seuss intervention

Fushle sees blurry
and trips over his feet
stumbling and stomping
like a five-legged sheep

Fushle isn't walking
as straight as he thinks
but Fushle stops thinking
after five or six drinks

Dr. "Feelgood" Seuss

As a little R, my favoritest book ever was One Fish, Two Fish. I'd memorized it after forcing my poor mother to read it ad nauseum. Here is my homage to my favorite book..

One pill,
Two pill,
Red pill,
Blue pill,
Too many pills can make you ill,
How many pills can you swill?

At least I didn't do Hop on Crack..

floozles, bloozles and cantampler bamboozles

The first book I remember really reading as a kid was Dr. Suess' Sleep Book. I loved that thing so much, I think I read it every night. Years later, I had to order a copy on Amazon just to sate my hunger for nostalgia. To tarnish this lovely memory of my youth, this week's task will be to write the opening line of a rejected children's book in the voice of the goodly Dr. Suess.

hardboiled munchies

She was like the hamburger in a fast food restaurant commercial--all steaming hot with crisp lettuce and tomato, beaded with dew droplets and slapped between the two halves of a firm sesame seed bun--but I knew if I let her get too close, I'd wind up with nothing but heartburn and a bad case of the shits; she sat down and said her husband had fallen in with the wrong crowd, some grade A scum, and I reached into the top draw of my desk to grab my Saturday night special and my near-empty bottle of Tums.

Slimy Seamus

I have to admit that this was not a genre I was all too familiar with. I prefer less grit and more poision. I grew up on Agatha Christie, stop looking at me like that!

The last time I'd seen Seamus McGillicutty-- alive, that is-- he was hanging all over some red-headed dame-- a cheap, little floozy down at the speakeasy-- like a hungry dog on a gnarled up bone, reeking of gin, mothballs, and cigars and laughing like a hiccuping hyena and even then he looked a sight better-- smelled a bit better, too-- than he did now as I identified what little was left of his body after he'd been partially shoved through a wood chipper.

Hard-Boiled Sam

This week's theme, should you choose to accept it-- not that you actually have a choice in the matter-- is..... Dun dun DUUUUUUUN!

The opening line to a mystery.

But not just any kind of mystery! Dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!! No! A hard-boiled detective mystery ala Sam Spade. Or the like. Have fun with it!

Dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!

death of destiny

J, age 28, died one year younger than R. He was a quiet man, a boring man, but in the most basic sense of the word--in so much as he breathed, ate and shat--he lived.

Though liver failure, tripping over a curb in a drunken stupor or some sudden venereal disease all would have been likely culprits in his demise, J, instead, was ushered into the next life via a giant funnel cloud that touched down near his home. He was, however, drunk at the time, and thankfully free of STDs.

J is survived by his PlayStation2 (Stella), a swanky widescreen HDTV and accompanying six-disc DVD player/5.1 surround sound system and upwards of $70K in debt, most of which resulting from his three years of "soul searching" at a private university in Staten Island, New York.

His liver, Sparky, could not be reached for comment.

Services will be held at the local watering hole, where Guinness will be on special for $3 a pint. Granted, this is not a result of his demise. Such specials can be found at the tavern every Thursday night.

Death of a Drama Queen

R, age 29, Suburbia, NJ- She was known to most as Erratic Prophet and proudly proclaimed herself to be a geek, snob and bad writer. After being asked one too many inane questions, R fell into an apoplectic fit, resulting in not only a stroke, but a heart attack as well.

She is survived by her children, The Boy and The Girl, who will miss her chocolate chip cookies and lipglosses respectively; her cat, Buttons (a.k.a., Boo, Boo-Boo, Boobah, Boo Kitty, Boo Bear, Monsieur Boo-Boo), who was peeved about not being consulted about death prior to the event and took to destroying the furniture in retaliation; her mother, another R, who was heard to have said, "This was a bit overdramatic, even for her.."; and her father who is quite sure that R's death was done just to annoy him.

There will be no services held because R hated large parties as she thought that groups of moping people milling about a vase containing ashes-- cremated to better acquaint self to the climate in Hell-- idiotic and would do a half-gainer in her grave had she had one.

In conclusion: R dead, missed? unsure, very likely in Hell, no funeral, currently feeling sooty.

writing through the valley of the shadow of death

Yea, Death is always upon us. The Reaper will get us some day, that's for sure, but what isn't certain is how we'll be remembered. This week's assignment, if you choose to accept it, is to write your own obituary.

why i shouldn't own a portable mp3 player

walking home from bars
listening to gigantic
singing like an ass