Drones have been in the news a lot lately. I don’t understand why someone who performs no work, produces no honey, and whose sole function in life to mate with the Queen gets so much ink. Sure, the old gal is getting up in years and has a few wrinkles, but still, it sounds like an easy job with great fringe benefits.
There are probably a lot of guys out there who would like to be a sex toy for Royalty. But from what I hear many of them object to being called Drones. They claim it’s demeaning and makes them feel less of a man. I say, “Get over it. Suck it up and do your duty for God and Country.” Perry, you go first.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the worker who tirelessly provides new photo prompts each week is Aunt Bea 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.
“Listen to this.” Mario read the profile to Luigi. “Lovers have described me as old fashioned and uncomplicated. Soft to the touch and light as a feather. For an unforgettable night, drizzle warm chocolate over my tender flesh, add a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry”
“Sounds sticky. What else ya got?”
“Treat yourself to an evening of blissful pleasure. If you like firm peaches and ripe melons, I’m the dish for you. Naturally sweet, full-bodied, and guaranteed to temp, tease and tantalize. Let me fulfill your innermost desires.”
“I don’t know. I feel guilty cheating on Betty Crocker.”
*For those of you not in the know, today’s offering is a parody poking fun at the Ashley Madison debacle. (The web site reportedly created for married people anxious to commit adultery.)
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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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