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BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Nyet, nyet, nyet. Date: 08 Aug 11 - 08:10 PM BRAVO, Nein, nein, nein. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Nein Nein Nein Date: 08 Aug 11 - 04:37 PM sigh.. you want any more, add them yourselves..... The fat lady has sung. It is not pining for the Fjords! It is dead! Wake up Polly!!!!! Turn out the lights... the Party's over. Th th th that's all folks! Stick a fork in it! It is done! C'est Finis It's over! The End Kaput! Fin
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: gnu Date: 08 Aug 11 - 04:17 PM How Parisienne. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Don Firth Date: 08 Aug 11 - 03:55 PM That should be "C'est finis." The "s" is not pronounced. Don Firth (three years of high school French, most of which has gone down the tubes through lack of opportunity to use it.) P. S. Kaput? |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,pgwroop Date: 08 Aug 11 - 02:52 PM C'est Fini Its over! I missed the first one. I meant this one. The End |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Nein Nein Nein Date: 08 Aug 11 - 02:40 PM The fat lady has sung. It is not pining for the Fjords! It is dead! Wake up Polly!!!!! Turn out the lights... the Party's over. Th th th that's all folks! Stick a fork in it! It is done! C'est Fini Its over! The End Fin |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Pedantic git who's running out of papers . . Date: 08 Aug 11 - 01:36 PM Ah. But for the want of an apostrophe in its. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Nein Nein Nein Date: 08 Aug 11 - 01:34 PM The fat lady has sung. It is not pining for the Fjords! It is dead! Wake up Polly!!!!! Turn out the lights... the Party's over. Th th th that's all folks! Stick a fork in it! It is done! C'est Fini Its over! The End Fin |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 08 Aug 11 - 01:13 PM "The Night", happened to be the nickname of the 6'6", 325 lb football player from Michigan State. "Oh no little buddy." he said "You're going back in side." I got in enough crap when that Indian busted out of here by throwing the fountain through the window. You know it's been bottled water ever since? And do you know who has to give them their water? Yeah. Me!." "And you just know you will have to sleep without bedclothes from now on!. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Getting Stone D Date: 08 Aug 11 - 01:13 PM PART VI |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Amos Date: 08 Aug 11 - 01:09 PM shoulds =shoulders |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Amos Date: 08 Aug 11 - 12:59 PM Jakelowered the hardened-steel Gilette double-edge razor with an air of grim determination. He had somehow succeeded in convincing Gloria she had to smuggle it in to him, and now his Tom Selleck moustache was gone. And with it, the lingering maddening traces of simian excreta were gone as well. He took a deep breath--IN through the mouth, OUT through the nose--and sighed in relief. He walked quietly back to his private room in the asylum, the razor resting his bathrobe pocket. HE lay under his sheets until well past midnight, listening to the sounds of the madhouse--the rubbery squeak of the night nurse's shoes, the rattle of the security guard's keys, the quiet snore of the dried out alky who managed to pretend to be the night orderly. Everything settled into the silence of deep night, and he slipped from his bed, tiptoed to the window, and slipped the handle of the razor under the lock device, It took awhile, because he had to be quiet, but eventually the ancient steel staples moved and he was able to lever the lock out of the casing. With a soft creak, the casement swung open. Jake smelled the outside world, free of monkey shit, like a new man rediscovering reality. QUickly, he ran double bowlines into his bedsheets and joined two of them together, anchored to the leg of his sturdy hospital bed. Squeezing his shoulds to get through the narrow window, he rode the bedsheets down the wall of the imposing brick building, dropping the last ten feet, and, still in his bathrobe and bedroom slippers, he slipped quietly through the hydrangeas and into the night. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Sharon Stone Date: 08 Aug 11 - 12:29 PM PART CINCO |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Oliver Stone Date: 08 Aug 11 - 10:23 AM NO! Not Woody Allen! We CANNOT have him anywhere near this. He makes too much sense! |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Oliver Stone Date: 08 Aug 11 - 10:22 AM I don't get it. I really don't get any of it. But I've been talking to Mel Brooks and Jack Nicholson, and we want to collaborate and produce & direct the movie version! (no, that GfS guy can't write the screenplay! He's much too organized)) How could it fail with writers like these and our conceptual skills? We envision something like "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" done in the style of "Silent Movie", but with a setting like "Platoon". Now- off to sell this to MGM! (Oh... need suggestions for actors!) |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Omniscient Narrator Date: 08 Aug 11 - 08:40 AM So you wonder, What happened to Chongo? What