Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #175

BET YOU CAN’T do this writing prompt. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying all of them together! And remember: after (if) you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.)

  1. Do
  2. Run
  3. Go
  4. Stop
  5. Slice
  6. Piece
  7. Get
  8. Give
  9. Eye
  10. Tear

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

Resources you should check out:
Thesis: Best Damn Theme on the Web
Collective Ink Well: Personalize Your Thesis Theme
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there


119 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #175”

  1. The defense refuses to stop anything.  The running backs do not know how to run.  I tend to think the quarterback tends to get scared and fails when he breathes.  Wide receivers have to be reminded to slice across the field for completions. Do not get me started on the piece of crap kicker who broke his leg in the first game.

    I want to tear my left eye out because it’s my good eye and everything is blurry with my right and  I might not be so friggin disappointed in my Fantasy Football team after the first game.

    Go to hell El Supremo Maximos (0-1).  I do not give a crap about you any more.

    • LOL at tearing your eye out. You sound like my kids after yesterday’s games. They’re playing each other in a fantasy league and, I guess some of their players did as poorly as yours.
      This was all the more entertaining for being something to which I can relate. Don’t worry, Week 2 is just around the corner.

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Eric. I love hearing the creative names people come up with for their fantasy leagues.  Hope it gets better for this guy!

      • Yeah some can be creative… Other’s are obviously inspired by Comedy Central and only d-bags think they’re creative or funny.. :
        Case in point… I was beat by the Thunder Dumplings, which I believe has to do with poop or farts.

        • Frank Ruiz says:

          Awesome piece,and I’m always tickled by the passion that sports can still elicit in us while so much of the rest of our lives leaves us dead and dull.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Eric: I loved this one. You write humor well. More please!

  2. “Whatever you do, run past the monster’s lair. You’re a thief, so you should be able to go straight through the tunnel. If you stop, a searing hot tongue will flick out to slice a piece of your ankle!

    If you let it get you, you may as well give up. Once the monster sets it hellish yellow eye on your crippled ass, it will tear you apart.”

    I laughed at the childish handwriting, scrawled in red crayon on a torn paper bag. Even though Tommy had scribbled “ass” on the paper, I could hardly admonish him, as I curse around him every day. As I rummaged through my little brother’s closet, I imagined him trying to scare me away from my rightful plunder.

    There! The shiny new Magnetron 2000 was buried haphazardly beneath his dirty socks and a broken skateboard. I reached into the pile to claim my prize. The skateboard skittered sideways as my fingers closed around the robot prize.


    Ouch! I looked down to see the skateboard pressed against my ankle.


    “Dammit to hell, Tommy! That hurt!” I looked down at the blood seeping through my own dirty sock. Dazedly, that new word I learned came to mind: sepsis. With pictures of green, wriggly bacteria flooding my brain, I knelt down to take off my sneaker.


    The skateboard smashed me over the head. The last thing I noticed was actually funny – Tommy was nowhere nearby.

  3. Anne Wayman says:

    Do! Run! Stop! Go!
    Get your slice
    Your piece of the pie
    No time to give
    The tear in your eye
    The attention it deserves.

  4. Here is today’s entry:

    Give a Piece
    Stop and give a piece
    Don’t run from a hungry eye
    Do tear, slice or break something
    Go make a difference in lives
    Get onboard and help stop hunger
    One person at a time

  5. Jeanette R. says:

    “After I run these numbers over, let’s go get a slice.”  Johnny stood with his back against the wall staring down at a torn newspaper article. 

    “Oh shit, is it Wednesday already? How did she pick the numbers today?”  Pauly grabbed the clipping.  “President Carter, blah, blah, blah, stop the Department of Education…I can’t believe she gets her numbers from The New York Post.”

    “I can’t believe you can read.  Give me that.  There’s a method to her madness.  She reads the paper everyday lookin’ for numbers. When she finds them, she lights a candle and prays to St. Christopher. C’mon let’s go.”

    “Who is St. Christopher?  I mean, what does he do?”  Johnny rolled his eyes and shoved his friend.  Pauly stopped himself short from colliding with an attractive girl walking in the opposite direction. “Excuse me miss, my friend has no manners.  You’re lookin’ mighty fine in those shorts. How about I get that number?”

    “How about you fuck off?”  The girl never made eye contact, kept walking. Johnny laughed, clenching his stomach while Pauly stared back at the girl in disbelief.

