It was in the early evening in the bustling town of Virginia City, Nevada, when the Angel of Temperance, or to use her real name, Constance P. Trolpers, began her rounds. She was a passionate woman, full of vigor, vim and anger at the treacherous sins of alcohol. Every night since the American Temperance Society
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Recently (how?), Kevin Kile (Mr. Kevin Kile) underwent (experienced) a perfect spam storm. (What does that mean?) The principal (main) source of Kevin’s (Mr. Kile’s) problem was vocational (work-related): he was (is) a writer (author). Specifically (yes, be specific), he was (is, is) an emerging (like a groundhog?) fiction writer with 43 (forty-three) Internet (ezine?
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Tell me why, O Lord, why I had to scurry and scramble escaping that Venetian prison to come all the way to Poland-Poland!-to be murdered by a lifelong knight, the Grand Butler to the Crown, Count Colonel Franciszek Ksawery Branicki, a name that sounds like a child’s careless scribbling? A man who has wounded his
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“You have to do it Joanne. What are you a prude?” asked Corey H. Yes. “No.” So she stood defiantly, knees wobbling slightly, nine sets of eyes pasted to her. Grabbing Tim’s arm she yanked him up. “Oooooh” cooed the thirteen year olds. “I knew it” whispered Corey R. Lindsay Snow frowned deeply. Joanne cleared
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The day my brother found a tortoise, we decided to start a zoo. One night, while kicking a soccer ball, my brother shrieked, A turtle! I ran out. A tortoise, I corrected him; turtles stay in the water. My brother, age a mere six years, was more ardent than wise. I, two years his senior,
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