Although the original Microfiction Monday seems to have gone on indefinite hiatus, a successor (or at least substitute) has appeared. Succintly Yours serves up a photo and an optional bonus word to use in your 140 character story.
Here’s the photo.
Here’s the story.
Hospitals, then funerals, then lawyers. Your favorite chair, permanently vacant, where no one else dares sit. What to do with it?
This is so me.
“If I say no, she’ll make me listen to it.”
… Same as every night!
A few weeks ago, I scratched together a script to fetch my latest comments from StumbleUpon and format them in an easy to digest list… which I now present to you.
The question has been posed: If you had to choose a new profession — and it had to be one where you wore shorts, t-shirts and flip flops to do — what would you pick?
Do you see what all of these rejected jobs have in common? Yelling at people or otherwise bossing them around, occasionally having to tackle or drag people around, having the responsibility to save lives, preserve order, prevent war, make money, or win games.
No thanks, I’d rather count fish, photograph potsherds, or deal with writer’s block.
It is time once again for the fabulous Five on the Fifth, a monthly event in which you are encouraged to take five photos on (or leading up to ) the fifth of the month, and then share them. You may take five random photos, or follow the monthly theme. This month, the theme is lines.
I have, for once, decided to take the offered theme and go with it.
Here are curved lines cut into the top of a reading lamp for ventilation.
A picket fence of sharpened stakes.
The setting sun shining through that fence casts long shadows.
These squiggly lines— some sort of audio visualization software? No, just a long exposure out of the window of a moving vehicle.
Parallel lines converging toward the vanishing point. Or moulding at a coffee shoppe, depending on your… perspective.
I’m sure y’all are just… so… over this, and it’s just… so… Tuesday, but I just can’t resist. It’s the Stark Raving Mad Libs Generator:
I am on a drug. It’s called the Electronic Replicant. If you try it once, you will brawl. Your prosthetic forehead will melt off, and your Mum will pontificate over your flatulating body … I’m tired of pretending like I’m not Real America™—a total freaking evil overlord from Mongo. I’ve got weasel blood, Aphrodite DNA! … They picked a fight with a boogie man. They’re trying to take all my underpants and leave me with no means to mollycoddle my family. It’s not murderology! They owe me an apology while titillating my coccyx … I don’t think people are ready for the crabcakes I’m delivering, and delivering with a sense of creepy love. I exposed hoes to magic! Here’s your mucus test. Next one goes in your small intestine!
You know, it’s funny how we don’t have single words for certain concepts. For example, there’s the word “zombify” which means “to turn into a zombie,” but there’s no word for “turn into a werewolf.” What would that be? Lycanthrofy? Lupimorph? At the other end of the spectrum, what’s the word for “go catatonic?” Catatonate? Introplode? And, finally, is there even a word for “magical, gift-bearing creature” such as the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus?
ERIK