    “Talk about no respect.  These chicks are nasty in New York. I bet you won’t find that kind of talk in Miami, man.  When do you leave, bro?” 

    “In two weeks. My grandmother says that if she hits with these numbers, she’ll give me some spending money for the trip. I think she may actually miss me.  When I told her I was leaving for real this time, I saw one tear fall from her eye.”  

    “Yo, that woman is hard-core. Last time I saw her, she gave me a piece of her mind. More like a chunk of her mind.  She hates me.” They both laughed. 

    “Well, you won’t be seeing much of her once I’m gone.”

    “Yea, well if you can’t take the heat of Florida you can always come back.”

    “Man, you know if I can make it here…” 

    “You can make it anywhere.”

    • Rolling awesomeness. That flowed like a chapter out of every small-time gangster comedy movie – I could see Joe Pesci and John Turturro bumping and shoving each other down the street.
      Best line: “How about you fuck off?”
      Did you see The Inside Man? That line sounds so much like the “Girl on the Phone in the Bank Line”.

      • Frank Ruiz says:

        I love how you placed the time frame of the story by mentioning President Carter in the newspaper.  I bet Johnny and his family are going to have wonderful lives in Miami 🙂

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Jeanette: Your dialog is outstanding and this was an effortless read. Write a book!

  6. Shane Hudson says:

    I cannot do this anymore!!! This is the first time lately that I could even get something written down, and it is terrible!

    Would you tear your eye out for a slice of cake? Perhaps you would give a piece of it to a friend? If so: stop it, get out of my house and please do go to the police. Otherwise I will run!

    • Shane, terrible – like the torn eye – is in the beholder of the cake.
      I actually thought this was funny: like who the hell wants a piece of my eye when there is a perfectly good slice of cake in my hand?

      • Frank Ruiz says:

        Shane, I liked it too, as many times my eyes get more joy out of cake than my tongue or tummy, so I’d never trade an eye for cake I can’t see 🙂

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Shane H: I’ll say this … your submission was not only cool, it was better than the thousand other people who didn’t submit anything. If you write anything, you have succeeded. Well done.

  7. The white gown had been altered to perfection. It was time.

    I turned in my seat once the music began to see the most beautiful sight of my life: my only daughter marching down the aisle on her daddy’s arm.

    ‘How did this happen?’ I kept asking myself. ‘How did we get here? Still so many places to go with her, still so many things to give her …’

    Pride filled my heart as I thought about the young adult she had grown into; memories flooded my mind as piece by piece, her childhood was being put behind herself. I didn’t even try wiping the tear away from my eye as I realized that she was no longer a child, but a mature, intelligent adult with a promising life in front of herself.

    I have to stop and wonder: ‘How many mothers over the years have run these very thoughts through their heads? How many of us have hungered for just one more day with our little girls?’

    And yet, we watch our daughters hold the hands of their husbands, watch them slice that cake together, and then the next thought becomes: ‘Who wants to relive this day over and over again?’

    I know I do.

    • Alison West says:

      I was lucky to have both my parents walk me down the aisle. But mostly I did it so that I wouldn’t have to watch my mother crying in the front row. Instead, she was crying next to me, but I didn’t have to see it!

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Robyn.  This was an awesome sneak peak into a mother’s mind. There are too many lines that I liked to quote.  I read this three times to fully understand the sentiment. Great job!

    • My Baby Girl is 17 – waaah! They grow up way too fast.
      Robyn, I love the full spectrum of emotion washing over this piece. I was feeling it through and through.
      Being a typical man, though, I totally misinterpreted the last thought – I’ve been married twice and that is enough for me! LOL

      • Frank Ruiz says:

        Time never flies as much as during the transformation from childhood to adulthood.  As an adult longing for my own childhood years again, I can attest to that!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Robyn: You captured the moment perfectly. I’m betting my wife will be the same way with our daughter.

  8. Todd says:

    Well, it hasn’t been as long between challenges, but it’s probably close. Not my best work, but it’s lunch time.
    When was the last time that you had a really great piece of pie? Everybody has a different favorite. Apple. Cherry. Maybe rhubarb.

    My dad would go twenty miles out of his way to stop at this little restaurant just to get a slice of pecan pie. Bringing back memories of his youth, it would at times bring a small tear to his eye.

    Now, I’ve heard for years about a popular southern classic known as sweet potato pie. Yesterday I had a piece. It may be in contention for my favorite.

