I’m not disabled, just a terrible person. The boyfriend sometimes accuses me of being manic when I write to him at 3:30 a.m. calling him a magnificent, exotic pitcher plant or a gorgeously ornamented egg-cup. But not disabled — I feel like that’s an important piece of information before we start.
Posts Tagged ‘ Prose ’
I’m in the middle of my tuna melt when Wendy tells me she’s got a woman on the line with a clown stuck in her window well. Great.
“Can I call her after my break?” I say with a mouth full of moist tuna.
To which Wendy says, “I’m really sorry but she sounds like hysterics.”
Wendy’s big for her age, her age being about 55—or 20 years my senior—and big being residual body mass from her college rugby days.
I put the rest of my lunch in foil.
Evelyn wasn’t entirely sure what to do, when her husband choked and died at the breakfast table one Saturday morning. Lifting him was out of the question; she was fit for a seventy-two year old, but Ennis was decidedly less so. No, she wouldn’t be able to budge him without straining something. Going into town for help was out, too. She was definitely not ready for any of the folk in town to come sneaking and spying around her house under the guise of caring.
I’m out of town. That’s all I had to say. Sorry mum, it’s work, I’ll visit as soon as I’m home. Then book a one way ticket to Australia and change my name to Silvia.
She’d never know about the three pictures a day I post on Facebook which are clearly from my living room. She’d never know that I’m sitting in all day binge watching Orange Is The New Black, with my hair scrunched up into a bobble, a cup of tea in one hand and the other arm deep in a bag of Doritos, (the chili heatwave kind of course, because the cheesy ones leave your mouth tasting like a badgers armpit for hours), chili dust clinging to the hairs on my forearm. She’d never know I lied.
“Now that you’ve seen me in my gimp suit, there are some things I want to talk to you about,” by L. SovieroApr 20th, 2017 | By Defenestration
I know how awkward that must’ve been for you, coming home and finding me how you did. It was for me too.
I’m writing this from what seems to be a box. Eh, it’s a computer. I’m sitting at a computer and now I have to come up with a short story that will win the hearts of its readers.
Yeah, so it was 1973. Yeah, 1973, everyone loves the 70s. This will work. No, it was 2017. Yeah, 2017. Cool. We got the year out of the way.
On a dark summer night in 2017, it was dark like most nights are, and I was fishing. Yeah, fishing. OK, I got it, yeah, I was fishing and there was a bear. A bear. I caught a fucking bear.
“I need a transplant,” Dad said, and before I could even back up my spreadsheet, the old man had tripped over the coffee table and windmilled into my lap.
I’d always thought of my father as a person only in the abstract, of course. But once that cruller-loving flesh bag was slumped across my chair, pinching my carpal-tunnel arm? Well.
“Dear Abby, What Should I Do When a Slightly More Obnoxious Version of Myself from a Nearly Identical Universe Finds a Portal Through His Refrigerator into My Universe?” by James Adams SmithApr 19th, 2017 | By Defenestration
What should I do when a slightly more obnoxious version of myself from a nearly identical universe finds a portal through his refrigerator into my universe, shows up totally unannounced, criticizes my taste in music and literature, and then eats all my chocolate covered pretzels?
Please accept this letter as a formal notification that I am resigning from my position as a telesales operator with FDE Energy. I understand it is normal practice for staff to work a period of notice. However, as I am still waiting for two weeks’ worth of wages from overtime I don’t think that transition period is necessary so I will not be coming into work anymore. I packed all my belongings on Saturday when I was forced to work yet again, so my return is no longer necessary.
“I’m going to be a father,” says robot Karl Weindfeller. The 6’ 2” LED-eyed, copper-plated machine makes history as the first metal man to impregnate a human woman and lay claim to her unborn child. A customer service representative at Mueller Brewery, Weindfeller is suing his one-night partner and carrier of the fetus, Alexandra Bourne, for legal recognition as the daddy.