One thing you can say about the number of people using cellphones in their cars is that you don’t see as many nose-pickers at stop lights as you did ten years ago. In those days, every traffic light featured two or three motorist with a finger crammed up a nostril to the second joint. The way they were going at it, you’d have thought they were digging for gold.
If you’ll notice today, even those drivers texting or surfing the web have their mouths open. This is due to their nostrils being packed more tightly than the noses on Mount Rushmore. President Trump is taking credit for the creation of new jobs, known as “Schnozzola Sweeps,” caused by this malady. According to the AMA, those with particularly large noses can expect to see an increase in insurance premiums.
If this is your first visit to Friday Flash Fiction, our resident expert on all-things-olfactory is Jenny Durante Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block, click here.
The gloomy weather made it tough finding work. Prospective clients were continually in a foul mood. They went to bed grumpy and woke up more irritable than a hapless playboy who’d prefer to gnaw off his own arm rather than risk waking an unsightly bed partner.
The residents of Bellingham moved about as in a trance, a gray world where nothing was real. Even the shadows were artificial. Sunshine was rationed in anemic proportions.
Things got so bad, he was forced to hold a cardboard silhouette of Mr. Strutz’ bicycle and trot along beside the rider.
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
Stories From Within
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.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.