    If you’ve never had sweet potato pie, it’s very similar to pumpkin. To be honest, it’s way better.
    It had the texture of lumpy mashed potatoes. This is not appealing in mashed potatoes, but was a welcome feel for this pie. And the taste… it had just a hint of cinnamon. While not overly sweet, the pie had just enough to give your taste buds something to cheer about.

    If you’ve seriously never had sweet potato pie, do yourself a favor, and run out for a piece right now.

    • Alison West says:

      Ha! Sweet potato pie has replaced Pumpkin at our family’s Thanksgiving celebrations for these very reasons. Well done!

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Todd. Now I want a piece of pie.  Living in Miami, this type of dessert is highly underrated.  I’m partial to pecan pie but I do love me some sweet potato pie 😉

    • Todd, this reminds me of my grandmother’s famous sweet potato pies. I ate so much of it growing up that pumpkin pie became a welcome alternative. (Sorry, Mother! LOL)
      I love your foodie attention to detail.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Todd: Welcome back old friend. Love seeing people reappear after a long break. For me, it’s a bigger treat than you might imagine.
      Love the piece and no I’ve never tried that pie, but I will.
      And I love the food network. Just started watching it recently. Bitchin’ Kitchen is a riot!

  9. Martha says:

    My child runs towards the slide with the typical exuberant yet slightly drunken gait of the toddler freed from the constraints of the stroller. “Me do it, me do it,” he shouts. He doesn’t stop; he just gives it everything he’s got as he climbs the impossibly high slide that screams danger to my watchful eye. “I go, I go Mummy! Watch me.” His slide is inexpert, like a novice golfer slicing the ball into a sandtrap. But his joy is palpable and I wipe a tear that somehow leaks from me without notice. No one talks about this piece of motherhood; where emotions can overwhelm you long past the post partum period. My boy is growing and I almost cannot bear it.

    • Alison West says:

      Great emotion here, you can feel empathy with her for sure!

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Martha.  You were able to get such emotion in such a short piece.  Excellent writing.

    • I’m loving the parental themes today! I think that there is nothing finer than the unbridled joy of a child.
      Thanks for evoking fond memories…{sniff}

      • KathleenL says:

        Martha — ohhhhhhh Motherhood. So much they don’t tell us about. Wait til later… my mom just flat out lied… Never said, I, I of all people, would become addicted… to my kids!
        I love these descriptions. I have not ever thought to describe them like this… but they are right on spot:
        “…drunken gait of the toddler freed from the constraints of the stroller…”
        “… like a novice golfer slicing…”

    • Martha says:

      Now that I am reading everyone’s entries, I see we heard similar echoes. May be it was all the Dr Seuss books we read together! Thanks so much for your kind comments; being a parent and a writer is a fine balancing act between the mundane, the profane, and the simply ridiculous. But mostly parenting for me has been about seeing things differently and I loved these words for reminding me of some of my favourite memories.

      • Frank Ruiz says:

        As a parent to be, I’m loving the examples here today of how writing helps process the emotions of parenthood, and vice-versa.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Martha: Write a book! That is all!

  10. Rebecca says:

    Chapter 3 … The Haunting of Jane Alexander

    Jane found herself at her childhood home. It changed owners over the years along with looks. The bent and dirty white aluminum siding was replaced with sunny yellow vinyl siding. The horrid shrubs which Jane had to trim when she was a kid were gone. A custom made porch took their place – there was even a swing on the porch. A ‘Welcome’ mat sat on the ground, in front of the door. She peered into the large picture window and didn’t see anyone. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check the place out. I’ll stop in for a short time. After all, this place is a piece of me. It’s not like I have anywhere to go. I may as well enjoy this little slice of heaven.

    Jane walked through the front door and smiled. She was amazed at how easy it was for her to get inside. She didn’t have to do anything except walk to the door and through it. Jane wanted to run through the home but stood in the doorway. Everything had changed. The stained carpeting was gone, replaced with bamboo looking hardwood floors. A huge television hung on the wall. Jane didn’t know if it was LED, LCD or plasma. A grey sectional sofa was against the back wall. Jane walked towards it and sat down. She ran her fingers over it but couldn’t feel the fabric. It looks like microfiber. A tear formed in her eye. What I wouldn’t give to feel the fabric. It looks plush, and clean.


