Since getting rid of satellite TV, we’ve been watching a lot of cooking shows on PBS. These folks cook everything from mouth-watering steak to three-layer apple pies. I swear I’ve gained six pounds without lifting a fork.
This morning, I got an idea for a new cooking show starring prison inmate Benny Caruthers. It’s called ‘Benny the Meth Chef.’ He’s traveled extensively throughout the South in search of the lowest quality ingredients, and always managed to stay one step ahead of the competition. “Judges in five states rave about my cooking,” brags Benny.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the girl wearing the Birthday Hat this week and playing Pin the Tale on the Photo is Molly Jones 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.
“What’s that smell?”
“Something’s burning in 302. A couple of Boomers live there.”
“Boomers? I’ve heard of them.”
“Yeah, their generation caused quite a stir back in the day. They held sit-ins and claimed to be about peace, love, and all that jazz. The young men burned draft cards, women burned their bras, and they burned a whole lot of grass. Now, they’re mostly gray-headed or bald, losing their vision and hearing. Listen to that music. It’s the Beatles.”
“What do you think they’re burning today?”
“Smells like cake. One of them is probably having a birthday.”
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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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