Indie Bloggers WC #15: Under All That Fur…

Indie Blogger Weekly Challenge: Not more than 234 words regarding:

You and your twin sister are photographers for national geographic on assignment to cover a famous interspecial linguistics professor who’s spent the last 10 years on a mountain in Borneo studying the language of silver back mountain gorillas. You think this is total bullshit and your sister is bitching about how much easier it would be to just work for Get Up & Go Girl! travel blog. After days and days of arduous climbing in the worst conditions you arrive at this geek’s mountainside encampment only to find him dead, his body twisted like a ragdoll around the trunk of a Banyan tree. As you’re both taking pictures and trying desperately to dial out on your cells, a 700 pound silverback male lumbers quietly into the camp carrying a tattered copy of “Dream Tigers” by Jorge Louis Borges. You both freeze. It stares at you. Your sister blurts out, apparently to you, “What the fuck happened?” and the gorilla says “Well, to be honest, we had an argument about redundancy.” He looks from you to your sister and back to you.

“I guess he’s the redundant one now.” I say.

My sister smiles and flips her hair. I just look at her… surely she isn’t flirting with a gorilla now. I know she said she had lowered her standards… but really!

I take her arm and turn her around, facing the direction we came. Then I begin walking. I don’t look back.

I feel bad for the professor, to leave him, his research and the proof of his success back there. But, what would I do with a 700 pound talking gorilla. I turn to laugh about it with my sister but she isn’t there.

“Damn it”. I sigh and sit down on my pack. To go back and get her or to just keep going and get out of there myself.

An hour or so later I am back in the clearing. My sister is there, performing a strip tease for the gorilla. I curse her, her hormones and her desperate divorcee status.

“You can’t stay here.” I tell her.

“Yes I can.” She says, stroking the gorilla’s fur, pulling out the occasional twig and creature.

The gorilla leers at me. I look at his stubby erection, his maggoty fur and smell his BO and bad breath.

He smiles at me and says, “You know… I’ve always had this fantasy of having two women…”

I report my sister as missing when I finally get back.

Indie Bloggers: They Eat Children Don't They?

Indie Blogger Challenge #14

119 Words regarding:

You get drunk and ride your friend’s Harley through an Amish apple butter store in Arthur, IL. You wake up in their barn, in overalls and ill fitting shoes wearing a goofy wide brimmed black hat/in a floor sweeping ginger dress wearing clogs and a stained frilly bonnet. The Harley is missing and there’s a barefoot nine year old kid holding a chicken standing in front of you. You try to sit up but the kid says:

“Your hair is stuck.”

My hair is glued to the barn floor with apple butter. It tastes pretty good once I remove the hay.

“So… How do I get out of here?” I ask.

“Why?” Says the kidlet.

I smile sweetly, stand up quickly – not grimacing too much as chunks of hair rip out of my head.

“They eat small children where I come from.”

He runs off, out of the barn. I turn to leave in the other direction.

Only to see his Amish Daddy standing there.

“Well, hello.” I say.

“Get to work.” He pushes a shovel into my hands. “Who eats small children?”

I start working, cause I just have nothing left to say right then. How can you top children eating?

One Last Gift

Indie Bloggers Weekly Challenge – 77 Words regarding:

You wake up and your apartment smells like ass. You walk into the living room to find that your one night stand took a dump in the middle of your kitchen. Indignant, you box it up, take it to work and toss it on their desk in full view of other workers, saying ‘you forgot this.’ You tell everyone what happened and the person is ostracized at work. Three days later, you get called into the office and the HR person writes you up and demands that you write a letter of apology and attend sensitivity classes for your wanton act of shitscrimination. Write your apology.

Dear Bruce,

My thanks to you. I don’t think I ever would have moved to my wonderful new apartment and this great new job if it weren’t for you.

My gift to you is on this letter. I grew it in traces of your human waste, left at my place. But, you are their preferred host. You may already notice scabby wart-like things on your fingers, parasites. That’s them!

