back seat of Perry Block’s 1952 Rambler attributes the song to Split-Lip Hayfield rather than Richard Berry (1955).
Hayfield was known to have a speech impediment, and Berry, having heard Split-Lip perform, likely misinterpreted the lyrics describing brother Dewey Hayfield’s battle with influenza.
Dewey, Do-hee, oh bro
He caught a cold
Lie-ly-ly-ly, in bed
Dewey, Do-hee, no maybe
He caught a cold
Three nights and days he cough and sneeze
blow his nose, cannot breathe
Yellow ball, of phlegm he swear
and send it flying through the air.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
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.
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AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.