    • Alison West says:

      Love it, I can picture it clearly, what it’d be like to sneak into a childhood house and not be able to touch anything. The suspense is building…

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Rebecca. Great detail work!  I sympathize with Jane’s ghost.  It reminds me a bit of Bettlejuice 🙂

    • Oh, man! that was great! I love it when I can “get” the subtle foreshadowing ahead of the revelation.
      You rocked this one. This could be the beginning of a really neat novel…

      • KathleenL says:

        Rebecca — I am new to your saga, I was going to ask if “She didn’t have to do anything except walk to the door and through it.” — Didn’t she have to turn a handle… but after reading the other comments… I see… she did not. Good job. Either way… I was intrigued by the fact that she could not feel the fabric… wondered why and all. Being a ghost could very well explain it.

        • Martha says:

          I am loving the experience of seeing this story unfold.

          • Frank Ruiz says:

            It’s wonderful to get tastes of your saga here in the CCC.  I miss being able to enjoy great serials, and your work, as well as those of Mitch, Sean, and Shane, among others, allows me to “live” in your universes as new information is given in twice-a-week morsels.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Rebecca: You TOTALLY got me with the ghost angel. I could see this revelation as the hook to a great ghost movie.

  11. Alison West says:

    My turn for a zombie story…
    When the zombies came there would be no time to do anything. She’d just have to run, go to the farthest corners of the woods. She wouldn’t stop, not for anything. She hoped she could take a slice of her life with her, even if it was just a small piece. She fingered the photograph dearly, before slipping it into her emergency bag. She hoped she’d get far enough to survive for a few weeks on her own. After that, she’d probably give anything for human companionship, she might even turn a blind eye. But now was not the time for that, it was time for preparing. She wouldn’t shed a tear for her loved ones, they were already gone. Now it was her turn.

  12. Rebecca says:

    @ Alison … Thanks! I need to write out the details of the home. Right now, they’re in my head. Lol!
    Love the zombie story! It reminded of the The Walking Dead on AMC.

  13. margaret says:

    Get going, run…and do not stop……
    till you reach the local bakery shop.

    A piece of cake, a slice of pie,
    will give you joy, bring a tear to your eye!

  14. Sara Robin says:

    As I ran, I heard the alarm go off, signaling that he’d crossed the system’s perimeter.  His footsteps pounded behind my own, growing louder as he gained ground.  Gunshots went off, pow!  pow pow!  pow!   as he continued to fire at my dodging form.  I peeled off to the right and found myself in an alley, a door at the end.  Approximate distance 50 feet, average sprint speed 21 feet per second, time to door is….

    I couldn’t believe my mind was still running its endless calculations, even now.  Enough! My body slammed into the door, and I grabbed the handle.  It refused to turn.  The racing footsteps scuffed to a stop behind me, and cold dread seized my stomach.  I turned slowly.  He stepped into the alley and set his feet apart, an icy smile spreading across his face.

    Our eyes locked as he raised his piece and took aim.  This is it, I thought.

    But instead of my life flashing before my eyes, my mind replayed the gunfire that had pursued me… Counting the shots. Not now, I thought.  No number games now.

    Suddenly I understood, put my head down, and took off at a run straight at him.

    He was so startled, he blinked.  Then squeezed the trigger.  Nothing.

    Average time to reload a Glock, 1.5 seconds.

    His lip curled as he released the spent magazine and reached into his jacket for a new mag, slamming it into place.  I was almost on top of him.  As he fired, I hurtled myself forward and down, aiming my body straight at his ankles.  He was thrown off balance just long enough for me to jump up, grab his wrist and twist his arm so hard he grunted.  I kneed him in the groin, and the Glock fell to the ground.  My left hand was instantly in his pocket, pulling out the switchblade I knew he kept there.  I flicked it open and laid its edge directly against his jugular, still keeping his arm firmly twisted.  I could swear I saw a tear in the corner of his bloodshot eye.

    “I could slice your throat right now,” I hissed in his ear, and I could tell by his quivering Adam’s apple that he didn’t doubt me.  “Do you want to give me what I need?  Or you gonna make me get it?”

    • Holy moly! that was hot action in the alley, Sara!
      I want to read more, now! LOL
      Check this out: your protag could be a cross between Gary and Bill from “Alphas”.

      • KathleenL says:

        Sarah — WOOOOOOWWWW! Great action seen in my mind … all because of what you wrote! I like the Head thoughts. We all have them… good to get in there! I too, like Mitch, am looking forward to see more of your strong female! — Not sure if that is what Mitch was lookin’ at, but… I know we both like the start with promises of so much more you can do.

