Come with me, if you will, to a parallel universe created within the twisted mind of a sick humorist. A journey that will challenge your imagination and catapult you to a place where you can not only Pick your Friends and Pick your Nose, but can also Pick your Friend’s Nose.
A tale too long for its own good. So gross and disgusting that you will be tempted to repeatedly fire a squirt gun in one ear in hopes of flushing the wretched images from your mind. A fable that can only come from the deep recesses of that black-hole of juvenile humor known as the Half-Wit Zone.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the executive producer of our program is the acclaimed artist and author Rodette Serling 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.
“Hey Xanielle, whaddaya have for us?”
“There’s a guy off I-476 with a proboscis you could park a ’48 Packard in. He’s been collecting antique glassware for forty years and he’s ready to unload both nostrils.”
“What’s his name?”
“Karl Jimmy Durante Malden Streisand.”
“Any old rock-glass Shabbat sets in there?”
“Spike, why must you assume everyone with a cavernous honker is Jewish?”
(minutes later, they pull into a driveway)
“You must be Karl. I’m Hank and this is Spike. We’re pickers. Quite a schnoz you’ve got there. Mind if we poke around a bit?”
“Nah, go ahead.”
[100 WORD WARNING – LIMIT ACHIEVED – PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK]
“Wow, look at this Spike. An early 1950s Mobil gas pump with Pegasus on the globe.”
“Cool. What about this, Karl? It hard to tell with all the dried mucus, but it looks like a Mercury space capsule.”
“Yeah, that’s the one John Glenn orbited the earth in back in ’62.”
“This place is packed. What made you decide to part with some of this stuff?”
“It’s getting hard to breathe.”
For those of you not in the know, today’s offering is a parody of the television show American Pickers. Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz scour America is search of antiques hidden in barns, basements, and nasal cavities (just kidding). Their cohort, Danielle, runs the store, Antique Archaeology, while the guys are on the road. She also calls them frequently with updates of possible sellers and new picking locations.
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.
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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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