Posts Tagged ‘ Fiction XII.II ’

“The Art of Being and Branding,” by Brian Cox

Aug 20th, 2015 | By

Lincoln—that cocky bastard, he thought. Look at him. Sitting there. So sure of himself. Long legs crossed confidently, black stovepipe hat in his lap. Lean angular head slightly bent, tilted to one side. As if pondering some great thought when really he’s just trying to catch the conversation going on behind the door.

It was so convenient being Lincoln, thought William. So… unoriginal. Like a still life of a fruit basket.

“The Write Way to Speak,” by Aidan Fitzmaurice

Aug 20th, 2015 | By

“I’m so proud to stand before you after yet another year of increased profits. At this rate there is not a single competitor who can claim any more than 6% of the market share. The team that sits before me is the sole reason for this. It is your hard work, your extreme dedication, your attention to detail and inability to let anything, regardless of how small it may be, slide that allows us to grow while the rest of the market slows. With this team in place, their is no way we can fail. Now, do we have any… ah yes I can see a hand raised already, that’s what I like to see. You have a question?”

“The Parable of The Goldfish and The Celebrity,” by Jack Bedrosian

Aug 20th, 2015 | By

On a day there was a man. And on that day that man had an idea…a rotten idea. It involved taking a goldfish—a live one, not the snack—and placing it in his bottom. And not just one. As many as he could muster.

“Denomination,” by Carolyn Smuts

Aug 20th, 2015 | By

“What religion is this again?”

“Lutheran, I think.”

We sat there, Claudia and me, watching the activity on the altar. I could tell the guy doing the talking was cool because he wore a short-sleeved black shirt with his clerical collar. He was animated and funny. He held up a gold coin like the ones I got at Circus Circus in Vegas when I was 10; either that or he had the waxy chocolate ones with Menorahs on them we got in our Christmas stockings.

“Sirloin,” by Zain Saeed

Aug 20th, 2015 | By

If I were a cow, which I am, moo, sup? From now on I’d think twice about oncoming cars, especially the ones with their lights on full moo, blindin’ my eyes, makin’ my tail go all wonky and clenched sphincters.