Occasionally, I’ll watch a cooking show on TV. The chef will combine a large number of hard-to-find ingredients then sauté, braise, broil, deep-fry, or bake the delicacy to perfection. It never turns out lopsided, burnt to a crisp, or looking like you scraped it off the road. (They must be using with a different wine.)
My least favorite part of the show is when they sample and rave about how delicious it is. Just once, I’d like to see the chef get a shocked look on his/her face, rush over to the sink, spit out the food, and declare, “Damn, that tastes like shit!” Now, that would be reality cooking at its best.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Keebler Elf of 100 word stories is Betty “”Wanna” Cracker Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly escapade of madness, waddle over to her hollow tree for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Did you hear about the sale down at Bunions?” The excitement in Chrissy’s voice bubbled through the phone.
“No, but I love a good sale. A girl can’t have too many shoes.” Bev’s sandal-clad toes wiggled with anticipation.
“Amen, sister. And this is their annual two-for-the-price-of-three sale. They’re also having a hurricane special on a new line of shoes called Irma that are imported from Florida.”
“Wow, this sounds too good to be true.” Bev giggled.
“Yeah, and get this,” Chrissy whispered. “They come pre-molded. They’ll fit in perfectly with the other two hundred pair aging in my closet.”
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.