      • Sara Robin says:

        Thanks, Mitch!  I will check out Alphas.  This was fun to write!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Sara: That’s, without doubt, your best yet. Turn this into a series!

  15. sefcug says:

    A Solution

    Rhonda said, “I know. I can run down to the Stop and Go, get a slice of pizza and a piece of pie to give him.”

    This simple, yet thoughtful, solution brough at tear to my eye. Only one, as it was stupid to think a slice of pizza and a piece of pie could help a man shot in the temple, but at least Rhonda was trying to help.


    If you don’t know what to do, it might just be better to let someone else help.

  16. Rebecca says:

    @ Jeanette … Thank you … I love Beetlejuice! I’m not thrilled about the possible remake of Beetlejuice. What can you do? The folks in Hollywood want to expand the franchise.
    @ Mitch … Thanks … I’m writing chapter 3! I was thinking about having seven chapters, but I may expand the YA novel. Who knows…

  17. KathleenL says:

    The tears run down her face,
    most mornings.

    No longer does she try to stop them.
    The skin around her eyes so sore,
     like the wound in her heart,
    in her soul.

    Nothing to get over,
    only get through.

    Go the distance she will.
    he sliced a piece of her heart out….

    She hopes he gets as good as he gives.

  18. KathleenL says:

    The Unexpected Addiction Without a Cure – 

     A smile covers my face, even now some 19 years after I was infected, hooked, and yes, unsuspected addicted.
    Just about 18 years ago I was standing in a childhood friend’s living room. I was blessed with my second child in my belly and my first on my hip. I remember running down to her place, delivering a slice of happiness into her life — a hand-made, crocheted, newborn garment. It was Janet’s request as it was something she had hoped for, but admitted months ago, “It was the one gift I had not received.” She had fondly remembered how my mother was talented in this venue.
    “In high school you said you ‘never wanted children…,’” Janet said to me shortly after I entered her home, “and now look at you… you are going to be the mother of two in just a little while,” this mother of one was shaking her head, smiling with more than a bit of amazement filing her eyes.
    I didn’t, and still don’t remember saying I didn’t want kids, but heck-fire, in high school, like many of us gals, and guys too, I knew I was not ready to become a mom. At 18 I was not mature enough, did not know where I was headed in life. Add to that I was afraid to even hold my niece or nephew for fear I would break them and you have a teen not wanting to be a mom. As it was I waited until I was 27, the age my parents’ stopped having kids, before I had my first and 32 when I had my last.
    “Aren’t you getting too old to have kids?” that was my father’s replay when I told him I was pregnant with twins at 31.
     “I always do things about the time yah’ll stopped doing them.” I smiled as I gave him a piece of my do-it-at-my-own-way philosophy.  
    But when I said that I had not realized my addiction was well underway. I was blind to my own addiction, as many addicts are, so it seems.  
    It was not until 14-years into my addiction that I began to see glimpses of it. But I was still blind to it. In denial, maybe, but reality is I could not see what it was from where I stood. Eighteen years in, though, I was without a doubt fully addicted and I knew it. 

    How scared I was. I was filled with anxiety, again, as the source of my addiction was removed from my day to day life. Oh the withdrawals! I longed for the sight, the sound or even the smell of it to help me through the day. I just knew that if I could smell something a kin to it I might, might, and I do mean might make it through the day. But a day did not go by without my body, my mind, my soul, every fiber of my being yearning for that which was missing from my life.
    I remember calling my mom; poor woman had to deal with me, her youngest, 2,200 miles away, on the phone, in tears, going through withdrawals.  
     “Momma … you … lied … to … me!” I managed to say between sobs.  
    “How?” she was concerned she had lied – not a word I would normally use to describe my mother’s actions.

    “You never told me … I would be addicted to my kids! I need them in my life. I want them home. I can’t take this.”

    “Oh honey, they will be back. They just need to prove to themselves that their father is not up to being a dad.” I could hear her heart breaking with each word. It was only then, some 25 years after I had left her house, that she admitted, “It was very difficult on me when you left.” The sadness that swelled in her heart was not hidden in her voice.

    Days later, when my tears seemed to dry for a minute or two and some sanity was regained, I realized – addicted I was, addicted I am. I realized that no one ever told us as we grew up that becoming addicted to our kids was a possible side affect of pregnancy. Oh sure they talked about “Empty Nest Syndrome” but they never told me I would be addicted.  
    It is said that admitting one is addicted is the first step to breaking the addiction. But I will not be going to rehab. I can’t help but beam with pride when I admit — my children are the addiction I don’t ever want to be cured of.

