htotheomo

There were certain sentences that really jumped out at me. They seemed very honest and fresh. Both of them have a sharp and funny edge to them as well:

From @Nard38::
many saw in Tom the same drive to be a "self-made man" they saw in their fathers and, therefore, wanted Tom to fuck them, while others saw in him the same pathetic dysfunctions they saw in their fathers and, therefore, wanted Tom to fuck them.

From @htotheomo:
She did not appreciate his calling her, "Brah", it being what he calls his friends. Why would someone do that - call his girlfriend the same nickname he gave his friends? Why would he call out for his friends during sex?

@KarenUhOh:
The old-time newspaper style is wonderful. I don't know where the name "Tustinian Pflaug, D.D. " came from but it's great. The D. D. is a nice touch.

I'm really fond of the way that the writing style becomes ever more exaggerated and florid. This is especially nice:

Those fortunates who have borne witness to the incredible apparatus in operation report an exhilaration in watching it descend "from an unearthly height," typically a riverbank, cliffside, or even (by the aforementioned Princess Lotus Blossom) from tethered dirigible, as the Pilotte, a-wing forsooth, soars the prevailing freshets in "wild and wicked patterns. . .oblivious to the geometries of the landscape."

As with the plot of the story, the writing gets carried away--- and starts to carry us away with it. The last line has a deliciously dark resonance as we realize this retelling of the Icarus story is not going to end well:

"I hear Heaven keening above me!" as the Contraption deposited him amid the mid-afternoon swells, bound imperiously toward the Gulf.

@TotalEclipseOfTheSartre:
This story uses the old-timey style but it's more of a scripted version with the sharp shift from one genre (philosophical debate) to another (absurd domestic comedy). This line popped out as being especially -- wonderfully -- bizarre: "I believe the elderly person intake is clogged. "

And the last -- rather jarring -- sentence: "Leonardo I. Q. Edison ejaculates into her quickly and falls back asleep." It's hard to know if it is a throwaway or the key to the whole thing. Is this all just what it going on in his head as he's fucking his wife? And, well, that's kind of disturbing.

SheWalkedWithAZombie

MisterHippity

TotalEclipseOfTheSartre

TotalEclipseOfTheSartre

I didn't actually enter this contest, as much as I wanted to. I was away all weekend.

MisterHippity

SheWalkedWithAZombie

@AndSheSaid I think I should flip-flop the last two paragraphs. And in the first paragraph I should start with the line: "It was raining because he carried an umbrella." And the syntax of the drums of burundi paragraph is a mess.

SheWalkedWithAZombie

TotalEclipseOfTheSartre

TotalEclipseOfTheSartre

Leonardo I. Q. Edison: You're problem, Mr. Wonderful, is that you believe that which defines you is completely out of your control... that your identity is constructed by external forces which you cannot hope to escape.

Handsome B. Wonderful: My problem, Mr. Edison, is that Constance wants me to be a man I am not. How am I supposed to react when she reveals to me her true feelings?

Leonardo I. Q. Edison: Her feelings are her own, just as your feelings are your own. You have to learn to own your feelings, Mr. Wonderful. If you cannot own yourself, you have nothing.

Handsome B. Wonderful: But how can I possibly own myself? How can anyone own themselves? Everywhere I turn, I am faced with that which tries to own me. Every situation in which I find myself is such a transaction of ownership. When I must buy food or drink, I must give up my money. When I am in the office, I must give up my time. And when I get home, I almost always find that the tax man has called and that Constance is requesting my precious time and attention. I have no say anymore. I cannot decide to not eat or drink, or to stop going into the office...

Leonardo I. Q. Edison: And you don't need to. You must define that which is in your power. Any time man must interact with society, similar relations occur. If you were part of another society, it would be the same. And if you shun society altogether and live on your own, you will still find yourself giving up that which you have. If you do not rely on others for food, must you not find it or cultivate it yourself?

Leonardo I. Q. Edison awakes from the dream. His wife, Mary Poppins, is shaking him violently.

Mary Poppins: Are you alright, Leonardo?

Leonardo I. Q. Edison: My dearest Mary, I have just awoken from the queerest dream. I dreamt that I was counseling some strange man in a bar. As if I am qualified to counsel anyone!

Mary Poppins: It's alright. It was only a dream. You should get back to sleep. You must turn in to work in three hours.

Leonardo I. Q. Edison: Ah, yes. About that. My hovercar has been having some trouble lately. I believe the elderly person intake is clogged. Is there any way I could borrow the umbrella for today?

Mary Poppins: But I am supposed to attend to the Hertfordshirechesterhill children today! You know how they are--always wanting me to take them all around Madrid.

Leonardo I. Q. Edison: Then I suppose the Hertfordshirechesterhill children shall go wanting.

