While most of the world is watching the Summer Games in Rio, I’m busy training for the 2018 Winter Olympics in PyeongChang, South Korea. Unlike most athletes who specialize in one particular discipline, I plan to bring home the gold in multiple events. This may sound like an unreasonable expectation for an overweight man who recently turned sixty, but before you book me a padded cell at the insane asylum, check out my plan for becoming America’s first Obese Olympic Champion. It all starts with the proper diet and finely tuned training regime.
I arise each morning before the crack of noon and start my day with a nutritionally balanced breakfast. One half-dozen chocolate donuts, a double order of biscuits and gravy, and a pound of bacon hold me over till lunch. (The last thing you want is to be halfway through a strenuous workout and run out of energy.) By 4pm I’m famished and on my way to Dave’s Pizzeria for Happy Hour. Two Chicago-style pizzas and a pitcher of beer later, I’m ready to start thinking about dinner.
If all goes as planned, 546 days from now you can watch me blow away the competition in the Luge and a variety of other downhill events (using gravity to my advantage).
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Gold Medalist in the 100 word Freestyle Flash is Sheree Godiva Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Born on the day Ernest Tubb died, Claude was destined to become a country star. He had the boots, the cowboy hat, even the sequined-encrusted, powder-blue jump suit. All he lacked was a decent singing voice.
“When Claude Bawls sings,” one music reviewer wrote, “his vocal tones are reminiscent of a coyote who sat down on a steel trap.”
Claude’s entourage included a couple of bleach-blonde, trailer-trash bimbos and his cousin, Leroy. Booked to play a Louisiana swamp family reunion, one of the bimbos constructed a sign from an empty beer carton promoting the event as “The Bored Strait Tour.”
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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.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
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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.
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