A few months ago, the Washington County Road Department, in their infinite wisdom, decided to grade our dirt road. This is a process whereby they fill the smooth, clean ruts that we have spent months honing to a near-asphalt finish, and fill them with a thin layer of gravel extracted from the road ditch. The result is like roller skating on a field of marbles.
Then, so we couldn’t report the devastation, the grader operator tilted his long, steel blade and severed the phone line at regular twenty-foot intervals. It took seventeen phone calls and two months of constant badgering to get a new phone line installed. A week later, the grader came back and sliced it in two again. I guess they just could let a buried line go unpunished. Hence the photo below.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Blog Gang Warden who keeps this motley crew of writers in check is Swifty “Gardenhose” 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.
The flight attendant demonstrated the safety procedures for Pterodactyl Airlines.
“In accordance with FAA regulations, your seat cushion doubles as an anvil. Please fasten the strap securely around your neck in the event of a water landing. This will greatly reduce the risk of shark attacks, as they prefer passengers who thrash on the surface rather than those who sink lifelessly to the bottom.”
Twenty minutes later the attendant’s voice echoed through the cabin like a chorus of angels. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Make mine a double.” Within moments, Corine’s nerves mellowed from frazzled to simply frayed.
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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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