Leonardo I. Q. Edison ejaculates into her quickly and falls back asleep.

TotalEclipseOfTheSartre

He held an orange in his hand. Or a pomegranate. No, it was an orange and when he unpeeled it the slices became hummingbirds. They were song birds. They were blackbirds.

Someone gave him a stick and he broke it in two and
threw them into his bag. It began rumbling and as it grew we begged him to open it up again. When he did the air was filled with the sounds of the drums of Burundi.

They said he was a magician. Or the man in the moon. They said he was an angel. A devil. A companion for the night. They said he was a traveling salesman from the time of the passenger pigeons.

We asked him how he found us and he replied that it was the other way around. It was we who had been following him.

Impossible! We are not chasing. We are not even moving.

We were standing at the shore. Or in the middle of the town. It could have been that place where we stopped to take in the view of the sea. The desk by the window where we looked up for an instant, the brightness momentarily blinding us. The corner where we waited to cross.

How could we be coming after you, we asked, when we didn't know you were here?

The light was retreating. There was jasmine in the air. We became aware of the wind. The moment was sudden and oppressive. And we realized that we were alone.

Because, he said, you are falling.

SheWalkedWithAZombie

SheWalkedWithAZombie

L'HOMME DESCEND

"Jesus Christ, won't he come?" she thought, trying to count the water-related ripples in the "ceiling" of the boat they lived on.

Suddenly, he slowed to a moderately-interesting pace, looking out the window. She was hoping that He Finally Got It.

Sadly, no.

He jolted.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ!! There's a man out there floating on a fucking umbrella, brah!"

She did not appreciate his calling her, "Brah", it being what he calls his friends. Why would someone do that - call his girlfriend the same nickname he gave his friends? Why would he call out for his friends during sex?

A man was, in fact, descending upon them -- descending upon them, indeed.

"Hi! I'm htotheomo!" the spry man said as he landed on the deck. He packed away his bumbershoot. "We met at last week's wedding reception. You may not remember me; there was lot of commotion…"

htotheomo

Read the first submissions:
• Nard38's Story
• KarenUhOh's Story

There's still time to submit your own:
• Contest Information
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SheWalkedWithAZombie

VirusWithShoes

VirusWithShoes

Pflaug Falls Over Transfixed Masses

The esteemed Tustinian Pflaug, D.D., has again distinguished himself amongst the enraptured populace with the perfection of his soon-to-be-patented Flight Contraption.

Revealed this past summer to an enthusiastic throng at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, that Greatest of Expositions, Dr. Pflaug's astounding device has been henceforwardly submitted for consideration by science and public alike, in a host of instructional demonstrations alongside such luminaries as Princess Lotus Blossom (where Pflaug extolled the virtues of Vital Sparks whilst encouraging patrons of P.L.B.'s Enlightened Elixir to take wing), and Nevada Ned, with whom Pflaug enlisted audience members to land the dingus upon a galloping stallion, with varying success.

In recent weeks, at command performances from Cape Girardeau to Eureka Springs, Pflaug finetuned his Discovery with the promise that, in the future, it would be capable not only of flight, but of comfortable return to the Firmament. "I can but hope those who experienced the Contraption in times past might be able to thrill to renewed journeys in some very near future," Pflaug told onlookers in Blytheville, to resounding huzzahs.

Those fortunates who have borne witness to the incredible apparatus in operation report an exhilaration in watching it descend "from an unearthly height," typically a riverbank, cliffside, or even (by the aforementioned Princess Lotus Blossom) from tethered dirigible, as the Pilotte, a-wing forsooth, soars the prevailing freshets in "wild and wicked patterns. . .oblivious to the geometries of the landscape." Those who have flown Pflaug's Phoenix and spoken of their odyssey describe being "lost in a reverie" that "concluded days later."

We cannot forget the immortal words of Fmr. Mayor and Governor Francis, remarking upon the several attempts from those stout candidates selected to demonstrate the Flight Contraption at the recent Exposition, "We shall look forward to examining Dr. Pflaug's further endeavors with most studious scrutiny."

Hence it was with tremendous exuberance and anticipation that Pflaug proclaimed his intent to don the Contraption himself, at our own renowned Veiled Prophet Fair. Hovering in protective harness astride the gleaming iron buttress of the Washington Bridge, hoisting a case which he vowed contained "My most profound effects," and following a brief reading from Paul's Epistle to the Hebrews, Pflaug convened the rapt multitudes below, gathered in mufti aboard all manner of fantastical craft, as well as those landed souls anchored to the banks of the River Mud.

