I saw my first Donut Ambulance yesterday. Those of you who have a Hurts Donut Company near you may be familiar with their delivery vehicles and the opportunity to have donuts delivered to someone you love (or hate) by a scary clown.
I’m assuming the ambulance contains a couple of Emergency Donut Technicians (EDTs) who can hook up an IV and get a flow of glaze started before your heart collapses from Donut Arrest. Where were these folks when I was writing my essay on Donut Abuse?
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the ringmaster of this 100-word circus is Krusty Kreme Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to join the Purple Insane Mime Posse (P.I.M.P.) sashay over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
I had taken my son Brandon, to a Phillies game. We were headed to our seats when I noticed one of the poles supporting the mezzanine marked with a ‘wet paint’ sign. I froze in my tracks.
Brandon tugged at my arm. “Come on, Dad. We’re missing the game.” But I couldn’t leave that paint to dry alone.
“Go ahead, son. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I never took my eye off the pole for a single second. By the time Brandon returned four hours later, I could touch it without leaving a fingerprint.
Boy, was I needing to pee.
What we have here is an excerpt from “The Joys of Watching Paint Dry” from my upcoming book, One Idiot Short of a Village. The star of this episode, Perry Block, will also be releasing a book in November. Stay tuned for more shameless self-promotions.
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Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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