Good luck with your new, hungry, friends.

Wouldn't You Like to be An Alien Too

Indie Bloggers Weekly Challenge #12

122 Words regarding:

You get off work at the coffee shop at 5:45 and walk thirteen blocks back to your flat where you’ve been receiving mail addressed to the previous tenant, someone your age, sex, and same first name, for the last four years. You’ve even answered some of it. You have, in fact, as far as magazine subscriptions and junk mail goes, become this person. When you arrive home today, there’s a flotilla of gloss black limousines blocking the street to your building. Neighbors are hanging out of windows, clogging the sidewalk. As your foot falls gently onto the very first step, a man in a Brooks Bros suit walks out the door and reaches for your hand, a nervous smile on his face. He says:

“We’ve come to take you home, back to the Mother Ship. Of course, for the sake of the Earthlings we have all come disguised as tax collectors from their government. So, pretend to be frightened and overwhelmed while we pretend to take you away against your will.” He smiles, showing really pointy teeth.

My stomach flops down into my shoes. “But… I’m not an alien.” I gasp.

“Yes, great… Keep up the act but don’t mention aliens. The Earthlings still think we’re all just science fiction remember.” He takes my arm and leads me to the biggest of the cars. I see really weird looking creatures inside. Some of them are slobbering. This can’t be good.

No Hero on American Idol Tonight

I was watching American Idol. It was their sentimental show about feeding the hungry, world peace and all that other stuff that makes people feel they are doing something to solve the problems of the world.

I wish someone had done Hero, by Mariah Carey. That song has made me feel better at all kinds of times.

And then a hero comes along
With the strength to carry on
And you cast your fears aside
And you know you can survive
So when you feel like hope is gone
Look inside you and be strong
And youll finally see the truth
That a hero lies in you

I don’t know if she wrote the lyrics herself. But she did a great job finding the words.

Indie Bloggers Weekly Challenge 9

Enough words regarding:

You’re in the Chicago Institute of Art, in the Monet room, sitting on a bench looking at “Woman With Parasol,” digging it. You’ve had a stand out day. It’s spring in Chicago, the sky is blue, the park is full of people, you’ve been witty and intelligent beyond the norm. Just a super excellent perfect version of yourself. Your party has moved on but you’re captured by the sheer brilliance of color, the spectacle of daubs of paint resolving into . . . this. You’re smiling a genuine ear to ear grin when you notice the most beautiful person in the world—we’re talking soul mate material here—sits down next to you, looks right into your eyes, and says:

“Lets run away on a whirlwind courtship, get married in some exotic country and live happily ever after.”

I blink, smile and say, “Only if I get to drive.”

So that’s what we do.

Oh yeah, if my Mom is reading this… his name turns out to be Tom Kilpatrick. He has Irish relatives from County Cork too. He works as a lion tamer when he isn’t getting serious as a highly overpaid corporate lawyer. He has eight brothers and sisters so that should be quite a crowd for all those family holidays. He is tall and has twinkling green eyes and he likes to read science fiction.

What else can I tell you Mom? We started out going to Russia cause I’ve always wanted to go there. We found an apartment somewhere in Moscow and stayed long enough to learn Russian and each other. We discovered body braille as we called it. From Russia he showed me Ireland and picked up the loveliest Irish accent just to make me laugh and lust after him even more. He thought my accent was cute too. We found an adult novelty shop that sold skimpy green lingerie. He looks really good in nothing but a sparkly green thing.

We were married last week in Thailand. It was an amazing spot with a waterfall and lots of rocks. We found it while hiking and brought all the necessary official stuff back there so it would be a legal and lovely wedding. So, I’m married again. We’re going to be on a honeymoon for the next five years then we’ll start on the happily ever after.

I should be back in Toronto in a few months. He says he’s looking forward to meeting you but he’s just pretending. I’ve told him what a hard ass you are, how you grind up boyfriends and spit them out as an afterthought. He’ll be so relieved when he meets you and finds out what a pushover you are in reality. See you soon Mom.