Suddenly, Pflaug guided his gauzy Contraption out beyond the bulwarks of that steel behemoth, his body listing Eastward, towards the Capitol and Europe and the Meccas of Industry, then stretched taut in updraft, borne along by a clutch of meadowlarks enroute to beastly sustenance. . .these avian habitants seemed to regard Pflaug curiously, if not approvingly--before the Goodly Doctor dove once more, down and down and forever down, among the gay picnickers moored in Sunday finery astride the afternoon current, adrift in the Chain of Rocks; where Pflaug, whipped hither and yon as his wide-eared grin shone kindly upon the gentlemen and ladies on festooned decks, was sworn to exclaim, "I am flying! I am flying! I hear Heaven keening above me!" as the Contraption deposited him amid the mid-afternoon swells, bound imperiously toward the Gulf.

KarenUhOh

SheWalkedWithAZombie

"It's broken. We've tried everything," said Whitley through her clinched Connecticut jaw.

Tom did what he always did: Sat silently lest his knowledge of something blue collar (in this case, a gas-powered, pull-start generator that hadn't been started) reveal to his Princeton "friends" that he wasn't of their class. His best friend and roommate, Will, already knew his background and didn't care, but he didn't trust Whitley, Stu, Evan or any of their Range Rover crowd to treat him like a peer if they knew he grew up in a row house in Philadelphia. He assumed they already viewed him with suspicion because of the vowel at the end of his last name. He didn't want them to know that he knew anything about greasy motors or 220 volt power lines. He especially didn't want to damage his relationship with the women of that crowd since many saw in Tom the same drive to be a "self-made man" they saw in their fathers and, therefore, wanted Tom to fuck them, while others saw in him the same pathetic dysfunctions they saw in their fathers and, therefore, wanted Tom to fuck them.

"Start the generator," Tom whispered to Will. Will pulled the cord and started it. The projector started beaming images in the sky above the Newport harbor. Most of the party guests noticed immediately and applauded appreciatively.

The images were photos of Will's great grandfather, grandfather and father in various lawyer uniforms. The party was a celebration of Will's father's retirement from the Boston firm Ropes & Gray. He was the third generation Pritchard to take his Harvard Law degree there and practice his entire career. Will had been accepted to Harvard Law, as had Tom thanks to a letter from Will's grandfather. Tom hoped to be considered an honorary Pritchard when Ropes & Gray interviewed on campus after first year.

"Congratulations, Mr. Pritchard. I'm honored just to be a part of this day," Tom semi-yelled over the crowd gathered around the guest of honor in the main tent.

"Thomas, I think it's time you start calling me 'Win,'" Robert Winston Pritchard, III told Tom.

"TOMMY?!?!?!?!"

Tom recognized the voice immediately. He turned around to see Anthony Santilli, a friend from the neighborhood, in an ill-fitting white dinner jacket, black slacks and a crooked bowtie, the uniform of the party's wait staff. He was holding a plastic tub of dirty dishes. Anthony set the tub down on the main table, directly in front of Mrs. Pritchard, and gave Tom a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"What are you doing here, Ant?" Tom asked him.

"Work release. I got locked up over in Providence for drunk drivin' an' resistin' arrest. I was up here doin' a big block and concrete warehouse."

"So, you know the help, 'Tommy,'" hissed Whitley for the entertainment of the gathered crowd.

"Shut the fuck up, Whitley!" snapped Will. It was the first and last time Tom heard Will cuss in front of his parents.

Anthony, who grew up in a house with 6 brothers and sisters, had a keen embarrassment detector.

"Sorry, Tommy. I dint mean to embarrass you."

"I'm not embarrassed, Ant," Tom assured Anthony.

"Maybe you should be!" yelled Whitley as she laughed and glanced around for approval.

"How 'bout I break your fuckin' teeth?" snapped Anthony.

"Don't do this, Ant. Please," begged Tom.

It was too late.

"What did you just say to my fiancée? You're dead, busboy!!!" Shram hissed at Anthony. Shram had been the heavyweight on Princeton's boxing team which made him the 2nd most dangerous man at the party. Shram, however ,was not aware that 22 year-old 250 lb. orphaned Italian bricklayers from Philly hit somewhat harder than pugilists from Dartmouth.

Shram strode toward Anthony, removing his sport coat as he walked. Anthony and Shram squared off.

What happened next was completely predictable to Tom. Anthony threw a pawing left jab intended to make Shram blink and followed it with a right jackhammer to the cheekbone. Anthony's arms were short and thick, and each fist was the size of a cantaloupe. The punch landed so perfectly that Shram fell straight down, not back or to the side. He was unconscious. Win made sure Shram was breathing. He was.

Tom now works for the firm Ballard Spahr in Philadelphia.

Nard

If you think that the image is too surreal and you don't write fantastical fiction, here are a couple of ways of approaching surrealism:
1. To see the everyday, the commonplace in what appears to be extraordinary or bizarre.
2. To see the bizarre, the pathological in what appears to be everyday and commonplace.