happened to George? What happened to Jake? Jake was in a very bad mental state when they took him to the nut house. The smell had been trapped in his mustache, which I feel obliged to point out, is directly under his nose for about 36 hours until a male nurse, a 6'6", 325 pound former Michigan State defensive lineman, pulled off the mask and fainted dead away. The human mind's defenses are many and wondrous. Jake had managed to survive by convincing himself that he actually liked that smell. While in the asylum he spends his days watching tivo's of Ape week and reading about Chimpanzee feeding habits and carefully restricting himself to the same foods, and every morning his wakes up, walks to the corner of his padded cell, poohs into his own hand and smells the result. But he never gets it quite right. Because he is not a chimpanzee you ask? No not entirely. The staff knows a lot about Chongo. This was the closest nuthouse on the ambulance route. At one point, 2 floors of the south wing were dedicated to the "Chongoids" as they called them. You see every one who comes into close contact with Chongo becomes a little bit nuts. But those who have to put up with his shit? Full bleeding bonkers!! Every night all up and down the corridor the calls would ring out. "What died in there?" "Who died in there?" "Lord Almighty save us from that stench!!" Yes the staff knew what gave Chongo's emissions that extra zing. But they had more sense than to tell Jake. George the Gentleman can be seen every Tuesday night at Cameron's pub in Fiddler's Green hosting the "Bill Shatner Impersonator Night." There they all are in their tight yellow tee shirts over pot bellies, "singing" MacArthur Park. No one ever shows up but George and the counterfeit Bills. But they don't seem to mind. The authorities were at a loss as to what to do with Chongo. The law couldn't touch him. They couldn't put him in the nut house with humans. He couldn't make a living, especially wearing human clothing. Then one day they called me. "Mr Allen." they said. "Call me Woody." I said. "Woody you are a creative guy. We have this situation...." Chongo seems pretty happy in his own exhibit at the Bronx zoo. He doesn't need a lot to stay happy. Healthy food warm place to stay. A Hotel quality toilet and bidet. He likes seeing the visitors, especially the dames. We gave him an iPad so he could go online and keep in touch with his old friends. Zoo visitors see him using it. They think it is cute. If they knew he was ranting about American politics and Apes rights, I wonder would they throw him so many cigarettes. Once a week, I go there dressed in my Che fatigues and beret and toss him a Cuban cigar. I worry about him though when he goes online and pretends to be an imaginary mouth harp playing folk singer from Gorillia, Canada. But what makes him happiest of all is that every Tuesday a keeper goes across the street to a vendor and gets him a great big nitrate laden, bacon chili cheeze dog with extra onion, a side of sauerkraut and two pickled eggs, as long as on the following day he plugs in the air fresheners, lights a candle and flushes twice. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,Omniscient Narrator Date: 08 Aug 11 - 07:33 AM The brown mud balls, I think we all, from the first time we saw the words of Chongo all suspected that it would come down to brown mud balls. For a monkey of any size is never completely unarmed as long as he is not wearing pants. To find out why Chongo had no pants we must look in the other direction at Jake. Jake carefully leveled his 457 Magnum centering the laser site on Chongo nose. "Do you feel lucky chimp?" He asked. "No I don't." whimpered Chongo, oozing fear from every follicle of his straight black hair." "In about ten seconds you'll be the main course across the street." Snarled Jake, over explaining like a hapless Bond villain." "Can I have one last request? Can I die in my natural state? With no clothing?" Begged the shivering ape. "OK but make it quick and no sudden moves!" So Chongo quickly disrobed, in a smooth but not sudden manner. Now people think that voiding one's digestive system in times of great danger to be a cowardly act. But Chongo thought of it merely as prudent self defense. In fact he had mastered the art of Kung Pooh while still at his mother's breast. In fact, it his rumoured that he threw his meconium at the midwife when she slapped him. Suffice it to say that if pooh flinging was a professional sport, he would hold all the records for volume, stickiness and accuracy, and for reasons to be explained later, stench. Jake and Sham were immediately reduced to blinded, retching catatonic vegetables. Maybe it was the near death experience, maybe it was removing the human clothing, including the too tight briefs. Chongo scrambled up the girders of the el and started to scream in apeish triumph. He had reverted to a more natural state. Across the street The Panda Expressly owner who was aiming a sniper rifle at Chongo with the Chef spotting for him wrinkled up his nose and said "What the 'ell is dat smell." "Zut Allor! I donno!" said the Chef. "But dere is no way dat ting his gittin in my kitchen dead or alive!" With the field of weirdness around Chongo diminishing long distorted pocket of reality were reverting to their true state. Sham