Am I the only who has noticed the reverse correlation between the lack of Bigfoot and UFO photos and the number of cellphones in the world? Just a few decades ago, you couldn’t walk past a supermarket check-out aisle without seeing a blurry photos of an eight-foot tall, hairy woodland creature, or saucer-shaped, spacecraft hovering over a shack outside LaGrange, Texas.
Back in those day, only weirdos ran around with cameras in their pockets and the odds of getting a picture of Bigfoot flipping someone off, or an alien politely returning a mother-in-law after an accidental abduction were at least two billion to one. Now that we’re all camera carrying weirdos, these creatures have become shy. What’s up with that? Did they suddenly develop stage fright?
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Archiver of prints who sorts through her shoebox of Polaroids each week for a photo prompt is Linda Eastman Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To view the writers on a wire in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Hey, Thor. What’s with all the thunder and weird lightning?”
“It’s the anniversary of Perry Block’s birthday?”
“You mean THE Perry Block? Unmentioned son of Abraham, the first Hebrew HR Director under Joseph in Egypt?”
“Yep, that’s the guy?”
“How old is he?”
“No one really knows. He stopped counting at thirty-nine, and after that every year is just an anniversary.”
“Where is he? You’d think he’d be out here for the party.”
“Says he’s embarrassed by all the adulation. You know how humble and shy he is.”
“That’s too bad. Shotgun lightning only happens once every ten thousand years.”
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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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