Stumped? Some questions to get you started:
• Where has he returned from?
• Where is he going to?
• What's in the bag?
Just pick one of these questions and see where that takes you.

SheWalkedWithAZombie

Plot: con artist Gunn/Fagan falls in love with the street urchin / tranny hooker Christian/Oliver.

SheWalkedWithAZombie

MisterHippity

Trixie from Toronto

IndianSlipper

IndianSlipper

Hez

Trixie from Toronto

Hez

rosaluxembourgeoise

Products Will Save Me

SheWalkedWithAZombie

It's now called: "Eric Papsmear And The Tall Table".

Or is that one of yours, too?

VirusWithShoes

Now I just have to write the rest of it.

MisterHippity

Trixie from Toronto

SheWalkedWithAZombie

Nard

Conbon

This re-imagining manages to take the Edenic paradise of the Garden, and indeed, of the lyric poem, and render its sacred meanings utterly profane. And yet, somehow, there seems something apt in bringing the naked body back into the garden, recalling that time before the fall -- when there was no toil and strife, and nutsackery ruled the day. Indeed, Service's original version is somehow less convincing in its attempt to keep the sickness of the world at bay. On the other hand (so to speak) bjonston's version convinces us that the speaker's can truly block out all that is wrong in the world--anything that is not part of nutsackery universe. We sense that this speaker is a voice of experience -- he has retreated to his "paradise" many times in order to enjoy its raptures. We suspect that he may indeed inhabit a world of nothing but ballsack.

Sadly, the Gawker poetry editor said they were only considering poems written in the villanelle form this week.

SheWalkedWithAZombie

I would like to nominate Conbon for his comment yesterday " ". Hilarious!

IndianSlipper

Mike_Jahn

SarahHeartburn

Unfun

VirusWithShoes

Great work, everyone!!

DorothyMantooth

Unfun

Aatom

I would like to thank everyone who made this moment possible for me. The overly dramatic mother for writing the story in the first place, the precocious children for having the courage to sate their curiousity, Google for making the internet such a wonderland of pr0n, and Al Gore for inventing it. The internet, not pr0n.

Oh, and also my husband. Because if I don't remember to thank him, you'll all just assume our marriage is in trouble. And it isn't. Because I frequently Google information on how to $@#& like a demon.

Thank you. Thank you.

raphaela

Nard

bjonston

Exactly.

Good work, everyone.

karion

In Other News...

@KarenUhOh: Truly.

moff

Theda_Bara

@Hez: Gay Hulk took day to reflect. Probably end up in "K Hole" tonight.

@Cheap Shot: Thanks.

Nard

@AndSheSaid: My bloggette was servicey in a lot of ways. I think I won a few Stiffies for it, actually.

Hez

KarenUhOh

Fuckers.

VirusWithShoes

SheWalkedWithAZombie

mainly because i'm huffing ether and thinking i'm michael caine.

mitchel_stevens

narnio

SheWalkedWithAZombie

La Cieca has been a long time favorite. Awesome.

I feel remiss not to have sent in this gem, though: [gawker.com] Hamud's a contendah.

BeRightBack

I think I spend too much time thinking about this stuff.

Conbon

Cheap Shot

I said what I said 'cause I have nothing but contempt and suspicion for those who play with the uglier ends of seventies-eighties clothing. I don't see why that era beguiles so many. (Keep in mind I wear aloha and cowboy shirts. I like my tacky older school, I s'pose.)

Dickdogfood

SheWalkedWithAZombie

Goober_Pea

And I am linking a picture of my grumpy face because it snowed yesterday, and not because I'm pissed I can't come up with Commie Deserving Comments.
Grrrrr: [chicagoist.com]

MyCubeHas3Sides

SheWalkedWithAZombie

@In Other News...: You were also on fire this week -- especially here: [gawker.com] There were so many good onesbut if I had to pick one I think my favorite was: [John MCCain calls his penis] "the only Republican Super-Delegate."

@Conbon: That was a very commie-worthy post.

SheWalkedWithAZombie

riskybusiness

I said phat! Not fat! Wait! Richard, put that axe down!

MisterHippity

Rumpelstilskin

bjonston

Richard

Hez

Clarence Rosario

Malegirdle

Tammany_Fall

SchmatSchmaymon

In Other News...

FitnessMadeSimple

roodles

TheHonJudgeSmails

CodePink

BalknChain

I think maybe it's the Jonathan whatever-his-two-part-last-name-is actor who stars in it. I had the misfortune of seeing Match Point and I've disliked him ever since...probably just because he played a douchey character in it, but still.

FitnessMadeSimple

CodePink

mathnet

SchmatSchmaymon

KarenUhOh

@raphaela: I was really hoping the "Did Google molest her child?" comment would get a commie. Glad it did.

FitnessMadeSimple

Conbon

meechybee

KarenUhOh

CodePink