went back to being Sam, fully clothed, dressed normally. The Keystone cops went back to being officer Laquisha Hernandez Ginsberg, who immediately went to the paddy wagon as it changed back into her police interceptor and radioed for backup. The Panda Expressly went back to being just Panda Express, where if there is mystery meat. it is not advertised. The pilot woke in London, having joined the RAF, but instead of fighting the kamikaze of the luftwaffe he would be dropping propaganda leaflets on Tripoli. Michael joined the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints and married Heather and her mother in a joint ceremony. He later changed his name and is now running for the GOP presidential nomination. Shane and Don returned to their point of origin. The Fire department came and hosed down the victims of the "brown mud ball" attack. They hosed down Chongo from the girders and kept the hose on him until all the smell and all detectable traces of living as a human were swept down into the sewer. Jake was not so lucky someone had put a mask on him to "save" him but how were they to know that his proud Tom Selleck mustache would be his undoing. It only took one person to put the straight jacket on Jake. It took 22 to subdue Chongo. Mostly because his arms were nearly as long as the sleeves and he kept undoing the knots with his prehensile feet. But once they put fireman's boots on him and duct taped them together, they finally got him under control. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Rapparee Date: 07 Aug 11 - 11:05 PM From the source of the odor came what appeared to be a mudball, brown and semi-solid. It hit him in the ear and he cursed vividly. Then, to his dismay, came another and another. As one hit him squarely in the face he realized in an instant that these were brown and semi-solid, they were most assuredly not mud. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 07 Aug 11 - 07:26 PM "That's what happens when an American Airlines pilot gets too close to Chongo." Thought Sham Spayed. Being down wind he caught a whiff of something and winced. "Do all chimps smell that bad?" he wondered. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,999 Date: 07 Aug 11 - 07:22 PM Now, there's a twist. Gone to heaven wearing his FotLs. Folks, don't go away; the wurst is yet to come, and the beer. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Rapparee Date: 07 Aug 11 - 07:10 PM He kissed her cheek and said, "I've got to run, sugar. Nazi Zeroes are inbound to attack London. It's just we few, to whom so many owe so much, that stand between Mussolini and his invasion of Britain." As he buttoned on his flight jacket she thought how dashing he looked. Then she shouted, "Wait! You forgot your trousers!" but it was to no avail. He was gone to meet his fate amidst the clouds. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,999 Date: 07 Aug 11 - 12:36 PM PART QUATRE |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 07 Aug 11 - 12:30 PM Meanwhile, back at Fishies Chip Stand. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 07 Aug 11 - 10:23 AM A train running on the ties of a hundred thousand investment bankers tied to those very tracks by greed and ambition. The recession of 2008 had begun. Their one hope of redemption, Good Hearted Hank and The Bailout Bunch. Robbing from the tax payers to give to the reckless. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Janie Date: 07 Aug 11 - 02:35 AM By George, mission accomplished! |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,999 Date: 06 Aug 11 - 11:53 PM I eagerly await the denouement. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Rapparee Date: 06 Aug 11 - 11:51 PM Suddenly a shot rang out. In the distance a door slammed shut, cutting off a woman's scream as the thunder rumbled overhead like a demented freight train running on the ties instead of the rails. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Little Hawk Date: 06 Aug 11 - 08:06 PM Isn't it, eh, gnu? :-) (smile, but no wink, and directed at gnu only) It seems to have taken on a life of its own, but you could say that about most threads on Mudcat. They go wherever they decide to. If they are political threads, that's usually right down the crapper. This is definitely more fun. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 06 Aug 11 - 03:02 PM Gentleman George was munching on a haunch of wildebeest gazing out the window of the Panda Expressly, thinking about how much he loved gnu-veau cuisine, when he saw an ape dressed like a 1930's mobster under a street light. Approaching from one side was a man in a trench coat with a gun. From the other side crept a man dressed in nothing but a fedora carrying bottle of chloroform and a hanky. With 47 keystone cops, walking on their tippy toes creeping behind him. "Something is afoot" Said George. "No the haunch is the thighbone." said the waiter oblivious to the tableau outside the pitcher window. "By the way the owner wants to make an offer on the Giraffe/horse of yours. What do you want for it." "But then how will I look down one people?" "You can do what the yuppies do ride in and SUV with tinted windows. He'll trade you a Hummer for it. The car I mean, not the other thing. He don't swing that way. Not that there is anything wrong with that." George pondered for a minute as he sprinkled some cinnamon on his gnu meat. "Yeah, yeah, that'll work!" |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: gnu Date: 06 Aug 11 - 01:45 PM Excellent thread idea LH. