It’s not everyday someone you know has a four-digit birthday. In fact, most people would consider crossing the century mark quite an accomplishment in longevity. But like Methuselah says, “After three or four thousand years, who’s counting?”
At his age, finding health insurance is almost as challenging as finding a date. Although, for enough money, he can purchase limited coverage. The female companionship however, remains elusive.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, your Entertainment Director on this Cruise of Creativity is Julie “Twinkle-toes” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Collection of Authors” click here.
In the days before color (known as BC), Methuselah decided to emigrate to America. He’d spent twelve lifetimes herding goats in The Holy Land, and was looking for a nice place to retire.
His cousin, Hershel, sent him a brochure advertising an Eden in the new world called Florida. Allegedly, there was a Fountain of Youth hidden somewhere in this paradise of white, sandy beaches covered with beautiful bouncing babes. Methuselah threw on his kippah and boarded the first ship headed west.
Unfortunately, he made a wrong turn at Philadelphia and ended up in Havertown, PA. The rest, as they say, is history.
This was one of my early pokes at fellow Fictioneer, Perry Block, aka-Methuselah. This week, Julie “Twinkletoes” has dispatched him to Cleveland to cover the Republican National Convention. I don’t expect him to last long there as those in the Trump Camp are apt to track him down and break his ancient fingers, or deport him as an undocumented immigrant, for some of the unflattering stories he’s been reporting from the convention. If you haven’t read them, I encourage you to hurry over to his site and check them out while there’s still time.
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.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
A Humor Blog
Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
An author's perspective of mystery and more.
And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.