"Do I have COVID?"
"What do you mean?"
"I can't seem to smell this."
"What's this? And yes, losing smell is a symptom of COVID."
"Well, I suppose I can smell other stuff, just not this."
"Again, what's 'this'??"
"This thing here - it's gold."
"That may be the issue."
"But 'a rose by any other name would smell so sweet!'"
"You're holding a compass rose, dumbass."
 |
| Art by Jorge |
"Feel what, Jim?"
"I don't know man, the world seems fuzzy."
"Fuzzy?"
"Yeah, wobbly."
"Are you feeling okay? How long have you been feeling this way?"
"Since I've been sitting here on the rim of this glass."
"That's weird."
"What's weird?"
"I just meant that conversationally, but now that you mention it, what's in that glass?"
"Koninck - a beer, I think."
"Well shit, Jim - you're buzzed!"
[Usual rules apply - each person writes a sentence. All the participants had the ability to read the previous sentences, though I'm not sure everyone actually did.]
"Gimme a citywide," the hot dog head man said. "I've had a hell of a day. You'll relish the tale."
"Best I can do is one of these paper cones they inexplicably use for hydration purposes even though they are embarrassingly small," the bartender replied and handed HDHM the libation. The condensation made it slippery.
As the man stared into the cup, he began to reflect on the horrific day he had experienced. Never in his life had he experienced anything like it.
You ever hear of elevator accidents? That's how the real Avril Lavigne died.
"What's your stance on Israel & Palestine?" I asked the bartender, ready to make my horrific day worse."
Just as the bartender was about to speak, a cat jumped on the bar and dashed across, knocking over the tiny paper cone and spilling well whiskey on the man with the hot dog head.
(If you're having trouble following this story - ketchup!)
"You're still going to have to pay for that," the bartender said.
And that was it, the man had had it.
I paid then the bouncer asked me to leave.
The whiskey suddenly combusted, ripping right to my rippling testicles nestled in my scrotum; tumbling in horrific fiery pain like a 9/11 ferris wheel.
I vomited on my own shoes.
The expert, one Dr. Knuckle, explained that the demographic distribution of humanity has been trending in such a way that more and more births have been successful in the sterile and controlled environments of our various space-faring projects. The number of successful births on Earth, however, have not been increasing at the same rate, despite pollution mitigation efforts started in the past century.
"Contaminants appear everywhere," Dr. Knuckle explained. "It hasn't even been a year since the lipstick and foundation recall and many of us remember the Algae-tea debacle." The doctor asserted that the closed systems of space-faring life were more able to detect and dispose of hazardous materials where we are still discovering world-ending caches of contaminant buried and forgotten by past generations on Earth.
Dr. Knuckle ended the studio interview encouraging a positive outlook and an eye toward the future. The doctor closed by saying "Despite the struggles we have faced and the consequences of our ancestor's actions, we have the opportunity to improve the lives of those who come after us - more and more of whom will never know the feeling of standing on humanity's home and looking up at humanity's future."
There was a place called El Bar
Where PBR was the star
I fucked up this poem
Put a slug in my dome
I could have ended with PBR
&&&
Blustery Bullshit
and fabricated facts
each truth welcomed
with a flurry of smacks
There's no profit in honesty
Money flies toward lies
If we end up surviving
It'll be a surprise
[Author's note: I'm in a weird space here. Unlike a lot of other sprints, I feel like this could morph into something good. I don't know if I have the talent to make that happen, however.]
“What was that, Chuck?”
“Well, I was driving down to Santa Monica for the day and decided to take the scenic route.”
“Uh huh.”
“So I was on Sepulveda and took a few turns here and there. Figured I might pop by the Getty or something like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, so I wanted to see where the winds would blow me or whatever. I wasn’t tied down to some freeway or other. I was just cruising along and letting life lead me forward.”
“Okay, and what did you see?”
“Oh, you’re not going to believe it. Oh, first, do you remember Tim?”
“Tim?”
“Yeah - big guy, big mustache?”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down for me.”
“Tim - you know - used to own that spot a couple blocks north?”
“Oh, yeah - Tim. What about him?”
“I saw him on the road driving a new Porsche. He looks like he’s doing well for himself. We should visit him sometime.”
“Sure, sure - what did you see that I’m not going to believe?
“I’m getting to it! Don’t rush me.”
“Sorry.”
“So I’m driving down to Santa Monica and I see this sign that says ‘eighth wonder of the world’ with a big giraffe on it and so now I’m intrigued.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Jim, you’re just not going to believe this.”
“What?”
“They’re opening a new Toys r Us!”
“What? That’s it?”
“What do you mean ‘that’s it’? That’s amazing!”
“Sure, great. Now will you just cum so I can get some sleep.”
"Tiff!" Cindy and Paul cried out in greeting.
"Hi guys," Tiff said as she reached the booth. "It's been a bit."
"I don't think I've stepped foot in here since college," Paul confirmed.
"I'm surprised they let you back in," Cindy teased.
"Hey now - don't remind them. I think they've forgotten by now. And I think that waiter's now a butcher across town."
"What makes you say that?"
"I can't be sure - I don't exactly remember his face - but the way the butcher ripped the ticket out of my hand and eyed his collection of knives I felt like it was him."
"Are you saying he has a beef against you?" Sam smirked.
"I don't know and I don't want to find out."
"I don't know why it's such a big deal - it was just a few pizzas." Tiff said.
"And the guy had to wear them all night!" Sam ribbed. "He was probably picking pepperoni out of his pants when he got home."
"Hey, it was an accident! I said I was sorry."
"Pepperoni pants and a sausage shirt," Cindy said through a snort of laughter. "Maybe he got his girlfriend a chiffon and cheese camisole!"
Paul turned an embarrassed shade of tomato red as the friends had a laugh. The waitress came up to the booth and asked if they were ready to order.
"Order! Order! We must restore order!" Sam joked as he mimed banging a gavel on the table.
Cindy looked at the waitress and said "we'd like an extra large chef's special pizza-" she paused to look at Paul "-on plates."
My assigned seat was a window seat and, of course, the middle and aisle had beat me to the row. I pointed and worked through what I hoped was a polite sentence in German. It was unnecessary, however, as both the men were in the same boat (another metaphor failure) as I - heading back to the States after a suit & tie circus.
Middle asked if I was nervous and I admitted to hating takeoffs. He intimated that he hated the whole process and had spent the whole night prior in a bar so he'd be more hungover than scared. I suppose that's one way to go through life.
I took a swing and asked if he was into baseball. He balked - or was it more of a false start? - and mentioned he was into football. It didn't much matter to me; the conversation was to be a distraction as the flight got underway. A long snap? A Hail Mary across the Atlantic? We were white-knuckled as we discussed the long overdue renaming of the Red Skins.
I relaxed as the plane leveled out. The man in the middle seat relaxed as the drink cart passed. As the drinks kicked in the flight went from walking on eggshells to being a cake walk. As smooth as butter. a piece of cake.
So much for being witty.