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 06 Aug 11 - 01:35 PM The man in the fedora drove down the Miracle Mile in Al Capone's 1930 V16 Cadillac. There seemed to be some mysterious force surrounding those who entered the orbit of that nasty chimp brash natural primate that he was, which exiled those who got too close into Film Noir characters from the last century. The man in the fedora saw a blue light flashing in his mirrors. "Oh Oh he thought. (ironically) This is gonna be fun. The Chicago policeman tapped on the man in the fedora's window and motioned for him to roll down and window and said "Can I see your license and registration and your parade permit?" "Parade permit?" asked the man in the fedora? "Well that car is 80 years old and does not have any signal lights or brake light. Hey, is this right? is your name really Sham Spayed? "Yeah, that's my name. Don't wear it out." "Weeelll Be gosh and be gorin Mister Spayed. I'm soo please t' meet ye. May the blessing of the Emerald Isle be upon you." "Thank you officer Fits Patrick." "Hey what's happenin to me hat? Its turnin into a wee helmet and me buttons are gettin bigger and brassier. I'm turnin all Keystone!!" "The officer's sleek Dodge Charger police interceptor has changed into a boxy 1930s paddy wagon and to the accompaniment of a tinkly piano, a madcap chase ensues. Officer Fits Patrick chases the paddy wagon and dives into it wiithe the 20 other officers as it passes him by. This chase can only end at one place Fishies Chip Stand, under the el. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,999 Date: 06 Aug 11 - 09:40 AM PART TROIS |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 06 Aug 11 - 08:47 AM 200th post recap. The flood of chapter 1 has receded but Jake's recovery has not begun. Chongo, who may or may not turn out to be the villain of the piece has has an appointment with Jake under the el train tracks. Somehow word has got out and various and sundry nefarious entities are racing to the appointed place, including a thug in a fedora, to literally and figuratively get a piece of Chongo. One of them is a famous TV chef who says "Bam!!" to much who wants to make his most elusive creation, pan seared, blackened monkey fingers on the hit food channel/Comedy Central co-production, Iron(ic) Chef. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 06 Aug 11 - 08:38 AM Shane and Don McBride sauntered in to the Horseshoe Fork Bar, they wore red "roots" track suits with maple leaves on them. Shane calls to the Bartender. "A beer for me and my friend here." A large woman with a face like a dream and body like a line backer sauntered up to them, invading their customary Canadian 1.5 meters of person space by about 1.49 meters. "What brings you lumberjocks to a gay bar in Chicago?" (s)he asked. "We want to try something morally taboo back home." "But can't gays get married in Canada." (s)he asked. "No.. No.. not that!!! Dwarf tossing!!" |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Little Hawk Date: 06 Aug 11 - 08:22 AM AT last! A sport that Shane and Don McBride could excel at...Dwarf tossing! I bet it would go over big in Blind River. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 10:49 PM One happy bowling ball Dwarf tossing and Joan Jet. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 10:25 PM "Graystoke, Gaystroke, ya only gotta change the location of ome measly letter and its funnier that way." Chongo muttered to himself. Why does that idiot Jake want to meet me at Fishies Chip Stand of all places? At midnight no less? At least its across the the street from that endangered animal restaurant I like so much. I can get me some Siberian frozen Mammoth jerky to chew on on the way home. I hope Jake gives me the 25 large that he owes me, I could use it to pay off my sister. Sometimes I feel guilty about what I did to her and Ma but I am a chimp. I got not taboos on my loins. It's a good thing that human laws don't apply to me though. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 10:14 PM Jake wondered if it would void the warranty of his cell phone if he glued a dildo to it. Then he entrenched himself in his trench coat. It was a beauty that he had bought from Victor Victoria's secret, with the quick snap buttons which he could open and close in a "flash." He checked the Baretta in his pocket. He was happy to see it. Then he checked his weapon, a Glock 9 millimeter. She said it was too small but he always thought that the motion of the ocean was what counted. Jake showed his ticked to the conductor as he boarded the train. The conductor poked Jake with hi wand and said, "You don't need a ticket to ride this train big boy." Before long Jake had come......to his stop. He disembarked and went to down the stairs to hunt bush meat at Fishies Chip Stand, on the Loop, under the el. