Wednesday was the anniversary of my 29th birthday. On that hallowed day in 1984, prophets, tea-leaf readers, and a certain televangelist from Tulsa, had predicted time, as we know it, would stand still.
The catch was, to get your name on the list for the individual, anti-aging, time freeze, the envelope containing your donation to Jacob’s Ladder Prayer Tower Fund had to be postmarked by midnight on the 15th. Fortunately, mine was stamped at 11:58pm.
Flash forward to 2016 and you’ll see that I’m still the same dashingly handsome, modest, and extremely humble, boy-genius from days gone by. The product has retained its classic originality, only the packaging has been updated to lock-in freshness and appeal to a wider, global audience.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Marketing Director who posts fresh photo prompts each week, is Lili Von Shtupp Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a booth in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Born the result of a one-night-stand between a Double Bass and a French horn, Chantelle never fit in.
Rejected by orchestras, marching bands, and traveling gypsies, she found herself relegated to serving sour notes at a third-rate comedy club.
Her range spanned seven octaves, but her voice was always slightly off-key. Musicians debated whether she was a wind, or string instrument, while the comedians thrived on cruel jokes about her f-holes.
An odd-looking rich man saw her act and booked her for an outdoor event on January 20th.
“You’re a perfect fit,” he said, “to play Hail to the Chief.”
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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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