How many of you have at least one pair of holey underwear? No, I’m not talking about the kind of “holy” you reserve for religious holidays; I’m referring to the type with non-factory openings for extra ventilation. Okay, you can put your hands down now.
Well, here’s some good news. In today’s fashion world you’re more in style than ever. People pay a fortune for jeans and shirts that look like they lost a fight with a weed-whacker. Consider yourself ahead of the curve—possibly even a trendsetter. Viva la holey bloomers!
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Chief Inspector who checks for 100-word skid marks, is “Skivvies” Hanes Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to submit your tale to the weekly collection, zip over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
The Resource Center turned out to be what people of my generation would call a library.
Twenty-first century libraries have become more of an entertainment center than a repository for books. The one at The Academy of Spoiled Rotten Brats was no exception. It featured a wide array of multi-media options, each partitioned off by a hideous piece of modern art.
One look at this fiasco told me it was the work of Claude Bawls, Professor Emeritus at Joe’s College of Mobile Home Design and Shoe Shine Institute, and a disciple of the man who invented the cocktail umbrella.
* the above is an excerpt from “The Academy of Spoiled Rotten Brats.” This tale and others are featured in One Idiot Short of a Village, now available for pre-order from Pen-L Publishing.
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
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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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