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Rapparee Date: 05 Aug 11 - 10:14 PM Which more than once left him miles from where he'd started, the chimp using the oars like a galley slave. In the meantime, the man in the fedora turned to his client. She was a chimp, and a good-looking one. She sat with her hair-covered legs crossed, her ruby-lipsticked mouth promising delights no human could offer -- and her very expressive canines told the onlooker not to even think about it. He said, "He's goin' to da Loop. Ya want we should make the snatch there?" "Please," she smiled unpleasantly. "That...brother of mine is gonna pay for what he did to our mother and me. I assume the ten grand is sufficient downpayment?" "Okay, honey," he said, "You got it." |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 10:01 PM Chongo remembered Graystoke, or Graystroke as he liked to call himself when he was alone with a young chimp. Stroke me he would say! Stroke me here, and here, Stroke harder! Stroke!! Stroke!!! Stroke!!!!!!!!!!!! |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 09:58 PM Chongo was sitting at his desk talking into his antique rotary dial candlestick phone. He thought of a distant time in far away California. He thought of two hundred different kind of candles threatening a new vacant abode. Then he was connected to the party to whom he was speaking. "Jake?" "Is that you?" "I can't hear you very well over that pulsing throbbing music." "You want to meet?" "At the Horse Fuck?" "I told you I couldn't hear." "How about under the el instead?" "OK then, Fishies Chip Stand on the Loop. At midnight." |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,999 Date: 05 Aug 11 - 09:48 PM . . . and Lord Greystoke spun throw upping fast in his grave. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Amos Date: 05 Aug 11 - 09:45 PM He could never say whether the calls from Apelandia were imaginary or actual trans-species telepathy but the image in his mind of the leering, flea-bitten degenerate ape would not go away until he mentally answered it. He put his Tropical COckteaser--a specialty of the house--down on the bar (despite her whines of protest) and went back to the men's room, locking himself in a booth where he could concentrate on his ugly telepathic link or neurotic obsession, whichever it was. Just as he sat down the cell phone in his crotch went off like a hussy's two-dollar dildo and he doubled over in shock and pain. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 09:08 PM Jake's face went blank. His body relaxed. His eyes rolled up into his head. He was receiving a call. It was Chongo. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 07:34 PM WC: Go away kid... Yuh bother me... |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,999 Date: 05 Aug 11 - 07:33 PM And just as WC Fields began to write the screenplay . . . |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 07:26 PM "Anyone for transgender dwarf tossing?" The Midget would have said had he/she been talking forwardly. "Day every get don't you offer an that's" Said Jake. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: GUEST,livelylass Date: 05 Aug 11 - 07:18 PM An aged midget entered the room, he was walking and talking backwards.. (this was because one of the viewers thought it must be time that a midget entered the room). |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Amos Date: 05 Aug 11 - 07:04 PM HE put his cellphone back under the elastic strap of his leotard, hoping it would vibrate at the right moment rather than play the Star Wars theme it seemed to choose randomly when it needed attention. It made a nice bulge, with his big ski sweater pulled down to disguise the squarish shape. Next yearm he promised himself, he would get an i-Phuqye. MEanwhile, his eyes lit up as he made his way out of the restroom and intot he smokey corners at the back of the Horseshoe Fork Bar. The place was crawling with night life, some of it literally in the last stages of inebriation. There were gay men, bored lesbians, self-pitying transvestites, and a couple of transgenders who were arguing about when who had the right to do what and with which and to whom on a first date. He straightened up and flexed his leotard. Jake was on the prowl. |
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Subject: RE: BS: Let's write a truly bad piece of fiction From: Jack the Sailor Date: 05 Aug 11 - 05:37 PM Jake had quite an imagination, for circling the bowl as he looked were not tiger sharks but the remains of two tacos and an egg salad sandwich from the day before. His phone rang. "Yeah." "Oh Hi Larry. Thanks for calling me back." Larry the Law Dawg had been on retainer for Jake's family for years. "Yeah, I'm fine. But I'm strapped for cash. Gotta pay off the flood damage to my penthouse and my sister took my last 5 grand out of the bank and gave it to some chimp." "You say legally I can't touch him? Why not?" "No. he doesn't have an owner." "So he is not subject to the laws of the state of Illinois." "Look I know this restaurant. They sell the meat of endangered animals for big bucks." "Yeah, that's the one. Panda Expressly." "I'll bet they would give me a fortune for some talking chimp meat." "Would it be illegal to hunt him." "Only in his natural range eh?" "So under the el train would be fine?" "As long as someone doesn't own him. OK, I'll check on that." "Thanks Larry! Give my love to the family." "I will, good luck and God Bless you to." He knew it wasn't foolproof. But Jake had the stirrings of a plan. |
