Watching the winter games on television has gotten my competitive juices flowing. I’ve started training for the 2024 Obese Olympics. If all goes according to plan, I expect to bring home the gold in several disciplines including The Bellyflop.
Getting in shape for the games requires a strict diet. I start my day with a large serving of biscuits and gravy, a half-pound of bacon, and six pancakes. For lunch, it’s two Big Macs, large fries, and a chocolate shake. After my afternoon nap, I wake up starving and ready for a twenty-ounce T-bone, loaded baked potato, and three slices of apple pie smothered in ice cream.
The results have been amazing. I’ve had to cut large holes in the bibs of my overalls to keep the material from restricting my ever-growing gut. Let’s hope the podium doesn’t collapse.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Belton, Missouri used car salesperson known to drive a hard bargain is Illa Cheatum Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Good morning, Ms. Kohlen. I’m Richard Henderson, the attorney. You left me a voicemail regarding your car and legal problems. “Let’s deal with the most pressing issue first. I’m prepared to offer six thousand dollars for your 1984 Volkswagen Rabbit.”
“What? Let’s talk about that after you get me out of jail.”
“Okay, how about seventy-five hundred?”
“No! I’m stuck in his hellhole and all you want to talk about is my car?”
Henderson grimaced. “All right, I can see you want to play hardball. Ten thousand—but that’s my final offer.”
Shelley sighed. “Let me think about it.”
*another excerpt from Criminal Mimes
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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.
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