  19. TuxGirl says:

    There was a tear in her eye as she ran to me. Her short arms wrapped around my thighs as she buried her face into my stomach. “It’s not fair!” she exclaimed between hysterical sobs.
    Stop crying, sweetie, and tell me what’s wrong.” I brushed my hand softly through her hair.
    “Tommy won’t share.” The pout on her face declared that this was the pinnacle of injustice. “He brought a slice of cake, and he gave a piece to Johnny, but he won’t give me a piece! He says only boys get to eat his cake.” She began to sob again.
    None of the parenting books I read ever prepared me for this. None of them explain what you should do when you are faced with the serious injustice of the playground. Stalling for time, I dug through my purse, looking for a tissue to wipe away the tears. Then, I saw it. The solution that can always make everything better, no matter how badly they go.
    A red tootsie roll pop. And it even had the indian shooting the star!

  20. Cathy Miller says:

    Do you run where you cannot go?
    Do you stop when you slice a piece of heaven as your own?
    Do you get that to give is better than to receive?
    Do you eye the tear of tomorrow?
    And pray for what the future will be?

  21. Frank Ruiz says:

    We’re rat-race track stars/
    Nursing our back scars/
    The whip marks scratch hard/
    Just to relax, pause

    Would be the greatest gift/
    Meditate and uplift/
    Elevation’s a shift beyond the penetration of mist/

    -filled skies/
    Reflected in my tear-spilled eyes/
    Real ill ties caging me can’t veer still cries/

    May be heard/
    Slices of my life are sent as words/
    Enticement to the point of giving license to the nerds

    Who may just go where I had to stop/
    Who may just grow where I had to drop/

    Who run to destinations/
    What I do is run to stay in place when/
    Spinning on my wheels in hesitation/

    My cries are advice that I give to get/
    It’s kismet in puzzle pieces that I live to reset

  22. Shane Arthur says:

    I’m not reading any of these submissions until I finish my other submission for 177. I’ll comment then.
    “Hey Billy! I tried nots to laugh, but I got a piece of a giggle tear in my eye when I saw your cousin Bubba-Ray Mullet from West Virginia stop by and audition for our new fraternity cook position.”

    “Now, Bobby. Don’t go slicin’ down my family tree and running at the mouth. Bobba-Ray is good kin and I gives my word to his momma dat I’d go the extra sixteenth of a mile and do what it didn’t take to gets him a break in life.”

    “But Billy. We told him to make somethin’ simple for lunch. He said he didn’t know what went into simple. We told him to make grill cheese sam-wiches and he put a piece of cheese between two pieces of bread and put it into the microwave. We asked him why he weren’t grillin’ them there sam-wiches and he said, “Huh. You supposed to grill da grill cheeses?” Den at dinner when we told him to make hamburgers, he said we ain’t got no ham. Once we set him straight, he formed da hamburger patties and left his fingerprints on the outer edges. Dem hamburgers looked like silly meat stars. I ain’t sure dat cookin’ school he done graduated from taught him a thing or three.”

    “Bobby, he didn’t graduate from dat cookin’ university. It cost him two donkeys and a plate of mountain oysters bribes, but he done got his GED—dat stands for Good Eats Degree just so you knows.”

  23. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … I would love to develop this into a screenplay, either for TV or the ‘big’ screen.

  24. Kelly says:


    It seems like he’s going to let her hang, all on her own.

    I admit that surprises me; I’d pegged him for a more supportive sort. Makes me wonder whether he really doesn’t see what’s going on there with a clear eye.

    She can do the work without his help. Heck, she’s not even afraid of failing. She’s run the show, and she’s failed on her own plenty of times. She never complains, but I think she was expecting that he’d give her a hand. She’s worked so hard to get a little slice of the pie… to get just a few people to stop and pay her some much-deserved attention.

    She’s putting the pieces together with or without him, but with his connections she could really tear this town up!

    She grabs a bite of my muffin and stares out the window, a faraway smile on her lips. She says she wouldn’t want that if he offered it. That she wouldn’t feel like she owned her success that way. After years of banging her head on the wall, can that be true?

    To Hell with that noble talk! If I were her man, I’d shout about her until my friends and connections bound me and gagged me.

    She’d never hang alone again, if I were her man. But to her, I’m only good for coffee and muffins.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s