How many of you have attended a tent revival? Mom dragged me to one in 1967. It was scheduled during the hottest week of the summer and held in large army-green canvas structures. Inside, the heat and odors were suffocating. If bottled, the fragrance would’ve been labeled Eau de Gym Locker.
The evangelist was a silver-haired version of Ichabod Crane. His boney fingers trembled even when he wasn’t pointing them at every lost sinner in the congregation. From his point of view, if you weren’t going to speak for an hour, why bother opening your mouth. Then came the altar call, which lasted a full thirty minutes.
When we got home, I had to peel my clothes off and draped them over a chair. The next day they could stand by themselves. If Hell is anything like a tent revival, I sure don’t want to go.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the chirping beak who emcees this show is Eleanor “Bird Woman of Belton” 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.
The musical of group Ronnie, Ray, and Stevie, known as The Three Blind Mice, filed suit today seeking punitive damages against Eva MacDonald, wife of local farmer Ol’ MacDonald.
The plaintiffs are asking for $3 million compensation for the loss of their tails, which they allege the defendant chopped off with a carving knife.
Lawyers for Mrs. MacDonald claim she acted in self-defense, fearing for her life. “The mice were chasing her. This lawsuit is clearly a promotional stunt to draw attention to their new album.”
The trio plans to release the recording under the name The Three Bob-Tailed Rodents.
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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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